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The Sustainable Development Goals (Target 3.4) call to “ensure healthy lives and promote well-being for all at all ages.” One of the key targets is to reduce premature mortality from non-communicable diseases by one-third through prevention and treatment, while also promoting mental health and well-being by 2030. However, progress in reducing suicide rates has been hampered by widespread stigma, underreporting, difficulty in tracking incidents, and a lack of political will to formulate effective suicide prevention strategies.

The government allocates less than one percent of the health budget to mental health. Reports show that the mental health budget declined from 0.8 percent in 2008 to just 0.2 percent in 2020. Such limited resources result in inadequate mental health services, poor access to care, and a shortage of trained personnel and facilities, especially outside urban areas.

According to the WHO, 73 percent of global suicides occur in low- and middle-income countries. In high-income countries, suicides are often linked to mental disorders—particularly depression, alcohol use disorder, and a history of previous suicide attempts.

Every year, many people die by suicide, while many more attempt it. Each suicide is a tragedy with profound and lasting effects on families, communities, and entire societies. Why, then, do people take their own lives?

The French sociologist Émile Durkheim (1858–1917) sought to answer this question in his classic study on suicide, inspired by the death of his close friend Victor Hommay. His theory remains relevant today. Durkheim argued that suicide rates are influenced by levels of social integration and regulation in society. When social integration is very high, altruistic suicide may occur, as when individuals sacrifice themselves for religion, politics, or the nation. When integration is very low, egoistic suicide arises, as people unable to find belonging or meaning choose suicide to escape loneliness or isolation.

Similarly, excessive regulation can lead to fatalistic suicide, seen historically in slavery and persecution, where individuals feel trapped by fate. On the other hand, insufficient regulation results in anomic suicide, often triggered by economic crises or sudden social changes that disrupt people’s expectations—such as financial collapse, divorce, or the loss of a spouse.

Durkheim identified two forms of anomic suicide: acute anomie, caused by abrupt changes like a business failure or divorce, and chronic anomie, a constant state of instability common in modern capitalist societies. Examples include betrayals in love, economic depressions, or other crises that create a gap between people’s lived experiences and their expectations.

In Nepal, police data show that 7,055 people died by suicide in fiscal year 2024/25. Hanging was the most common method (5,798 cases, 82.2 percent), followed by poisoning (961 cases, 13.6 percent). Among these, 3,734 were men, 2,451 women, and 870 children. Hanging was the dominant method across groups, with men (3,112) and women (1,907) most affected. Cases of suicide provocation were higher among women (143) than men (30), reflecting unique gendered dynamics. Other methods—self-immolation, drowning, jumping, or weapons—were less frequent.

Applying Durkheim’s framework to the Nepali context reveals that a lack of social integration, regulatory imbalances, economic hardship, and rapid social change drive many suicides—mostly anomic in nature. Financial crises and relationship breakdowns often lead to hanging, while oppressive norms, early marriage, and abuse may drive women toward fatalistic suicide. Migrants isolated in urban areas may be prone to egoistic suicide. Altruistic suicides appear less common in today’s Nepal.

Karl Marx’s concept of alienation also sheds light on suicide. Marx argued that modern capitalist society separates individuals from their creative potential and from authentic social relationships, undermining equality and freedom. In such conditions, people may feel estranged and hopeless.

Osho, a 21st-century mystic, similarly observed that while traditional societies imposed clear collective values, modern individuals must construct their own identities in a competitive, uncertain environment. This search for meaning, he argued, often leaves people disoriented and vulnerable to despair.

Religions also shape perspectives on suicide. In the West, Judaism and Christianity generally condemn suicide as sinful, historically treating attempts as criminal acts with punishments that even included confiscating property. In South Asia, Hinduism and Buddhism reject suicide but historically permitted forms of altruistic suicide under certain circumstances. For instance, the sati system of self-immolation was once believed to ensure salvation for the widow and her family. Suicide is also often seen as a consequence of past karma.

In Nepal, the Muluki Ain of 2020 criminalized suicide, with survivors facing fines or prison. However, the National Penal Code of 2074 no longer treats suicide as a crime but makes encouraging or assisting suicide a punishable offense, carrying penalties of up to five years in prison and fines of up to Rs 50,000.

Despite decriminalization, stigma persists. Many Nepalis still view suicide or attempts as shameful, discouraging people from seeking help. Yet a suicide attempt can be a turning point—if timely support is provided. Too often, however, families and communities are preoccupied with their own struggles, leaving vulnerable individuals neglected.

Recognizing early warning signs is critical. Verbal cues (expressing a wish to die), emotional changes (hopelessness, mood swings), and situational triggers (loss, trauma, illness, or financial stress) can all indicate risk. High-risk groups include people with a history of attempts, mental illness, substance abuse, or social rejection.

