As Nepal prepares to celebrate its greatest festival, the psychological wounds of flood survivors remind us that not every home is ready for celebration.
As Dasain approaches, Nepal begins to change its rhythm. Markets become crowded, homes are cleaned, new clothes are purchased, and families prepare to reunite around the warmth of tika, jamara, blessings, and shared meals. For many, Dasain is a season of joy, belonging, and renewal. But for families affected by the devastating Bhote Koshi flash flood, this festival may carry a very different emotional meaning.
While the rest of the country prepares to welcome the festival, some survivors may be struggling to understand how to celebrate when their homes, livelihoods, possessions, and sense of security have been damaged or lost. For those who have lost loved ones, the absence of a familiar face at the family gathering may hurt more deeply than words can express.
As a psychologist, I believe we must look beyond the visible destruction caused by a disaster and pay attention to the invisible suffering that survivors carry into the days, weeks, and months that follow. A flood may recede, but the psychological impact does not necessarily disappear with the water.
When a festival becomes an emotional reminder
Festivals are closely connected with memory. The smell of traditional food, the sound of family conversations, the sight of children playing in new clothes, and the familiar rituals of receiving tika from elders can bring back powerful memories of previous celebrations.
For survivors of the Bhote Koshi flash flood, these same experiences may evoke painful reminders of what life was like before the disaster.
A mother who once prepared a special meal for her family may now be struggling to rebuild her household. A child who once waited excitedly for new clothes may now be living with uncertainty about school, shelter, or the future. An older person who looked forward to gathering with relatives may be grieving the loss of a family member or the home where generations celebrated together.
These experiences are not simply sadness. They may involve grief, anxiety, emotional exhaustion, helplessness, and, for some individuals, symptoms of trauma.
Certain reminders can bring back memories of a frightening event with surprising intensity. The sound of heavy rain, the rush of water, a sudden loud noise, or even conversations about the disaster may cause some survivors to feel frightened or unsafe again. Others may experience disturbed sleep, irritability, difficulty concentrating, or a persistent sense of uncertainty.
Not every survivor will develop a mental health condition, and not every painful reaction is a disorder. However, these responses deserve understanding rather than judgment.
For some survivors, the greatest challenge this Dasain may not be finding the money to celebrate. It may be finding the emotional strength to face a festival that reminds them of everything that has changed.
The pain of celebrating when life has not recovered
In Nepal, Dasain is more than a religious or cultural celebration. It is a social experience built around family, home, tradition, and togetherness. Returning to one's birthplace, receiving blessings from elders, welcoming relatives, and sharing meals are important parts of the festival.
When a disaster disrupts these traditions, survivors may experience a profound sense of disconnection.
Imagine a family that has lost its home and is now staying in temporary accommodation. As neighbours decorate their homes and relatives discuss their travel plans, the family may be wondering where they will sleep, what they will eat, and whether they can afford even a modest celebration.
They may feel pressure to appear strong in front of their children. They may feel ashamed that they cannot provide the festival their family once enjoyed. They may avoid gatherings because they do not want to answer painful questions about their losses.
Some may feel guilty about celebrating when loved ones are missing or when neighbours have suffered even greater losses. Others may feel emotionally numb, unable to experience the happiness that once came naturally during Dasain.
Such reactions must be understood within the realities of displacement, economic hardship, disrupted relationships, and grief. We cannot ask people to recover emotionally while ignoring the material conditions that continue to threaten their security.
A family cannot be expected to feel safe simply because the festival has arrived. Nor should survivors feel that they have failed because they cannot celebrate with the same enthusiasm as before.
Children may carry fears they cannot explain
The psychological needs of children affected by the flood deserve particular attention during the festive season.
Children may not always have the words to explain their distress. Instead, they may become unusually quiet, cling to their parents, cry more frequently, become irritable, struggle to sleep, or repeatedly ask whether another flood will occur.
For a child who experienced a frightening flood, heavy rainfall during Dasain may create renewed fear. Adults may understand that rain is a natural part of the season, but a child who associates rain with danger may interpret it as a warning that something terrible is about to happen again.
Festive activities can also become difficult when children notice that their family cannot afford the things they had before the disaster. Seeing other children in new clothes or enjoying celebrations may intensify feelings of loss, exclusion, or insecurity.
Parents and caregivers can help by offering reassurance without making promises they cannot guarantee. Instead of saying, "Nothing bad will ever happen again," they might say, "I know the rain reminds you of what happened. We are here with you, and we will follow the safety guidance together."
Maintaining familiar routines, allowing children to ask questions, making space for play, and listening without dismissing their fears can help restore a sense of safety.
Children should not be forced to appear happy simply because it is Dasain. Their sadness, fear, and questions deserve the same respect as their smiles.
Grief does not follow the festival calendar
One of the most painful misunderstandings about disaster recovery is the belief that people should gradually return to normal within a fixed period.
Human grief does not work according to a calendar. A person may appear to be coping well and then experience intense sadness when a familiar ritual, song, place, or family gathering brings back memories of someone who is no longer there.
During Dasain, the absence of a loved one may become especially visible. An empty seat, a missing voice, or the inability to visit a familiar home can turn an ordinary ritual into a painful reminder of loss.
