Asking for a pay rise in Nepal can feel a bit like asking the mountains to budge. They don’t move and neither, it seems, do salaries. In a nation where deference is stitched into the social fabric and silence is mistaken for virtue, the very notion of walking into a manager’s office to demand a few extra rupees can feel subversive. Yet a reckoning is under way.
Wages in Nepal have never been known for their generosity. The average monthly earning for an urban employee is just under NPR 25,000 ($190), according to government data—barely enough to cover rent, let alone rising costs of living. The private sector, but especially in non-unionised white-collar jobs, has functioned on an implicit understanding: loyalty will be met with token increments, eventually. But with inflation nibbling away at real income (hovering around 5-6% a year), and remittance-fuelled consumption reshaping expectations, patience is becoming a less affordable virtue.
One might think a tight labour market would embolden workers. After all, the country sees more graduates every year than it creates jobs for, and the outflow of talent to foreign shores—from Gulf labourers to IT freelancers—has thinned the pool of skilled professionals. But curiously this scarcity has not translated into bargaining power. Employers, facing slow growth, political instability and erratic taxation, tend to treat salary requests as a nuisance rather than negotiation. “They’ll say you should be grateful to have a job at all,” mutters one Kathmandu-based software engineer, who asked for anonymity for fear of managerial lashing.
The reluctance to ask comes from culture. Nepal’s hierarchical society prizes humility over ambition, and harmony over confrontation. In such a setting, the Western ethos of self-advocacy can come across as gauche. Add to this the legacy of public-sector stoicism, where seniority—not performance—determines pay, and a picture emerges of a workforce conditioned to wait rather than ask.
And yet, ask they do—cautiously and increasingly. HR consultants report a leap in employees initiating “compensation conversations”. “It’s no longer taboo,” says the head of a major recruitment firm in Lalitpur. “But people still hedge. They’ll cite family obligations or compare offers from abroad, rather than directly say, ‘I deserve more.’”
Part of the change is generational. Millennials and Gen Z workers, raised on Instagram and economic precarity, are less bashful about asserting value. Many have watched peers emigrate and return with stories of office perks and merit-based pay. Some have even taken negotiation courses online. Others weaponise exit interviews: turning the threat of departure into a last-minute bargaining chip. Employers, not wanting to lose talent to the Gulf or Bangalore, cave, though not always. Quiet rebellion, it seems, pays.
But boldness is no substitute for strategy. In Nepal’s fragmented economy—where firms range from family-run outfits to donor-backed NGOs—the art of asking must be tailored. A salaried accountant at a legacy firm might appeal to loyalty and institutional knowledge. A consultant in a UN-funded project would do better citing international benchmarks. In some sectors, data helps; in others flattery is the currency of progress.
There is still an underlying irony. The very act of asking for a raise requires one to behave like the kind of self-assured, mobile professional that Nepali labour market rarely produces. The best negotiators are those with options, who are most likely to leave. In this sense, the raise request is not only about money, it is also about leverage: a reminder to employers that talent, like capital, flows where it is rewarded.
As the economy matures, and the young urban workforce becomes more assertive, pay transparency and performance-based increments may gain traction.In the meantime, workers will keep treading the fine line between asking and offending, leveraging without threatening, and hoping their value is noticed. Ideally, without having to mention it.
In the land of Buddha, patience is a virtue. But when virtue fails to pay the bills, a polite knock on the boss’s door may be the first step towards a very Nepali version of economic enlightenment. ■