Timely interventions—listening with empathy, offering care, and connecting individuals to professional help—can save lives. Social environments and family dynamics play a decisive role. As social beings, we carry a responsibility to reach out, talk to, and care for those suffering from depression, anxiety, or despair. Professional support from psychiatrists, trained social workers, and counselors—including meditation and mindfulness practices—can provide immense relief and hope.

Teej, one of Nepal’s most vibrant and widely celebrated women-centered festivals, carries layers of meaning that change across generations. For some, it’s deeply spiritual, rooted in the devotion of Goddess Parvati and Lord Shiva, symbolizing faith, sacrifice, and family well-being. For others, it has grown into a celebration of sisterhood, self-expression, and women’s empowerment, reflecting the changing roles and choices of women in society. ApEx spoke to three women to know what they think of the tradition of fasting, prayer, and devotion; balancing rituals with personal freedom, cultural pride, and modern values.

Jyoti Adhikari, 64

Teej is a festival dedicated to Lord Shiva and Goddess Parvati, celebrating Parvati’s devotion and penance to unite with Shiva. Traditionally, it symbolizes unmarried women’s desire for an ideal husband through faith and devotion, and married women’s prayers for their husbands’ well-being through fasting. However, modern celebrations often emphasize outward rituals—feasting, dressing up, and socializing—over the spiritual essence. While Teej fosters joy and togetherness, practices like women refraining from food or drinking water from their husbands’ feet raise concerns about gender equality. Ideally, Teej should promote love, mutual respect, devotion to God, and women’s dignity, aligning with the true purpose of festivals: to inspire joy, unity, and moral values in society.

Kavyashree Adhikari, 24

For me, Teej isn’t just about rituals but also about togetherness, meeting friends, reflecting on the importance of Lord Shiva, and sometimes observing fasts depending on my health and situation. We live in a male-dominated society and, since ancient times, traditions have been shaped and narrated largely from men’s perspectives. Teej has always been supported but rarely highlighted or valued as much as male-centered festivals. The essence of devotion and cultural bonding is there, yet in some cases, it has become more about show rather than meaning. However, positive changes are also happening. People today are more health-conscious, and many women celebrate in ways that suit their well-being. For instance, in earlier days, my mother would scold me if I ate anything during Teej. Today, no one can force such practices upon us. Women celebrate it in ways that feel right to them, balancing devotion with personal choice. This shows that while Teej carries tradition, it’s also evolving with modern values.

Rachana Kharel, 29

Teej is a celebration of sisterhood and femininity. I feel a deep joy seeing women enjoy Teej in their own ways. Even though I don’t celebrate it, witnessing their happiness feels like a personal win and, in a way, it has healed me. Teej is one of the few women-centered festivals, yet it’s often sidelined in male conversations. This is exactly because society still undervalues women’s joy, dismissing singing, dancing, and celebration as ‘misusing freedom and power women have received.’ So Teej to me feels like a form of self-expression and reclaiming space. It reminds us that women’s voices and happiness deserve to be central in our cultural dialogue. Teej is no longer about blind rituals but women are redefining it as a celebration of freedom, bonding, and unapologetic joy. In a world where traditions often confine us in, Teej now feels like a reminder that we get to decide what womanhood means. It’s evolving into a festival of bonding, joy, and owning one’s femininity in whichever way feels right. Holding onto outdated customs that limit us isn’t honoring tradition; it’s holding women back. Teej must evolve with us, or it risks becoming irrelevant.

The Nepali market is saturated with imported goods. But there are many Nepali products or businesses that are slowly coming up with are on par with international brands. If we, Nepalis, use and promote Nepal-made products whenever possible, it would boost our local economy and encourage the market to focus less on imports. 

Here are some brands that you can try that offer great value for money. They aren’t very expensive and the quality is top notch.

Manai Dekhi

A local business selling scented soy candles, Manai Dekhi has an extensive range of items that you can use in your home to keep it smelling lovely. They don’t skimp on the essential oils so their candles really make your space smell divine. They are well-packaged in glass jars with wooden lids to lock the smell in. Our favorites are the lavender, orange blossom, and strawberry but their other versions are equally good too.

SR Collection

This could very easily be your go-to place for cashmere shawls, bedsheets, and cotton clothes. They are reasonably priced and the quality is one of the best you will find in the market today. They also have a large selection of maternity and baby clothes. You also have the option of choosing from a wide range of fabrics and they will get the clothes stitched for you. From cute onesies to breastfeeding gowns, you will find everything you need if you are expecting.

Mheecha

For a while now, Mheecha seems to have dominated the bag market, especially in Kathmandu. You will often see college and office goers sporting their backpacks or laptop bags. Their simple, timeless, and durable designs have appealed to the masses. Also, the price is less than half (or even less) of what you would pay for some of the imported brands available in the market today. They have quite a good selection of pouches, laptop sleeves, belt bags, and backpacks as well. The colors are a mix of light and bright, making them suitable for all kinds of outfits.

