The Ugly Indian, Confronting the Uncomfortable Reality of Our Racism and Prejudice

The Ugly Indian, Confronting the Uncomfortable Reality of Our Racism and Prejudice

In the collective imagination, India often projects itself as Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam—the world is one family. It is a nation that prides itself on its ancient civilization, its diversity of languages and cultures, and its historical role as a leader of the non-aligned movement, standing in solidarity with other nations of the global south. Yet, beneath this veneer of unity and philosophical inclusivity lies a pervasive and often unacknowledged social malady: a deep-seated, multifaceted bigotry that targets both foreigners and our own fellow citizens. The recent incident where a 27-year-old flight attendant from Meghalaya was subjected to verbal racial abuse twice within an hour in the national capital, Delhi, is not an anomaly. It is a symptomatic eruption of a chronic disease that has long festered within the Indian social fabric. This incident, notable for being condemned by a Union minister, forces upon us an uncomfortable but necessary introspection: Are Indians racist? The evidence, as meticulously laid out by commentators like Karan Thapar, suggests a troubling and inescapable conclusion: while not all of us are racist all the time, a significant portion of our society is, and this prejudice manifests with a startling lack of inhibition.

The facts, as Thapar states, are “stark and probably incontestable.” Our vocabulary itself is a testament to this ingrained bias. The use of the term “Habshi”—a historical relic with complex origins, now deployed as a racial slur against people of African descent—is commonplace. This linguistic othering is coupled with tangible discrimination. Africans living in India, particularly students in cities like Delhi and Bangalore, frequently report being denied housing, facing hostile stares, and being subjected to violence and police harassment. They are often stereotyped as drug peddlers or criminals, their very presence viewed with suspicion. This is not a perception limited to India; it is a reputation we have carried abroad. Thapar recalls from his time in Nigeria in the 1980s that the local Indian community was considered “more racist than the expatriate white residents,” a damning indictment that has been echoed in other African nations like Kenya, South Africa, and Uganda. The reason, he astutely notes, is not that our prejudice is uniquely virulent, but that we are “less adept at hiding it.” Where Western racism has often learned the language of political correctness and implicit bias, Indian prejudice remains raw, overt, and unvarnished.

The Hierarchy of Pigmentation: From Slurs to Skin-Whitening Creams

This racism is not solely directed outwards. It operates within a brutal internal hierarchy of skin colour and ethnicity. North Indians have historically used the term “Madrasi” to clump all South Indians together, erasing their distinct Dravidian cultures and identities, while people from the North-East are routinely and derogatorily called “chinki,” a slur that mockingly references East Asian features. The thinking behind this, as the flight attendant from Meghalaya heartbreakingly articulated, is that those who “don’t look like the rest of the Indians” are not considered fully Indian. Her statement—”My only mistake is that I am born in India and I look like this”—is a profound condemnation of a nationalism that is narrowly defined by certain phenotypic traits.

This internal colourism is powerfully reinforced by a multi-billion-dollar skin-whitening industry that has, for decades, sold the toxic idea that fair skin is synonymous with success, beauty, and desirability. The most infamous example, “Fair & Lovely” (now rebranded as “Glow & Lovely” in a superficial attempt at damage control), was for years endorsed by the biggest stars of Bollywood, who had “no compunction” in peddling this self-hatred to the masses. Our matrimonial advertisements remain saturated with demands for “fair” brides, explicitly linking skin tone to marital worth. This obsession creates a society that is, on one hand, “fascinated by white skin,” fawning over Western tourists, while, on the other, treating darker-skinned Indians and those with distinct ethnic features with disdain and otherness.

The Political Denial and Societal Hypocrisy

A significant barrier to addressing this issue is the high-level denial that accompanies it. Thapar references a 2008 interview with Sharad Pawar, then president of the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI), regarding the controversy where Harbhajan Singh was alleged to have called Australian cricketer Andrew Symonds a “monkey.” Pawar dismissed the entire controversy on the astonishing grounds that “Indians can never be racist.” This statement is not just false; it is a politically convenient abdication of responsibility. For a public figure to deny the existence of a well-documented social problem is to effectively grant it permission to persist.

This denial is underpinned by a staggering hypocrisy. As Thapar points out, Indians are exquisitely sensitive to racism when we are its victims. We can “sense it in people’s looks, tone, manner” abroad and are quick to cry foul, often rightly so, about attacks on Indian students in countries like the United States and Australia. Yet, we remain willfully blind to the same behaviours in our own context. A Delhi shopkeeper will treat an African customer with disdain while fawning over a white Englishman, and this disparity in treatment is so normalized that it often fails to register as a moral outrage. We are outraged at the symptom when we are the victim but are complacent about the disease when we are the carrier.

The Majoritarian Tapestry of Prejudice

The problem extends beyond racism in the conventional, colour-based sense. It is woven into the very fabric of majoritarian Indian society. Thapar broadens the scope to include how “we often treat Muslims, Dalits, Adivasis like aliens.” They are kept at “arm’s distance, rarely invited home and, often, are not even polite to them.” This is the crux of the matter. The othering of the woman from Meghalaya is part of the same continuum of prejudice that marginalizes religious and caste minorities. It is a mindset that defines Indianness in narrow, majoritarian terms—upper-caste, Hindi-speaking, and possessing a certain “look”—and views anyone outside this constructed identity as less than, or not truly, Indian.

