Submit your Article

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.

As the monsoon sets in, Parthenium hysterophorus, an aggressive annual herbaceous plant, bursts into full bloom. Its invasive nature has allowed it to spread rapidly across open lands. Commonly known as Santa Maria feverfew, this deceptive weed resembles Gypsy, a popular ornamental flower used in decorations, bouquets, and even bridal hairstyles. Because of its appearance, many admire or even cultivate it, overlooking the serious threats it poses. Beyond damaging ecosystems, it poses risks to the health of all mammals. Classified as a noxious weed, its key traits include being non-native, poisonous, and unpalatable to herbivores.

Research shows that Parthenium seeds have an extremely high survival rate. On the soil surface, they can last for more than a year, and in the substratum, up to six years. They endure a wide range of temperatures and can germinate even in minimal water conditions. With longer droughts becoming common due to climate change, this species thrives while native plants struggle to germinate. A single plant can produce nearly 25,000 seeds, creating a substantial seed bank in the soil. Wind pollination (anemophily) makes dispersal even easier, as the seeds are extremely light. Though adaptable to most soil types, it is especially vigorous in alkaline, clay, and loam soils.

The blooms may appear attractive, but they are far more harmful than anticipated. Infestation can cause up to 40 percent crop loss and reduce forage production by almost 90 percent due to its allelopathic properties. The impact is particularly severe in rain-fed ecosystems and non-cropped areas. In urban centers such as Kathmandu Valley, it dominates roadsides and open lands. Prolonged contact with Parthenium is linked to dermatitis, naso-bronchial allergies, and allergic rhinitis from pollen exposure. In India alone, treatment of Parthenium-related health conditions is estimated to cost around Rs 8bn.

Parthenium hysterophorus is no longer just a weed; it has become a multi-million-dollar problem worldwide. Native to South America, it has spread aggressively to countries like India, Australia, and across North Africa, creating near-crisis situations. Complete eradication is highly unlikely; control is the only realistic option. Management strategies fall into four categories: mechanical, biological, chemical, and cultural. Among these, cultural control involves habitat management practices such as grazing regulation, prescribed burning, and physical habitat modification.

Unlike Mikania micrantha, which can be suppressed by repeated cutting, Parthenium resists such measures because of its deep carrot-like root system. No single method of control is sufficient. Success requires an integrated strategy, coordinated at the national level. Unfortunately, public awareness remains low, and existing policies, while promising on paper, lack clear and actionable measures. The absence of a coordinated system and genuine stakeholder participation has hampered progress.

Parthenium management must therefore be recognized as a national priority. Stakeholder participation, including communities, local governments, researchers, and policymakers, is crucial to address this silent but serious ecological and health threat. Citizens often resort to blame-shifting when problems arise, but meaningful change begins with advocacy and action. At a time when we already face widespread allergies and health concerns, ignoring this weed’s dangers would be reckless.

What is urgently needed is an action-oriented movement: raising awareness, acknowledging the scale of the threat, and mobilizing collective effort. A hopeful tomorrow can only be secured through a prepared present, and that means immediate dialogue with local authorities and full participation of all stakeholders.