Nana’s Delight

If you tend to keep store bought chocolates like Dairy Milk, Amul, or Mars in your fridge or pantry for those times when you crave something sweet, then it’s time to switch things up. There are many Made in Nepal chocolates that are the best alternative for these brands. Crafted in far smaller batches, they use good ingredients and feel light and fresh than commercially packaged chocolates. Nana’s Delight lives up to its name and their chocolates are simply delightful. They are available in various sizes too. If you go to the farmer’s market at Le Sherpa on Saturday, you can even taste their products before deciding which ones to buy. 

With the onset of monsoon, the arid landscapes of Nepal begin to turn green. Rain-soaked hills come alive with a splash of color, as wildflowers briefly bloom, painting the countryside in hues that exist only in this season. Traveling has always been my passion. Driven by wanderlust, I longed to venture into uncharted places, and trekking during the monsoon had always been on my bucket list.

There is a saying: everything has its time, and everything is beautiful in its time. On June 21, 2024, as I was sitting with friends at Boudha, my phone rang. A friend was planning the Kori Danda trek and asked if I wanted to join. Without hesitation, I said yes. I too had been searching for a group to travel with during the rains. Our team would include three Nepalis and two Norwegians.

We knew the rains would test us, but the lure of lush forests, swelling rivers, and monsoon scenery was irresistible. According to plan, we left Kathmandu at 6 am, stopping at Naubise for breakfast. The Prithvi Highway up to Muglin was in rough shape, but beyond that, the road smoothed out, carrying us to Pokhara, the lake city.

After lunch, we headed towards Khaukhola and reserved a jeep for Sikles.

Perched at 1,940 meters, Sikles is Nepal’s second-largest Gurung settlement, with around 300 households resting under the shadow of the Annapurna and Lamjung peaks. On the way, we passed cascading waterfalls and small hamlets before reaching Chipli, another Gurung village.

The paved road ended there, and the journey turned into an off-road adventure. After three hours, we finally reached Sikles. Remote and untouched by urban sprawl, the village felt like a step back into a gentler time.

That evening we stayed at Namaste Guest House. Over barbecue, chatter, and laughter, the group bonded. The next morning, the mountains revealed themselves in the golden light, smiling like a newly married bride. It was a moment to cherish.

After breakfast, we began our trek. Monsoon trekking is not easy: trails become slippery, landslides loom, and rivers swell. Yet, the rains also breathe new life into forests and rivers, making everything feel freshly born. Around 10 am, we left Sikles, descending steeply for an hour and a half to Madkyu Bridge. The locals had warned us: from there to Tasa, the first station, the climb would be steep and grueling. They were right.

The uphill trail tested us under the searing sun. After two hours, we reached Marley Cottage, where we rested and ate noodles. Soon after resuming, rain poured down, and we trudged on in drenched raincoats. By 3 pm, we reached Tasa, shivering from the cold. The teahouse owner lit a fire for us, and one by one, other trekkers arrived. That night, we shared stories and laughter before falling into deep sleep.

The following morning, one of our Norwegian friends felt too weak to continue. We urged her to rest, and eventually, she decided to move along slowly. The trail offered no mercy: steeper climbs, denser forests, and constant drizzle. The Kori trail, being relatively new, had few trekkers, adding to the sense of wilderness. As the rain pattered on pine leaves, the forest shimmered in fresh green. The only unwelcome companions were leeches, clinging to shoes and legs, but we pressed on.

After six hours, we reached Deurali at 3,800 meters, just 15 minutes shy of Kori Danda. Our exhaustion melted away at the sight of the pristine surroundings, rolling hills, alpine meadows, and a horizon dominated by Himalayan giants. Reaching Kori felt like placing a final stone on a heavy load, a release of body and spirit.

That night, we huddled around the fire again, drinking in the warmth while rain poured outside. There is no water source between Tasa and Kori, so carrying bottles is essential for anyone attempting the trek. Many others had been waiting there for days, hoping for clear skies.

When dawn broke, fortune favored us. As we stepped outside, the sky unveiled its masterpiece: Annapurna and Lamjung glowing under the first light, wildflowers carpeting the pastures, and horses grazing against the backdrop of peaks. It was surreal, like a painting come to life, or as if the sky itself had blessed the mountains with a kiss.

We soaked in the moment, took photos, and then reluctantly packed to return. The descent was punishing, and by the time we reached Madkyu Bridge, our legs were trembling. We called for a jeep and drove back to Pokhara, tired but fulfilled.

For the Norwegians, the trek had been a dream fulfilled: to see the Himalayas up close in their raw beauty. For me, it was more than just a journey through nature. Like all voyages, it was a mixture of challenge and joy, of learning and renewal.

The Kori Danda trek, also known as the Toni Hagen Trail, is not for the faint-hearted. Its steep climbs and monsoon risks demand preparation and resilience. But for those willing to take on the challenge, the reward is unforgettable.