Rabindranath Tagore said, “Patriotism cannot be our final spiritual shelter; my refuge is humanity.” And George Bernard Shaw said, “You’ll never have a quiet world till you knock the patriotism out of the human race.” And Bertrand Russell said: “Patriotism is the willingness to kill and be killed for trivial reasons.”
When India wants our love, what does it mean, practically? We are among the most corrupt nations, our air is poisonous in many cities, our roads are congested, this is one of most unsafe places on earth for women, our quality of life is among the worst, and, according to the World Happiness Report, the average Indian is among the most unhappy people on earth. This is a country bereft of street joy—but we are expected to love it.
Without patriotism, a person is in the limbo of cultural orphanhood. Most people are patriots—including the new upper-middle-class and affluent Indians—because they do not belong outside India. Many are uncomfortable outside India. Everything about places outside India tends to make them suffer, probably after an initial one week of excitement. Even the chaos of India comforts them more than the tranquillity of a rich-world town.
