Criticism Is Not a Career: Try Contribution (By a Daughter of a True Indian)

The other evening, I found myself at a casual get-together with friends. The wine was flowing, the snacks were crisp, and the conversation… well, it took its usual ‘after-two-drinks’ detour into the dusty lanes of Indian politics. Suddenly, the room transformed from an air-conditioned lounge in Sydney into a live studio debate on Times Now. One friend was passionately bashing BJP, another passionately bashing Congress. In a few minutes, we had Modi compared to Hitler, and Nehru blamed for our clogged city drains. I, however, sipped my drink silently, offering only a smile here and there. That’s when a friend looked straight at me and smirked, “You’re awfully quiet. Don’t you like criticising Modi and his government? Or are you a Modi bhakt?”

Ah! The trap had been set. I smiled again (the kind of smile that confuses even a seasoned debater) and replied, “I’m not a fan of any party. Time to time, I’ve admired some leaders. I liked Indira Gandhi. I liked Atal ji. I do respect Modi too. But that doesn't mean I’m selling tickets for a political rally.” Another friend chimed in, “But you’ve written blogs that support BJP.” “No,” I said, “I wrote blogs that support India. Maybe the confusion is because I don’t wear a political jersey while expressing pride in my country.”

Silence. Awkward pause. Someone coughed. See, I was raised by a father who was not just an academic and administrator, but also a psychologist — the rare kind who could teach patriotism without shouting slogans. Before I moved abroad in 2001, he said something that has stayed with me like a soul tattoo: “Wherever you go, never leave your culture behind. You don’t just represent your family; you represent a nation of 1.2 billion. Be proud of your roots. Never criticise your country’s infrastructure in front of outsiders — just as you wouldn’t badmouth your mother in a crowded market.” And that’s exactly where I stand. I live abroad, but I carry India in my language, my food, my festivals, my values, and yes, my blogs. Criticising your nation at every tea party has become the new intellectual currency. Sadly, it’s inflation-proof. No facts required. No responsibility taken. A bit like saying, “Why is the train late?” while never having lifted a single stone to fix the track. Let’s be honest — if criticising governments solved anything, India would be Scandinavia by now. But no, armchair activism continues like a never-ending Netflix series.

Every chai-samosa session ends with the same script: blame the politicians, glorify some pre-’47 fantasy, throw in the word ‘democracy’, and feel morally superior. As my father used to say, “Most people who loudly criticise systems have no desire to improve them — only a desire to sound intelligent while doing nothing.” If you are truly disturbed by policies, pick up a pen, not a pitchfork. Volunteer, vote, run for office, build something, teach someone, clean a drain, or at the very least — read a full newspaper article before quoting it. Otherwise, it’s just frustration disguised as patriotism. No nation is perfect. But at least respect the choice of the majority. A democracy doesn't give you a right to be cynical — it gives you a responsibility to participate constructively. So the next time you ask me why I don’t join the chorus of political mockery, I’ll remind you again: I was raised not to shout at my mother when she's down, but to help her stand taller. And if loving my country offends your political mood of the day — well, that’s a bill I’m willing to foot.