Indian Culture: Rhetoric vs Reality 

Rajendra Kumar Kale

June 16, 2025

In an era when Indian culture is often romanticized, glorified, or co-opted for ideological purposes, I offer a reason-based overview through a secular lens. My lived experiences in a western Indian city reveal enduring historical injustices, deep-rooted social contradictions (religion vs. constitution, science vs. superstition), and the political manipulation of marginalized communities. I infer that only grassroots reforms can bring cultural renewal.

After a civilian aircraft crashed killing hundreds in India recently, a message was widely shared on WhatsApp groups:

A young woman couldn’t board the flight because she was delayed in traffic. One passenger jumped off and survived. This proves it: the time of death is fixed at birth. No one dies before their time. This is the ultimate truth! 

The message was shared unironically, as a kind of spiritual affirmation. India’s worsening traffic woes that reveal inadequate infrastructure are presented as an accepted way of life. What is missing from every immediate response I have seen—whether from laypersons or the educated elite—is any spirit of inquiry, technical reflection, call for reform, or even genuine civic anguish over the crash. 

This also reflects a deeper cultural reality: that Indian society, even in 2025, often defaults to fatalism and metaphysical justifications rather than the values enshrined in its secular Constitution, which explicitly asks citizens “to develop the scientific temper, humanism, and the spirit of inquiry and reform.” These are not just constitutional ideals but prerequisites for meaningful human development. 

Cultural footprints beyond art and literature

Culture is the set of distinctive features of a society, encompassing not only art and literature, but also lifestyles, ways of living together, value systems, traditions, and beliefs. This notion—adapted from UNESCO’s definition—is deeply connected to a society’s prosperity or the lack of it. Indian culture is often internationally celebrated through its food, festivals, and folk arts, but this gloss can obscure deeper structural injustices. Culture also resides in how we treat our workers, design our cities, and deliver basic services. The real test of a civilization lies not in its symbols, but in the everyday lives of its poorest citizens.

Human Development as Cultural Indicator

I therefore begin with the Human Development Report 2025 published by the United Nations, which offers a framework for understanding Indian culture from a global perspective. Indeed, the report by itself is an approximate cultural reflection in numbers. The highlights I present below are followed by a street-level cultural overview from Pune, one of India’s most prosperous cities—a reality that quietly contradicts the shining image often portrayed. 

In the Human Development report, India ranks 130th out of 191 nations on the United Nations Human Development Index (HDI). Scandinavian countries consistently rank high, with Iceland on the top this time around. India shares its rank with its South Asian neighbour, Bangladesh. The HDI is a composite measure of three key dimensions of human development: A long and healthy life, knowledge, and a decent standard of living measured by Gross National Income (GNI) per capita, which, in the report, is adjusted for Purchase Power Parity, PPP, in dollars. India shares its HDI value of 0.685 with Bangladesh (Iceland: 0.972), but their breakdown values differ. 

According to the report an Indian's life expectancy is 72 years as against 74.7 and 82.7 for Bangladesh and Iceland, respectively.  This indicates the state of the health care system. Mean school years of Indian, Bangladesh, and, and Icelandic adults are 6.9, 6.8, and 13.9, respectively. That means, on the average, an Indian/Bangladeshi has received secondary education up to 7th standard, whereas children currently admitted are expected to study for 13.0, 12.3, and 18.9 years for those nations, respectively. The PPP-adjusted per-capita GNI of India, Bangladesh, and Iceland are US$ 9,047; 8,498; and 69,117; respectively. The reality is worse.

The Problems with PPP adjustment

Dollar-based Purchase Power Parity adjustment is expected to allow fairer comparison of real living standards across countries by accounting for differences in price levels. For example, it is argued that $1 in India buys more goods/services than in Iceland. But goods and services for daily living in India can hardly be compared with those in the developed nation. For instance, a 20-cent city bus ticket in India brings overcrowding, theft risk, poorly maintained interiors, delays if not cancellations—with no prior notice in the absence of GPS-based information with the consequent loss of wages—and so on. Deaths by unsafe footboard travel in overcrowded Mumbai suburban trains is common. As many as 29,970 persons died and 30,214 were injured on Mumbai’s suburban train network in the last 11 years. On the other hand, a higher amount delivers a proportionately high-quality bus trip with highest possible safety in a nation like Japan. 

Hence, to consider living with dignity not just surviving without it, nominal income, not Dollar-based PPP adjustment need be considered. The Human Development Report 2025 does not directly publish nominal (non-PPP) GNI per capita. According to the AI-compiled estimates based on World Bank data, the nominal per-capita GNI figures of India, Bangladesh, and Iceland are, respectively, US$ 2,390; 2,820; and 74,400; notably, with Bangladesh scoring better than India. Accordingly, India's average, nominal per-capita income is $ 199 or INR 16,517 per month. But there is a problem with the nominal averaging also. Given the enormous accumulation of wealth in the hands of an extremely small fraction of the Indian population, the average is skewed upward. For instance, if you average the ages of a one-month-old baby and its 100-year-old great-grandmother, you get an absurd 50.04 years, which tells us nothing useful about either.

