I’m Indian and I’m Ashamed

We have this habit of pointing fingers outward. Every time someone brings up India’s broken systems, the conversation shifts to “But America also has racism” or “China isn’t democratic either.” We can’t handle a mirror. But sometimes, we need to sit down, look closely, and admit it: we’re failing ourselves, and we’re doing it everywhere — at home, abroad, on roads, in queues, in restaurants, on planes, in hotels.

It’s not even about one viral video anymore. Those come and go. It’s about the pattern.

A few months back, a video from Pattaya, Thailand went viral. It showed a group of Indian tourists littering the beach — plastic wrappers, beer cans, clothes dumped like they were back in their own living room. That scene wasn’t unfamiliar. It looked just like Juhu beach after a long weekend. But this time, it wasn’t just our mess. It was a global one. And that’s where the pain hits harder.

The comment sections weren’t full of Westerners mocking us. They were full of Indians. Indians abroad, Indians at home, saying the same thing: “I’m ashamed. Why are we like this?” Some even wrote, “Not every brown person is Indian,” as if we now have to publicly distance ourselves from our own people.

This isn’t about one group in Thailand or one plane with clogged toilets. This is about a culture of carelessness that we’ve normalised and exported. And we need to ask ourselves: where did this begin?

At home, nobody’s watching

The problem starts in our own streets. Step out of any railway station or government office and you’ll find paan stains, plastic plates, open urinals, and piles of garbage dumped just outside “Do Not Litter” signs. We’ve grown up around this. Our cities are dotted with open drains. Our footpaths are broken. Our air is full of dust and noise. We see men urinating in the open and don’t even flinch.

It’s not about poverty or lack of resources. It is our attitude. Littering isn’t just a side effect of being poor. There are poor countries with clean streets. Civic sense doesn’t require wealth. It requires discipline and respect for shared spaces — two things we haven’t taught well.

If anything, some of the most blatant disregard for rules comes from people who are well-off. The ones who live in gated societies but toss garbage from their balconies. The ones who own SUVs and drive on sidewalks during traffic jams. The ones who fly Business Class but stuff toilets with diapers, blankets, and food wrappers. So this isn’t a class problem. It’s a mindset problem.

Abroad, the spotlight burns brighter

When we take this attitude abroad, it turns into international shame. And the saddest part is — we don’t even notice.

Indian travellers are now among the biggest spenders overseas. Last year alone, we spent over $30 billion abroad. We’re taking over global tourism markets. But along with our wallets, we have carried our disregard.

You’ll find videos of Indian families caught stealing hangers and soap dispensers from hotels in Bali. Passengers cooking onions and tomatoes on international flights.

Groups speaking loudly, skipping queues, arguing with staff, throwing tantrums about Indian food abroad. There’s a pattern here: we act like we’re not guests…we act like we own the place.

Some of it comes from ignorance. But most of it comes from the belief that nothing will happen. Because that’s what we’re used to. At home, there’s no fear of consequences. You can bribe a cop. You can throw trash and someone else will clean it. You can break a rule, and you’ll find a shortcut out. That belief travels with us. And then we’re surprised when people look at us differently.

I once met a hotel manager in Thailand who said they dreaded Indian group bookings. Not because of racism. But because they knew what was coming: loud voices, food complaints, buffet hoarding, towel theft. It’s reached a point where some high-end hotels display passive-aggressive signs specifically targeting Indian guests.

“Please do not take food from the breakfast buffet to your room.”

“Please maintain silence in common areas.”

Is it embarrassing? Yes. Is it unfair? No. We have earned that reputation.

Not all, but many. And that’s enough.

The moment anyone raises this issue, someone says, “But not all Indians are like this.” That’s true. But the thing is, it doesn’t take everyone. It takes enough.

If even 30% of our tourists behave badly, that’s enough to taint the rest. Because that’s what people remember. That’s what shows up in their experiences and in their stories. It only takes a few loud, messy, entitled people to make an entire group look bad.

We can argue that Chinese tourists have a worse reputation. That Americans are arrogant. That Europeans can be rude. And that’s all true in some cases. But that doesn’t mean we get a free pass. It doesn’t erase our flaws. It just means we’re not alone…and that’s hardly something to be proud of.

Our culture has some explaining to do

Why are we like this?

It’s not genetic but cultural, I must say. It’s social conditioning. From childhood, many of us are taught how to pass exams, how to save money, how to win competitions — but not how to respect public space. We learn to be clever, not considerate. We are told to do what it takes to get ahead. That often means breaking a line, getting a “pass,” pulling strings, or using jugaad. So we grow up thinking civic rules are flexible, not fixed.

Even basic hygiene gets ignored. You can go to engineering colleges or tech parks and still find people spitting gutka outside the gate. Or employees using fancy restrooms but leaving them filthy. You’ll find educated people throwing plastic from car windows, because their own house is clean, and that’s what matters.

