Dear MANIT Alumni Network Committee,
“Are you anti-national?” I encountered this fascinating—some may say intimidating—question from an elderly woman I barely know, an alumna of Maulana Azad College of Technology (MACT, now Maulana Azad National Institute of Technology - MANIT), Bhopal, and apparently one of the founders of the MACT (now MANIT) Alumni Network. The authority with which she posed the question was striking. “How much anti-national are you? What have you done for the Alumni Network Committee to identify you as anti-national?” When I asked what “anti-national” meant to her and who was busy certifying me as such, the response came in counter-questions.
“Are you anti-national like Arundhati Roy?” It was interesting to see the clarity with which she used Arundhati Roy as a benchmark. Honestly, at first, it felt oddly flattering to be associated with Roy in a space of intellectual inquiry and moral courage. As I probed further, I learned what, in her view, exemplified anti-nationalism: appreciating Roy’s speeches, “talking badly” about India, criticizing India on foreign soil, speaking against the government, and so on. Watching an India–Pakistan cricket match without loudly cheering for India, she implied, meant one was naturally supporting Pakistan.
Why were my classmates calling me anti-national? Trusting her curiosity, I probed further and discovered that some of my MANIT (1995 batch) classmates had informed her of my so-called anti-national activities and had effectively issued me a certificate. I remain part of our batch WhatsApp group. I regularly share my scholarly work, videos, and public engagements—posts that rarely receive responses, which I have long interpreted as a form of quiet exclusion. Yet I stay, partly to observe what others are thinking and doing. In many ways, WhatsApp has become a character certificate for all of us.
It was midnight in Germany and afternoon in Vancouver when she called—by prior appointment—under the pretext of inviting me to join the Alumni Network Committee. She had previously included me in the committee, only to remove me silently after I raised questions on certain matters. Now, for reasons known only to her, she wished to invite me again.
This time, however, her primary concern was my nationalism and patriotism. She appeared apprehensive about why I was labeled anti-national and what this meant for my eligibility to serve on what she described as a prestigious committee. Ordinarily, such labeling would not affect me. Yet I was intrigued by the extent to which debates on nationalism and patriotism have permeated everyday interactions. Since the call was scheduled and followed an intense international work trip, the conversation became, in a sense, an unexpected diversion.
As an admirer of Roy, I was drawn into the discussion. The caller added a disclaimer that Roy’s writing did not appeal to her and that she had no time to waste on “what an anti-national does.” Curious, I asked AI what Roy has articulated about nationalism and patriotism. The summary suggested that Roy views modern, state-driven patriotism—particularly Hindu nationalism—as exclusionary and potentially authoritarian, often marginalizing minorities and suppressing dissent. While AI has its limitations, if this broadly reflects Roy’s position, I find myself aligned with her concerns about the dangers of hyper-nationalism.
I share this conversation partly to acknowledge the woman for inadvertently prompting a long-pending essay. I have spoken about nationalism and patriotism on various platforms. When I asked why she felt compelled to warn me, she described herself as a well-wisher alerting me to my surroundings. She identified herself as a long-time Congress supporter who follows Rahul Gandhi, and she acknowledged that in contemporary India, critics of the government are often branded anti-national or “urban Naxal.” Although she initially distinguished between criticizing the government and criticizing the country, that distinction blurred as our discussion progressed.
For my part, I am neither aligned with any political party nor convinced that criticism—whether expressed domestically or abroad—renders one anti-national. Appreciating Muslims does not diminish a Hindu identity, just as appreciating Pakistan does not equate to criticizing India. I mentioned a paper I co-authored with a Pakistani student titled “Hydro-diplomacy Towards Peace Ecology: The Case of the Indus Water Treaty Between India and Pakistan,” along with forthcoming work on India’s transboundary water relations. To her, such engagements appeared questionable, perhaps even anti-national. I sensed little interest in the subject-specific context.
By the end of the half-hour exchange, it seemed she was less interested in inducting me into the committee—despite repeatedly saying she would like to—and more concerned with determining whether I met her criteria of nationalism. The call ended abruptly, leaving the impression that the invitation had been secondary to assessing my ideological eligibility.
The conversation reflected a wider atmosphere in which nationalism and patriotism are asserted with increasing intensity. These debates have seeped into families, friendships, and professional networks. Labels divide where dialogue once flourished. The polarization is evident not only in public discourse but also in private relationships.
Regardless of political regimes, the cultural residue of hyper-nationalism may endure. It influences educational spaces, institutions, and everyday interactions. Relationships fray when individuals feel compelled to prove their patriotism or question that of others. The social cost—lost trust, fractured communities, diminished empathy—is substantial.
History reminds us that nationalism once mobilized collective sacrifice for independence. Yet when it morphs into exclusion or hostility, it risks undermining the pluralism it once defended. Concerns about intolerance, suppression of dissent, and communal tensions are not abstract; they manifest in lived experiences. While comparisons to historical tragedies must be made cautiously, they serve as cautionary reminders of where unchecked polarization can lead.
Writing and discussing these issues is, perhaps, a modest step toward restoring dialogue. I do not seek labels—nationalist, patriotic, or anti-national—nor did I lobby for a committee position. Serving on the Alumni Network neither enhances nor diminishes my professional standing or moral compass.
I remain proud to be an alumna of MACT, now MANIT, Bhopal, an institution established under the stewardship of Maulana Abul Kalam Azad. Azad, a freedom fighter and India’s first Education Minister, championed unity, education, and self-reliance. He opposed partition and envisioned a plural, cohesive nation. His words resonate: “Slavery is worst even if it bears beautiful names,” and “Be more dedicated to making solid achievements than in running after swift but synthetic happiness.”
I am reminded, too, of Rabindranath Tagore, who wrote, “Patriotism cannot be our final spiritual shelter; my refuge is humanity.” His 1917 lectures on nationalism cautioned against allowing national identity to eclipse human values.
To be “just human” is enough. If an identity must be claimed, let it be humanitarian. In seeking to be fluid—like water—I strive to transcend socially constructed labels. I have weathered many storms; a few raindrops will not deter me.
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*Entrepreneur, researcher, educator, speaker, and mentor. More about her at: www.wforw.in, www.edc.org.in, www.mansee.in, www.woder.org
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