As the Rajdhani Express elegantly arrives at 6 AM, the platform at New Delhi Railway Station coughs with lack of civic sense. As passengers get off, a transformation occurs – newspapers that moments ago rested comfortably on laps are casually thrown onto the tracks; empty chai cups sail through open windows to join their paper companions; and a gentleman in a crisp business suit, phone pressed between ear and shoulder, spits a crimson stream of paan juice onto the freshly painted wall, signing his work with an artistic splatter that would make Jackson Pollock envious.

Just another morning in the world’s largest democracy, where civic sense appears to be our most endangered species – more threatened than the Bengal tiger, yet far less likely to receive conservation efforts.

A train passenger recently shared a troubling experience on social media when a fellow traveler rested her bare foot on the tray table during a journey. In the viral image, the lady is seen lying across seats, one foot comfortably on the seat and the other casually placed on the tray table, the same area where another passenger would later put their lunch. The post traveled around the internet like monsoon rumor, evoking opinions as varied as India itself. 

Some users complained that many Indians, regardless of educational background, monetary status or social class, disregard fundamental decorum in public places. Others hurried to defend the woman, claiming that the discomforts of long train rides in crowded quarters would excuse temporarily disregarding traditional etiquette. Many commenters took the characteristically Indian middle path, suggesting that we have developed an unhealthy national habit of complaining about everything without making the effort to understand contextual nuances. This incident, however ordinary it might seem, opens a window into a much larger cultural conversation about civic responsibility – or the conspicuous lack thereof.

Let us be truthful. The lack of fundamental civic sense in India crosses geographical and class divisions. It is not a North-South divide or a rich-poor problem. It’s simply, terribly, and pathetically a pitiful Indian problem!

Take the case of the Air India plane that was forced to return last month owing to non-functional toilets, which were hopelessly clogged with discarded diapers rather than technical failures. Imagine the peculiar mindset of Indians to look at an airplane lavatory and think, “Yes, this seems like an appropriate dustbin for my child’s potty diaper.” One wonders if these same passengers would dispose of diapers in their home plumbing systems, or if this special brand of inconsideration is reserved exclusively for public spaces.

The Greek philosopher Aristotle once observed that “the essence of being educated is to be able to do what you know you should do, when you should do it, whether you feel like it or not.” By this definition, India seems to be suffering from an education crisis that no number of engineering colleges or management institutes can resolve.

March of this year delivered another viral moment when a social media user called out a fellow Indian for talking excessively loudly at Abu Dhabi airport. The post featured video evidence of an Indian man engaged in a phone conversation at a volume more appropriate for addressing a public rally than for a quiet international terminal. According to the poster, the man continued his sonic assault despite polite requests from a bartender to lower his volume.

The incident prompted a broader discussion on civic sense among Indians abroad, with the pic claiming this was merely one instance in a pattern of behavior that suggested a fundamental inability to consider how one’s actions may impact, or exclusively, irritate others sharing a public space. With the cultural sensitivity of an anthropologist and the frustration of someone whose quiet drink had been ruined, the poster drew comparisons between Indian behavior in public spaces and that of citizens from countries like the United States and South Korea, where maintaining appropriate volume in public conversations is generally observed as an unwritten social contract.

The same month witnessed yet another social media virality, this time from an Indian man living in the United States who voiced grievances about his desi neighbors. The list of complaints included talking loudly (a recurring theme, it seems), creating unnecessary disturbances, and – perhaps most tellingly – spitting gutka with abandon. While reasonable people might disagree about what constitutes “too loud” in various cultural contexts, the gutka phenomenon requires no such subjective recognition.

The habit of spitting betel nut and tobacco mixtures has become so entrenched in certain segments of Indian society that it has transcended mere bad habit to become an economic burden of staggering proportions. Indian Railways reportedly spent an approx INR 12,000 crore annually simply to clean gutka stains from trains and stations. This giant amount could otherwise be directed toward improving passenger services, upgrading infrastructure, or perhaps addressing the existential challenge of climate change. But no – it goes toward removing the reddish-brown evidence of our collective disregard for shared spaces.

