Who Cares? (Asking for a Country)

I woke up today with a head full of smoke and a heart full of static. The honest mood is anger—unseasoned, unfiltered. But anger in India comes marinated in sadness. Because how long can you keep yelling into a traffic jam?

We’re told “population is a problem.” Sure. But more people can also mean more hands, more ideas, more hearts. In our case it somehow means more files, more queues, more stamps, more “come tomorrow.” The math is simple: we don’t have a population problem as much as a priorities problem.

The “Who Cares” Economy

• Young person dies in a road accident. Police are understaffed, overworked, underpaid—and sometimes, yes, under-incentivized until you “incentivize” them. Who cares?

• Some blast happens; leaders arrive with cameras, shake hands with grief, then leave grief behind. Who cares?

• AQI is a coughing contest and the scorecard is a blame game: “It was worse under them!” Great. I’m so relieved my lungs are losing more slowly. Who cares?

• Girls’ education? “We support it,” says everyone, until a girl needs safety to get to school, a sanitary pad, or a teacher who doesn’t mock her voice. Who cares?

• Sex education? Taboo. Consent? Awkward. Abuse? “Don’t ruin the family name.” Who actually cares?

For 37 years, the headlines are déjà vu with a different font. Potholes are seasonal like mangoes. Floods are annual like tax returns. Hospitals are places you go to pray. Courts are marathons without medals. And dinner still ends with “ladki plates utha le”—because patriarchy does not forget dessert.

Marry this with cultural nitpicks: “shaadi acchi honi chahiye,” “ladki chashma pehenti hai,” “ladka biwi ka ghulam ban gaya.” We have so much commentary about women that by the time a woman gets to be a person, the credits have already rolled.

Civics by Mythology, Not by Constitution

Your small nephew can give you a TED Talk on why demolition was justified, but ask him the preamble of the Constitution and you’ll get buffering. We’ve raised citizens on WhatsApp syllabi and turned nuance into a four-letter word. Meanwhile, Muslims are told to “adjust,” not “belong.” Minorities are reminded to be grateful for mere breathing room. Who cares that the idea of India was designed like a big table, not a gated society?

Bureaucracy: A Love Story (With Paper)

Our bureaucracy is a cathedral to procedure, not to outcomes. It can move mountains of paper but not a file from one desk to the next without a pilgrimage. It’s not that people inside don’t care. Many do. But they’re trapped in a machine that rewards the stamp, not the solution. We’ve built a system where the best employees burn out and the worst ones just wait you out.

The Imagined India (No, Not the One in the TV Ads)

Imagine you live in a state where literacy is a default setting. Roads are boringly smooth. Sanitation isn’t a fancy pilot, it’s just… there. Public toilets don’t require Google Reviews and a tetanus shot. You breathe like it’s free and not a paid subscription.

You trust government schools and hospitals because they’ve earned it. Justice doesn’t become a retirement hobby. A girl child is celebrated without invoking “vansh chalane ke liye ek aur kilo.” Public transport is reliable enough that your blood pressure stays in your body. Equality isn’t a fight; it’s furniture. The government works—and not only when there’s ribbon to cut.

That India is not a fantasy. Bits of it exist—in certain wards, districts, states. We know what good looks like. We just don’t scale it. We pilot excellence and mass-produce mediocrity.

Okay, But What Do We Do? (Besides Rage-Scroll)

Wit is nice. Action is nicer. Here’s a starter kit for “care”:

1. Vote like your lungs depend on it. Because they do. Reward boring, competent governance over loud, performative outrage.

2. Make data your love language. Demand AQI sensors in your ward, road safety audits, ward-level budgets, school learning outcomes. Numbers make lies sweat.

3. Fund local fixes. PTAs, mohalla committees, RWAs—unsexy, but they move needles. Sponsor a zebra crossing. Adopt a government school library. Pay for a speed breaker where data shows crashes.

4. Normalize equality at home. Plates don’t have gender. Chores don’t have castes. If your husband helps, he’s not a “ghulam,” he’s literate in love.

5. Teach the Constitution before mythology. Values aren’t fragile. If a story can’t survive questions, it’s propaganda, not faith.

6. Call the small stuff. Catcalls, caste slurs, drunk driving, bribery “chai”—treat them as leaks that sink ships.

7. Back the good bureaucrats. When an officer delivers, write to their seniors. Celebrate competence loudly; it’s contagious.

8. Lawyering up is civic action. PILs, RTIs, grievance portals—dry tools, wet results. Paper can also protect.

Dear Politicians and Officials (Since You’re Also Us)

We know you’re juggling chaos with a teaspoon. But your paycheque is public trust. Sensitivity is not weakness; it’s service. Show up before the camera does. Staff the police stations. Fix the crossings where kids die. Put speed cameras where the data hurts. Make hospitals work like airports—predictable, accountable, on time.

And please, stop benchmarking today against someone else’s worst yesterday. The only useful comparison is against the future we promised.

Anger, Upgraded

I’m done with the sadness that makes anger polite. I want the kind that files RTIs, sits in ward meetings, and teaches daughters to speak with both hands on the mic. The kind that refuses to treat injustice as “Bhagwan ki den”—because God did not design potholes, people did.

“Who cares?” is not a shrug. It’s a roll call.

• For gender equality—I care.

• For safer roads—I care.

• For clean air—I care.

• For public schools that sparkle—I care.

• For hospitals that heal, courts that decide, and governments that govern—I care.

Care is a habit. Countries are built out of habits.

So yes, I’m angry. And today, anger gets a job description.