Chhaupadi: A Local Practice Reflecting Global Gender Inequities

Even now, in the shadow of Nepal’s mountains and across its southern plains, a quiet injustice plays out every month. Girls and women, for no fault of their own, are told to leave their homes not because they are sick, not because they are dangerous, but simply because they are menstruating. The practice is called Chhaupadi. And despite being banned, it hasn’t vanished. It’s not a story from the past; for many, it’s still painfully part of the present.

Women are banished to sheds or cowsheds during their periods, left to brave cold nights, snake bites, hunger, and sometimes even death. Though criminalized under Nepalese law, the practice survives. And this isn’t just about being sent outside the house. It’s about something deeper, the belief that menstruation somehow taints a woman, making her presence unwelcome and her touch feared.

The idea isn’t limited to remote corners of Nepal. All around the world, in different names and rituals, the same message echoes: that a girl’s biology is a problem that needs hiding. Whether it’s in a shed in the Karnali region or whispered rules in urban households where women can’t enter the kitchen during their period, the outcome is the same. Isolation. Shame. Silence. Chhaupadi might be a Nepali word, but the mentality behind it is global, stretching across borders and cultures, often protected by tradition and left unquestioned. It is a small window into a much larger global issue: the everyday violations of women’s human rights under the mask of “tradition.”

Not Just a Shed: Chhaupadi in Modern Disguise

Most people think of Chhaupadi as a rural problem, a woman banished to a hut or cowshed. But the story doesn’t end in the far-western hills. Even in the heart of Kathmandu, in modern households with Wi-Fi and university degrees, the echoes of Chhaupadi are heard in different forms.

Menstruating women are still forbidden from entering kitchens, touching family gods, or sleeping beside their husbands. Some are instructed not to touch water sources or attend school. These unwritten rules are rarely questioned. And because there’s no physical shed, no visible punishment, we often fail to name it for what it is: discrimination.

What makes it more dangerous is that it hides in plain sight, wrapped in the language of “culture” or “respect.” We don’t call it violence, but it is. We don’t call it inequality, but it is. And most crucially, we rarely acknowledge it as a violation of universal human rights, but it absolutely is.

When Culture Becomes a Weapon

Across different parts of the world, whether it's a remote village in Nepal, a town in Indonesia, or a community in Malawi, women’s bodies are still being controlled in the name of tradition. In Indonesia, for example, female genital mutilation is still performed under the harmful belief that it “purifies” a girl. In Malawi, young girls are subjected to initiation rituals like kusasa fumbi, where they are made to undergo traumatic experiences all in the name of preparing them for womanhood. And in some Orthodox Jewish and Islamic traditions, menstruating women are barred from entering religious spaces, as if their natural biology somehow makes them unworthy.

These beliefs might wear different clothes in different cultures, but they carry the same harmful idea: that a woman’s body is something to manage, hide, or fix. These aren’t harmless customs; they’re violations of dignity, of freedom, of basic rights. They teach girls to be ashamed of their bodies. They make silence seem safer than speaking out.

Yes, Article 16 of the Constitution of Nepal promises the right to live with dignity. So do international frameworks like the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and CEDAW. But what are these words worth when a girl is still made to sleep outside for menstruating? Or when her pain is passed off as “culture”? At some point, we have to stop calling it tradition and start calling it what it really is: discrimination, dressed up as heritage.

Is This Not Violence?

When violence against women is discussed, it’s usually the visible wounds that draw attention beatings, harassment, and abuse that can be pointed to and prosecuted. But not all harm shows up as scars. Some kinds of violence are stitched into the fabric of everyday life, dressed up as tradition, and handed down from one generation to the next. These are the kinds we’re taught not to question, the ones so familiar we no longer recognize them as harmful.

Chhaupadi is one such practice. It may not involve fists or weapons, but its impact is no less damaging. It isolates women, shames them for a natural bodily function, and reinforces the idea that their very presence during menstruation is contaminating. In many communities, this exclusion is not seen as punishment but as a necessary “protection” of religious or cultural purity. The girl is made to believe that her absence is required for the well-being of others.

This raises a painful but urgent question: What kind of society penalizes its daughters for bleeding?

Legally, Nepal has taken steps to address the issue. Section 168 of the Criminal Code prohibits forcing anyone into Chhaupadi, and violations are punishable. Yet enforcement is weak. Few are prosecuted, and fewer still face consequences. In many cases, the practice is maintained not through coercion, but through deeply internalized beliefs. Women, taught from a young age to view their own bodies as impure, often enforce these norms upon themselves and others.

The problem, then, is not just legal; it is cultural. It is generational. And it is profoundly personal.

The Global Reflection

In many countries, progress has come not from laws alone, but from loud, uncomfortable conversations. In India, the Sabarimala temple case challenged centuries-old customs barring women from temples. In South Africa, constitutional courts struck down practices that violated women’s bodily rights. Around the world, courts are increasingly placing dignity above dogma.

In Nepal, there have been positive steps such as the Supreme Court’s declaration of Chhaupadi as a human rights violation in Dil Bahadur Bishwakarma v. Office of the Prime Minister (2005) and the issuance of guidelines like the Directive for the Elimination of Chhaupadi (2064). Yet implementation remains weak. When culture is pitted against rights, culture too often wins.

What's Next?

Ending Chhaupadi and similar practices globally requires more than criminal statutes. It requires a deep cultural shift. Education campaigns, menstrual health awareness, media advocacy, and grassroots leadership by women themselves are all vital. So is engaging religious leaders, teachers, and fathers, because this is not a “women’s issue.” It is a societal issue.

We need to teach our children that menstruation is not impure. That dignity is not a favor; it’s a right. That tradition must evolve when it harms.

A Final Thought

Chhaupadi is not just about sheds; it’s about silence. And silence is dangerous. We cannot keep whispering about menstruation while shouting about progress. We cannot hope for gender equality while quietly watching half our population be treated as unclean for simply existing as they are.

This is not just Nepal’s problem; it is humanity’s blind spot.

And until we bring it into the light, the shadow of Chhaupadi, by whatever name it goes, will continue to haunt girls across the world.