Before one hastily concludes that gutka consumption and its associated spitting is primarily a behavior of the economically disadvantaged, consider that these crimson stains have been observed in our esteemed Parliament itself – the very crucible of Indian democracy. In a particularly embarrassing event, gutka stains on the carpet at the entrance to the main hall of the UP Assembly angered Speaker Satish Mahana, who asked all MLAs to avoid such behavior and preserve the dignity of the House.

Just imagine that: the esteemed floor where our laws are debated and enacted, where the future of over a billion people is shaped, bears the sticky, vermillion marks of individual disregard for collective well-being. The ancient Romans had a concept called “res publica” – the public thing or public affair – from which we derive our modern notion of a republic. The idea centered on the understanding that certain spaces and institutions belong to everyone collectively and therefore deserve a special kind of respect. Twenty-three centuries later, it appears this lesson remains unlearned in the world’s largest democratic republic.

This hints that a peculiar virus exists in our cultural DNA that somehow escapes serious examination. It doesn’t command headlines in our newspapers. It fails to inspire impassioned parliamentary debates. It doesn’t merit lengthy analytical pieces in our intellectual journals.

Yet this virus manifests itself with relentless consistency in our daily lives – in the paan stain decorating the elevator wall; in the impatient horn blaring milliseconds before the traffic light changes from red to green; in the candy wrapper discarded mere steps from a perfectly functional dustbin; in the self-important individual who bypasses a queue with the dexterity of an Olympic athlete, only to later deliver unsolicited lectures on Indian values and sanskaar. The irony would be delicious if it weren’t so deeply frustrating.

This particular strain of cultural malaise might appropriately be termed “Civic Deficiency Syndrome” – the systematic absence of basic civic sense coupled with a steadfast refusal to consider how one’s actions might impact the broader community. It is based on the widely held notion that regulations exist largely for others to obey; that public space fundamentally belongs to no one and hence may be treated casually; and that as long as your immediate needs are met, the collective repercussions are insignificant. 

This mindset has ingrained itself deeply into our cultural roots. We don’t prioritize civic sense in our educational curriculum. It’s rarely emphasized in home environments. Instead, we teach survival strategies. We emphasize academic achievement above all else. We celebrate jugaad – that uniquely Indian concept of finding clever, sometimes rule-bending solutions to problems. We devote a huge amount of time and effort to educating our youngsters how to get ideal test scores, gain admission to prominent technical colleges, and speak English with immaculate pronunciation. However, we fail to impart the fundamental concept that waiting one’s turn, disposing of rubbish properly, and treating service personnel with basic courtesy are all necessary life skills.

Historically, this was not always true. Ancient Indian literature like the Arthashastra emphasized civic obligations and urban planning. Then came the medieval era where towns were frequently symbols of discipline and order, with efficient waste management systems and explicit municipal regulations. Even during British colonial rule, many Indian princely states maintained high standards of public cleanliness and civic order. The erosion of civic sense seems to have accelerated during the tumultuous post-independence period, when rapid urbanization outpaced the development of civic infrastructure and institutions.

As millions migrated from villages to cities seeking opportunity, traditional community-based accountability systems broke down, and new urban civic cultures failed to take root. The emergency period under Indira Gandhi (1975-77) enforced a rigorous type of civic discipline, as demonstrated by Sanjay Gandhi’s controversial beautifying of Delhi, but these top-down methods bred animosity rather than true civic sense. During the liberalization era that started in 1991, our country’s focus on economic progress sometimes came at the price of civic development, with urban planning, civic sense, civic duty, and public spaces receiving insufficient attention despite rising income.

In contemporary Indian society, we’ve cultivated a strange set of values where volume is mistaken for confidence; entitlement is confused with success; and the ability to bend rules is celebrated as street smarts. “Bhai sab chalta hai yaar”; that deceptively casual, unaccountable phrase which loosely translates to “anything goes, friend”, has likely done more damage on Indian social cohesion than any misguided policy initiative. This casual dismissal of standards has become our unofficial national motto, a linguistic shrug in the face of deteriorating civic sense. But here’s an uncomfortable truth: civic sense isn’t some imported Western concept to be dismissed as foreign or elitist.