The income gap in India is much more stark compared to the example above. As per Oxfam, World Inequality Database, the top 1% Indians own more than 40% of the wealth and the bottom 50% earn less than 13% of total income. So, one may think that median would be a better indicator of the incomes of Indians, which is the mid-value of the incomes plotted against people’s income. AI provides an estimate of the median monthly income of India using available sources (like the World Inequality Database, NSSO, Pew, IMF, and private surveys) as $150–175/month, or INR 12,500 – 14,600.

Even the median income is not an absolute or complete indicator in a country like India. It can only tell that 50% earn less and 50% more than this value. India’s income distribution is sharply skewed, with most people clustered near the bottom and a dramatic rise among the top 1–10%. A large population could have income close to the median income in a relatively equal society but not where 10% earn exorbitantly more. A further problem arises from the work culture in India. The Human Development Report 2025 assumes equal, fair working hours while calculating incomes. What if a poor Indian works 18 or more hours a day to earn his monthly income, something not uncommon? That is a serious cultural omission when comparing human welfare across unequal societies. 

The Lived Culture: Inside, Across, and Outside the Gate

So, it is time for me to set aside the global report and turn to my own lived experience in India. I live in the most developed part of the second-largest city Pune in Maharashtra—India’s richest state. Our gated community represents the urban Indian middle class, rather an upper-middle class: we own cars, enjoy air-conditioned homes, travel abroad, and indulge in everyday luxuries. We belong to the top 2%, economically. The moment I cross our gate, I enter the real India. 

The watchman at the premises’ entrance—a poor from Uttar Pradesh, who migrated leaving his family behind—earns ₹12,000 (about $145) per month for a 12-hour daily duty at our gate. At 8:00 PM each evening, when the night-duty watchman takes over, he walks to an adjacent 24x7 café, where he ‘works’ another 12 hours through the night for an equal amount. Many of his friends do. He catches some sleep, uses the premises washroom, and remains bonded to his post 24×7, sustained by cheap, carbohydrate-rich meals delivered at his cost to him at his post. He must save money to send back home.

He has no written contract or stated terms of service. A small security cabin and the open common areas of the premises constitute his home. His total monthly income of ₹24,000 (about $290) is higher than India’s poorest (that being the reason for his migration from the poor state of Uttar Pradesh), but it is not difficult to imagine his plight. Like many in India’s informal workforce, he belongs to a socially and economically marginalized community, historically excluded from stable employment, housing, and political voice. His story reflects the chronic exploitation embedded in India’s informal economy.

Healthcare, Hygiene, and Culture of Apathy

Interestingly, the state of education in India—averaging seven years of schooling—is also revealing. By this level, a student is expected to be well acquainted with the basics of hygiene. Yet, the moment I step outside my residential gate, there is little evidence of even this minimal education in the public, as well as in the apparent apathy of the local administration with a huge annual municipal budget. Footpaths are encroached and littered with garbage scattered by stray dogs. I dodge parked vehicles, weave through chaos, and watch my step to avoid stray-dog feces. A section of the road has been dug up for repairs, with no sign of completion. As the day progresses, vehicular movement grinds to a halt, turning the street into a daily site of gridlock. That is on the south side of the road.

On the north side of my street, rickshaw drivers stop to urinate on the footpaths: on the iron-sheet boundary of an empty plot on one side, and on the wall of a catering institute on the other side. The nearest public urinals—installed hastily before an election—soon became defunct and never fixed. One portion of the footpath is blocked by an old temple, whose owner–caretaker has devised a clever deterrent: tiles bearing images of Hindu deities affixed to the adjacent wall, effectively preventing people from urinating there out of religious respect. My own attempt to replicate this approach—by painting a secular image of Shivaji, the revered 17th-century warrior-king at my own cost failed. The image, associated with a political party (Shiv Sena), was removed by the city administration after complaints were lodged before elections.

These failures are not just administrative, but cultural—stemming from caste-based notions of purity and the absence of civic ownership. No religious Guru discusses public hygiene as collective responsibility in their discourse. The blending of religious imagery and political messaging in public space has become common in India. But it is used to regulate behavior and manipulate people’s psyche to achieve a position of power, not to develop or sustain any secular, civic infrastructure for better community life. 

As for medical healthcare facilities, the public clinic in the area—Homi Bhabha Hospital—has been under renovation for more than eight years. The work is being carried out by a contractor related to a former Corporator, who claims that the civic administration has failed to release funds in the agreed stages. Meanwhile, the hospital’s closed gate has become a dumping ground for household garbage and construction debris with Sanitary Inspectors and Health Officers as mute spectators.

Feudal Patterns of Land Holding

The health and future careers of the children who cannot afford expensive private schools with playgrounds depend on public sports facilities. To meet this need ultimately linked to poverty alleviation, the Maharashtra government reserves lands for public sports grounds in its development plans (DPs). These plots are to be taken over against fair compensation to owners and developed into a sports complex by the Sports Department of the municipal corporations. 

