The Fragile Pride of Nationalism: A Reflection on India’s New Wave

The Fragile Pride of Nationalism: A Reflection on India’s New Wave

Nationalism is a curious thing. It’s a fire that warms some and burns others, a banner waved with fervor by those who believe it defines them. In India today, a new wave of nationalists has emerged — louder, prouder, and more assertive than ever. From saffron flags dotting the skyline to social media timelines brimming with slogans like “Bharat Mata Ki Jai,” this resurgence feels both intoxicating and inescapable. But the more I think about it, the more I wonder: what’s the point of pride in something you didn’t choose?

Let’s start with a simple truth: none of us picked India — or any country — as our birthplace. I didn’t sit in some cosmic waiting room, flipping through a catalog of nations, weighing the pros and cons of monsoon seasons versus maple syrup. I was born here, in this sprawling, chaotic, beautiful mess of a country, because that’s where the dice of fate landed. So were you, probably. And yet, nationalism asks us to take this accident of geography and turn it into a cornerstone of identity, a source of chest-thumping pride. It’s like bragging about your eye color or the shape of your nose — arbitrary traits handed to you by a lottery you didn’t enter.

In India, this new wave of nationalism often cloaks itself in history and heritage. The argument goes that we must honor the sacrifices of those who fought for independence, that we owe it to our ancestors to protect the idea of “Bharat.” Fair enough — gratitude for the past is noble. But what begins as reverence quickly morphs into something else: a demand for conformity, a rejection of dissent, and an us-versus-them mentality that feels less like unity and more like division. The nationalists of today aren’t just celebrating India — they’re gatekeeping it, deciding who gets to belong and who doesn’t. If you question the script, you’re a traitor. If you point out flaws, you’re anti-national. It’s a brittle kind of pride, one that crumbles under scrutiny.

The irony is that nationalism thrives on the very randomness it ignores. India’s borders, like those of most nations, are the product of history’s messy scribbles — colonial conquests, partitions, and treaties drawn by people long dead. The idea of “India” as a sacred, eternal entity is a modern construct, not a timeless truth. And yet, we’re told to treat it as sacrosanct, to pledge our loyalty to a concept that’s younger than some of our grandparents. Why? Because we happened to be born within these lines on a map? That’s not a reason — it’s a coincidence.

This isn’t to say there’s nothing worth loving about India. The diversity of languages, the resilience of its people, the sheer audacity of its democracy — these are real, tangible things. But they don’t need nationalism to shine. In fact, nationalism often dims them, flattening a kaleidoscope of cultures into a single, monochrome narrative. The new wave in India loves to talk about “one nation, one identity,” but what does that even mean in a country where every state feels like a different world? Forcing unity through pride risks erasing the very things that make India worth caring about.

And then there’s the practical side. While nationalists wave flags and chant slogans, the birth lottery keeps spinning. Some Indians are born into privilege — urban, educated, connected — while others land in villages without clean water or schools. If we’re so proud of our nation, why aren’t we angrier about that gap? Nationalism often feels like a distraction, a way to rally people around an abstract idea instead of fixing the concrete problems staring us in the face. It’s easier to blame outsiders or “anti-nationals” than to admit that the system we’re so proud of fails millions of its own.

The more I see of the world, the more nationalism feels like a relic — a story we tell ourselves to feel special in a universe that doesn’t care. People are starting to notice. Travel, the internet, and global crises like climate change are peeling back the illusion of borders. We’re all just humans, products of chance, trying to make sense of our little corner of the planet. The pride of nationalism falls apart when you realize how little control you had over the thing you’re proud of. It’s like a child boasting about a toy they were given — cute, but ultimately meaningless.

India’s new nationalists might disagree. They’ll say I’m missing the point, that pride in nationhood binds us together, gives us purpose. Maybe. But I’d rather find purpose in what we choose — our actions, our kindness, our efforts to build something better — than in the accident of where we were born. The flags can wave, the slogans can echo, but at the end of the day, they’re just noise. True strength doesn’t come from shouting about the lottery you won — it comes from what you do with the hand you’re dealt.