For survivors who have lost family members, there may be no simple way to make the festival feel complete again. They may want to participate in some traditions while avoiding others. They may laugh with relatives one moment and cry privately the next.
This does not mean they are moving backward in their recovery.
Grief often involves changing emotions, and healing does not require forgetting the person who died or pretending that the loss no longer hurts. It means gradually finding ways to live with the loss while receiving the support needed to continue life.
We must allow survivors to decide what Dasain means to them this year. Some may choose to celebrate quietly. Others may maintain certain traditions while leaving others aside. Some may find comfort in gathering with relatives, while others may need privacy.
There is no single correct way to celebrate after a disaster, and there is no deadline for feeling better.
The responsibility of relatives, neighbours, and visitors
In Nepali culture, visiting affected families during festivals can be an expression of solidarity. However, good intentions do not always translate into psychologically sensitive support.
Repeatedly asking survivors to describe the flood, explain their losses, or recount how they escaped may unintentionally reopen painful memories. Comments such as "You should forget the past now," "At least you survived," or "You must be strong for your family" can make people feel that their emotions are inconvenient or unacceptable.
Survival does not cancel grief. Gratitude for being alive can exist alongside sadness about what has been lost.
This Dasain, relatives, neighbours, community leaders, volunteers, and visitors can offer support by listening without pressuring survivors to speak. They can ask what practical help is needed rather than assuming they know. They can respect a person's decision not to attend gatherings or discuss the disaster.
A simple statement such as, "I cannot fully understand what you have been through, but I am here if you need me," may provide more comfort than advice intended to make the pain disappear.
Practical support is equally important. Helping a family obtain essential supplies, supporting children's education, arranging transport, assisting with safe accommodation, or sharing the financial burden of basic festival needs can reduce some of the stress that makes emotional recovery more difficult.
Psychological support is not limited to counselling rooms. It can begin with a neighbour who notices, a relative who listens, a teacher who understands, or a community that refuses to leave affected families behind once public attention has moved elsewhere.
Mental health support must go beyond temporary relief
Disaster response often focuses first on rescue, food, shelter, clothing, sanitation, and physical rehabilitation. These needs are essential and must remain priorities. But emotional recovery also deserves sustained attention.
The weeks surrounding a major festival can be an important opportunity for local governments, health workers, schools, community organisations, and mental health professionals to identify and support people who are struggling.
Psychological first aid can help by promoting safety, calm, connection, practical assistance, and access to appropriate services. It does not require survivors to recount traumatic experiences or receive a formal diagnosis. It begins with humane, respectful support.
Community health workers and teachers can be equipped to recognise signs of distress and refer people for further help when necessary. Schools can provide safe spaces for children to express their feelings and restore familiar routines. Health facilities should be prepared to respond to persistent anxiety, severe sleep disturbance, depression, and trauma-related symptoms.
People experiencing persistent or worsening distress, significant difficulty functioning, or overwhelming emotional pain should be offered professional assessment and appropriate care. Anyone at immediate risk of harming themselves needs urgent support.
At the same time, mental health programmes must not shift the entire burden of recovery onto survivors. Emotional wellbeing is closely connected to safe housing, economic security, access to education, family reunification, and confidence in future disaster preparedness.
Telling a displaced family to practise resilience while leaving it without adequate shelter is not a complete mental health response. Resilience grows more readily when people have safety, dignity, supportive relationships, and meaningful opportunities to rebuild their lives.
Let this Dasain be a festival of compassion
Perhaps the most important question this Dasain is not whether flood survivors will celebrate, but whether the rest of society will make room for the many ways they may experience the festival.
Can we celebrate without expecting everyone else to feel happy? Can we share our blessings without making those who have lost everything feel ashamed? Can we visit affected communities without treating their suffering as a story to be retold? Can we remember survivors after the photographs, donations, and public attention have faded?
These questions call for a deeper understanding of collective responsibility.
For families affected by the Bhote Koshi flash flood, recovery may be measured not by how quickly they return to their previous lives, but by whether they gradually regain safety, connection, dignity, and hope. For some, this Dasain may bring moments of comfort. For others, it may be a difficult season of grief. Both experiences deserve compassion.
We should not ask survivors to be brave every moment. They have already endured circumstances that may have demanded more courage than we can imagine. We should instead offer them the freedom to grieve, the reassurance that they are not alone, and the practical support necessary to begin again.
As we receive tika and jamara from our elders, let us remember those for whom familiar homes and family gatherings have become painful reminders of loss. As we share food and exchange gifts, let us extend our generosity to families who may be struggling to meet their most basic needs. And as we wish one another happiness and prosperity, let us recognise that genuine wellbeing includes psychological safety, social belonging, and the freedom to heal at one's own pace.
This Dasain, the greatest blessing we can offer the survivors of the Bhote Koshi flash flood may not be a demand to smile, a reminder to forget, or an expectation to return to normal. It may simply be the assurance that their pain is seen, their grief is respected, their dignity is protected, and their community will continue to stand beside them long after the festival ends.
Because a society's compassion is not measured only by how joyfully it celebrates, but also by how gently it holds those who are hurting.
The author is a counselling psychology professional interested in mental health, psychosocial support, and community wellbeing in Nepal.