"I Don’t Know How To Write About India"
Words by Nishad Sanzagiri
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“I Don’t Know How To Write About India”
When the Diaspora Returns Home.
Just before leaving Zero Point in Sikkim — the last outpost of civilization before the land yields to snowy peaks, military fences, and the Tibetan plateau — I had to relieve myself behind a rock. There were no toilets. Only brittle shrubs, patches of snow, and a wind so sharp it didn’t care whether you were Indian or Chinese. The area was heavily militarized — Indian flags fluttered at absurd altitudes, convoy trucks thundered through narrow routes, and soldiers watched from distant vantage points. I stood there, exposed, glancing nervously over my shoulder, half-wondering if my movements were being clocked from somewhere above. The Republic had built border posts and fences, hoisted emblems and stationed men — but not a single public toilet. And I remember thinking, in that absurd, freezing moment: what is the responsibility of a non-resident Indian writing about India?
The question follows me like a shadow every time I return — and every time I write.
***
Some say the answer is obvious. Celebrate. Uplift. Be proud. You’ve grown up in the land of Buddha and biryani, of the Vedas and vada pav. You owe your country a curated portrait. Write about the food, the families, the festivals. Write about how far we’ve come despite colonization, partition, and poverty. Atithi Devo Bhava, Guest is God. Write Incredible !ndia — with an exclamation mark, please.
That’s the India I was raised to love — the one my parents carried with them as we packed our bags and left. “Never forget where you come from,” they’d say. “Be proud.”
But what do I do with the India I actually see?