We respect private space but not public space. We clean our homes during Diwali but not the streets. We decorate temples but ignore the garbage outside them. That disconnect runs deep.

The gendered side of civic failure

Women often carry the brunt of bad civic planning and worse public behaviour. Lack of clean public toilets impacts women far more. Poor lighting and lack of policing makes streets unsafe. And when men behave badly with women — Indian or foreign — it doesn’t just look bad; it’s dangerous.

There have been dozens of cases where Indian men harass foreign tourists, take pictures without consent, or pass lewd comments. Some incidents are even more serious. These are not isolated…they reflect the same lack of boundaries we show in traffic, in queues, in public spaces. It’s all connected.

A society that doesn’t respect public space rarely respects public boundaries either!!!

The solution isn’t a campaign

Governments love campaigns.

“Swachh Bharat.”

“Atithi Devo Bhava.”

Posters go up. Slogans get printed. But on the ground, not much changes. Because civic sense doesn’t come from posters, it comes from pressure. From enforcement. From embarrassment.

What we need is a culture of calling out. When someone litters, tell them. When someone jumps a queue, speak up. When someone behaves badly abroad, don’t excuse it with a joke. Shame works, when used wisely. Peer pressure is how change begins.

Parents need to teach it. Schools need to teach it. But more than that, we need to feel it. We need to feel that what we do outside our homes is a reflection of who we are. Not just to the world, but to ourselves.

Yesterday, I visited Dhari Devi temple with my family. It’s not just any temple for us because our ancestral village is nearby, and Dhari Devi is our Kul Devi( clan deity). We have grown up hearing stories of her power, her grace, how she protects our family.

The temple is surrounded by beauty. The river flows strong, the hills stand still, and there’s a quiet reverence in the air — until you look down.

Plastic wrappers scattered across the ground. Piles of used plates behind the stalls. Empty water bottles rolling near the steps. Flies hovering over leftover food. Dogs sniffing through garbage. The kind of filth that doesn’t just ruin the view — it ruins the feeling. You go for devotion, but end up distracted by decay.

My sister and I needed to use the washroom, so we followed the signs. The women’s toilet was bad enough. No working flush. No bins. Just stained walls and broken locks. But what we saw near the men’s side was worse.

Right outside the toilet stall— just a few feet from where men were relieving themselves — sat a man, barefoot, chopping onions and tomatoes on the floor. He had a small stove and was cooking his meal, surrounded by the stench and flies. That image was so jarring, so out of place, I felt nauseated immediately. I turned my head and vomited on the spot. It wasn’t just the smell — it was the sheer disregard. The overlap of food, filth, faith, and apathy in one space. And no one else around us even blinked.

That’s the problem. We have become immune. Immune to garbage near temples. Immune to people living and cooking beside open drains. Immune to hygiene failures even in places we consider sacred. And when someone reacts, like I did, we think they’re being dramatic. We call it adjustment. But adjustment has become a license for filth.

We clean the idols, but leave the temple complex dirty. We fold our hands in prayer, but toss our plates on the floor after prasad. We light incense inside, while flies buzz outside. It’s not lack of resources — it’s lack of shame.

If we can’t even maintain cleanliness in places of worship, where we go with hope and humility, then where will we?

This isn’t one incident in my life. It wasn’t just that one temple or that one day. This level of civic neglect is everywhere — and we’ve normalised it so deeply that we’ve stopped seeing anything wrong with it.

Last year, I was at the banks of the Ganga. I had just finished my prayers and, like many do, bent down to sip a little river water from my palm. It’s considered sacred. The Ganga is believed to wash away sins, heal wounds, and carry centuries of spiritual weight. But as I drank, I noticed something in the corner of my eye.

A child, around seven, was peeing right beside me. Out in the open, right there on the ghat. He was laughing while doing it. His parents were watching and laughing with him. It was “cute” to them. A moment to enjoy. No one stopped him. No one told him, “Beta, not here.”

That day I didn’t just taste river water — I tasted the truth.

We chant Ganga maiya ki jai and then urinate in her waters. We call her holy but treat her like a dumping ground. We bring flowers and prayers, but leave behind plastic and feces. And when someone points it out, we shrug. Arre, chalta hai. Baccha hi toh hai. That’s how we excuse it. That’s how we pass this behaviour on.

We are more than this. But that’s not what people see.

It’s frustrating because India is so much more than this. We’re warm, resilient, talented, and generous. But that image gets hidden behind the mess. The noise. The attitude. The lack of accountability. It’s like wrapping gold in garbage. No one will look at what’s inside. And that’s what hurts the most.

Being proud of our culture doesn’t mean defending every part of it. It means improving it. Fixing what is broken. Cleaning what is dirty. Owning our flaws. That’s how pride works…not by looking away. But by looking straight at the problem and saying — this isn’t acceptable anymore.

And maybe then, slowly, things might change.