The "empty plot" I mentioned earlier is one such plot reserved for sports grounds. However, the land—valued tens of million dollars in the real estate market—is the ancestral property of the extended family of the local Member of the Legislative Assembly (MLA). Under political pressure, the civic administration has been allowing the reservation to lapse as the statutory limitation period expires. On my initiative, a few local communities have signed a petition for the plot, but they have no doubt that it is a losing battle. 

While the hospital lies in disrepair, a nearby footpath features three benches—painted with the same MLA’s name and funded at trivial cost. Meanwhile, land intended for poor children’s physical development slips into private hands. The cultural symbolism is unmistakable: the powerful co-opt not only wealth, but space, future, and visibility. This cultural pattern stretches from feudal landholding of the past to present-day real estate politics. Little of the ancient culture has changed by laws based on a progressive written Constitution of India.

Unity in Diversity, or Fractured Reality?

As I mentioned before, Indian culture is often portrayed by unity in diversity. True, diversity is a strong aspect of Indian culture, but it seldom results in unity—even within its dominant Hindu population. What appears to be a harmonious coexistence is, in reality, a landscape fractured by deep social, economic, and caste divisions. Indeed, the dismal state of my street is the direct result of lack of unity among various sections of the local citizens, given that nothing scares a politician more than the number of votes they may lose during elections in a democracy.

At one end of my 1-km street, Pawar Road, lies the high-walled residence of a leading industrialist family—giants of the automobile sector. At the other end, the street narrows into Wadarwadi, a slum area inhabited predominantly by the Wadar community—a Dalit (oppressed caste) group traditionally associated with stonework. Golandaz Square, which lies at this end, presents a year-round spectacle of neglect—uncollected garbage, stalled development, and underfunded services. Between these two extremes are living middle-class communities like my own. 

The middle-class communities along my street have no social interactions with the wealthy residents at the northern end or the impoverished slum dwellers at the southern end. Even within our middle-class communities, invisible walls persist. People often retreat into the comfort of their caste identities, reinforced by local caste-based associations that organize events, festivals, and matrimonial alliances strictly within caste lines. Pune is home to numerous such caste-based organizations, which subtly uphold segregation under the guise of tradition. Those who hold a secular mindset or have married across caste or religious lines often face a quiet but persistent social exclusion—unspoken, yet unmistakable.

 While inclusive development is an expressly stated duty of the civic administration, the local municipal corporation has shown no visible intent or planning for the upliftment of this marginalized neighborhood. If and when a private builder succeeds in evicting the slum dwellers by buying out their stakes (not without help from the local politicians) the uber rich will replace them. Such ‘development’ has been achieved at Canal Road, nearby.

Culture–Constitution Conflict

The 100-year-old Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), an informal and influential socio-cultural organization, has become the dominant force shaping India's cultural identity. It is also the ideological fountainhead of the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP)—formerly the Jan Sangh—with much of the political leadership drawn from its volunteer ranks. Yet, RSS remains publicly non-committal to the Indian Constitution and its democratic values—particularly those challenging the orthodox Hindu social norms. Unlike other NGOs, it is not registered under law. Thus, despite wielding vast influence over governance and policymaking including education policies, the RSS operates outside the standard frameworks of legal accountability, with opaque finances and no formal governmental oversight. 

More specifically, RSS is not structurally bound by constitutional values of gender equality or caste neutrality. Its membership is closed to women, and its internally appointed Heads with life-time tenure have consistently come from the upper-most (Brahmin) caste. In a secular republic, its position on religious minorities is telling: Indian Muslims and Christians are often viewed as historical Hindu converts, while Buddhism, Jainism, and Sikhism are described as sects of Hinduism rather than distinct religious–philosophical traditions. When such a cultural ideology coexists—and often conflicts—with a Constitution grounded in secularism, caste abolition, and gender equality, contradiction becomes inevitable.

What is the Way Forward?

Despite these contradictions, India remains the most populous electoral democracy in the world—albeit one rated as “partly free” by Freedom House, scoring 63 out of 100 in its 2024 report. Can India improve its human development standing? Put differently: can India reform its national culture? A simplistic answer would be to urge the government to adhere more closely to the Constitution it swears by. But this overlooks a deeper truth: elected representatives mirror the values and beliefs of the society that elects them. In that sense, asking the state to reform without a corresponding cultural shift may amount to asking India to reform itself—without direction or agency.

Meaningful change, therefore, must emerge from the grassroots. Grassroots reform—whether through demands for institutional transparency, educational reform, or civic engagement (such as this initiative in my own neighborhood)—must begin from within Indian society. That alone would not resolve the deeper cultural contradictions—but it could initiate a process of alignment with India’s founding values: inclusion, rationality, equality. Ultimately, India needs its own renaissance—an intellectual and moral awakening rooted in its lived realities, not borrowed ideals. This may take generations. But there are no shortcuts to human development—only the long, often painful journey from orthodoxy to reason, from exclusion to equality.