This majoritarian hatefulness has been emboldened in recent years, moving from private drawing-room conversations to public political discourse. Lynchings, hate speech, and economic boycotts have targeted minorities, creating an atmosphere where open prejudice is not just tolerated but often celebrated as a form of patriotism. In such a climate, holding up a mirror to the “ugly Indian” becomes an act of courage. As Thapar laments, the media often shies away from this task, and there is “little to correct, leave aside admonish us.” While laws like the Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes (Prevention of Atrocities) Act exist to protect Dalits and Adivasis, there is a glaring lack of legal and social recourse for Muslims, Africans, or Northeasterners facing daily discrimination.

The Path Forward: From Denial to Reflection and Reform

Confronting this ugly reality is the first and most difficult step toward change. It requires a multi-pronged effort:

1. Acknowledgment and Education: The culture of denial, exemplified by figures like Sharad Pawar, must end. We need to incorporate lessons on India’s immense ethnic, racial, and cultural diversity into school curricula, not as a footnote, but as a central tenet of what it means to be Indian. This education must explicitly address and deconstruct colourism and prejudice.

2. Media Responsibility: The media must move beyond sensationalizing individual incidents and instead initiate a sustained national conversation about systemic prejudice. It must “hold up the mirror to the ugly Indian,” forcing a society-wide introspection.

3. Legal and Institutional Frameworks: Stronger anti-discrimination laws that cover housing, employment, and public accommodation are needed. The police and judiciary require sensitization to handle cases of racial and ethnic harassment with the seriousness they deserve.

4. Cultural Shift: The entertainment industry, particularly Bollywood, must be held accountable for perpetuating colourist and stereotypical portrayals. The rebranding of fairness creams is a start, but a genuine shift requires celebrating dark skin and diverse features in mainstream media.

The journey to curing this social malady begins with the painful but necessary act of seeing “ourselves the way others perceive us.” The reflection may horrify us, but it is only through this discomfort that growth is possible. The dream of a truly unified India, one that lives up to its constitutional values and its civilizational ethos of unity in diversity, remains unattainable until we collectively decide to excise the poison of prejudice from our hearts and our public square. The woman from Meghalaya’s tears should not be in vain; they should be the catalyst for a long-overdue national reckoning.

Q&A: India’s Battle with Internal Prejudice

1. The article states that Indians are “less adept at hiding” their racism compared to Westerners. What does this mean, and what are its consequences?

This means that racial prejudice in India is often expressed overtly and explicitly, without the social filter or coded language often found in Western societies. This can manifest as open staring, unsolicited comments on physical appearance, the use of blatant racial slurs like “chinki” or “Habshi,” and outright refusal of services or housing. The consequence is that the targets of this racism experience it as a direct, in-your-face form of humiliation and othering, making their daily lives a constant struggle for dignity. It also creates a public environment where such behaviour is normalized, making it harder to challenge and eradicate.

2. How does the internal prejudice against fellow Indians from the North-East and South differ from the prejudice against Africans?

While the targets are different, the underlying mechanism of “othering” is similar. Both are based on phenotypic differences from a constructed North Indian “norm.” However, the prejudice against Northeasterners often carries an additional layer of xenophobia, where they are viewed not just as different but as “foreigners” or “immigrants” in their own country, with questions like “Where are you really from?” The prejudice against Africans is often laced with more sinister stereotypes linking them to crime and drugs. In both cases, the victims are denied their full and equal Indian identity.

3. What is the connection between the commercial skin-whitening industry and societal racism?

The skin-whitening industry is both a cause and a symptom of societal colourism. It actively perpetuates and monetizes the idea that fair skin is superior, more attractive, and more likely to lead to success. By using major Bollywood stars as ambassadors, it legitimizes this prejudice and implants it deep within the public psyche. This commercial reinforcement of colour hierarchy normalizes discrimination against darker-skinned people, making societal racism seem like a natural or justified response to an inherent hierarchy of beauty and worth.

4. Why is the political and public denial of racism, as seen in Sharad Pawar’s statement, so damaging?

Denial at such a high level has several damaging effects:

• It Invalidates Victims’ Experiences: It tells those who face racial abuse that their pain is not real or is insignificant.

• It Stifles Public Discourse: It shuts down any possibility of a national conversation about the problem, as the first step—acknowledgment—is refused.

• It Perpetuates the Status Quo: By refusing to acknowledge the problem, the political class absolves itself of any responsibility to enact legal, educational, or social reforms to address it.

• It Emboldens Perpetrators: It sends a message that such behaviour is not taken seriously by the authorities, thereby encouraging more people to engage in it without fear of consequence.

5. Beyond racism, what other forms of “majoritarian hatefulness” does the article link to this core problem?

The article broadens the scope to include the treatment of religious and caste minorities. It explicitly mentions Muslims, Dalits, and Adivasis, who are often treated as “aliens,” socially ostracized, and denied basic politeness and inclusion. This suggests that the racism faced by Africans and Northeasterners is part of a larger tapestry of majoritarian prejudice, where any group that does not conform to the dominant caste-Hindu, North Indian archetype is marginalized, discriminated against, and made to feel like a second-class citizen in their own nation.