It’s not about affected sophistication or class signaling. It’s about the fundamental awareness that human beings exist in community, that our actions inevitably affect others, that personal freedom doesn’t extend to diminishing the quality of someone else’s experience in shared spaces, and that momentary convenience doesn’t supersede communal well-being. The road system doesn’t belong exclusively to you. The air we breathe isn’t your private resource. The acoustic environment in a restaurant or train carriage isn’t yours to dominate.

Perhaps the most disheartening aspect of this national characteristic is that we’ve largely ceased to be embarrassed by it. We’ve normalized dysfunction to such an extent that it no longer registers as problematic. We’ve romanticized chaos, glamorized rule-breaking, and transformed basic inconsideration into a quirky cultural trait. “Yeh India hai, boss”, and “India is not for beginners” – has become our standard explanation for behaviors that would provoke outrage in many other societies. But this isn’t authentic Indian culture; it’s intellectual and moral laziness on the pretext of cultural pride. We wear our dysfunction like a badge of honor, mistaking it for authentic national character when it’s actually a relatively recent development in our thousands of years of civilization.

This Civic Deficiency Syndrome manifests itself in both observable behaviors and underlying mindsets. The day we collectively realize that discarding a chocolate wrapper on a city street should evoke the same sense of shame as neglecting family responsibilities for work obligations, we’ll begin to address this national pathology. The solution doesn’t necessarily lie in stricter legislation or more severe penalties – though these might help at the margins.

What we truly need is a profound shift in our collective self-perception, a deflation of the individualistic ego that places personal convenience above all other considerations. And until that transformation occurs, we’ll continue our national tradition of constructing elaborate infrastructural workarounds – flyovers, bypasses, and elevated corridors – while the fundamental civic sense feels suffocated!

Even recent government initiatives like Swachh Bharat Abhiyan, launched with tremendous fanfare in 2014, have produced mixed results. While physical infrastructure has improved with millions of toilets constructed across the country, the campaign’s success in changing behaviors and mindsets hangs in doubt! Mahatma Gandhi, whom the campaign invokes as inspiration, once observed that “Sanitation is more important than independence.” He understood that political freedom without civic sense would create precisely the contradictions we see in contemporary India – gleaming shopping malls beside streets strewn with garbage; space missions launched from cities where public urination remains commonplace; and sophisticated IT campuses surrounded by chaotic traffic systems where rules are treated as optional suggestions.

Other growing economies have faced similar challenges with notable outcomes. Singapore transformed themselves from a filthy, congested port city in the 1960s to a model of urban cleanliness through a mix of strong enforcement, public education, and civic pride initiatives. Despite its dense population, Japan maintains unusually high standards of public cleanliness with little enforcement, relying instead on deeply set cultural values and education systems that instill communal responsibility from an early age. Even our neighbor Bhutan has developed stronger civic sense through its unique Gross National Happiness approach, which values environmental preservation and community well-being alongside economic development.

The optimist might find hope in India’s younger generations, particularly those with global exposure who increasingly recognize the value of civic sense not as foreign imposition but as practical necessity. Social media, despite amplifying outrage, also creates accountability through viral shaming of egregious civic violations. Corporate firms are increasingly incorporating civic duty into their training programs, realizing that employees who respect public areas are stronger team players. Resident welfare groups in metropolitan areas have taken issues into their own hands, developing hyperlocal civic norms and enforcement mechanisms where municipal government fails.

However, the path to a more civically conscious India remains hard. It requires acknowledging that civic sense is more than just an aesthetic preference; that public spaces reflect our collective self-esteem; and that how we behave when no one is watching reveals more about our character than our carefully crafted public personas. As the ancient saying goes, “Cleanliness is not next to godliness – it is godliness itself.” In a nation where religious observance is widespread but civic sense remains sporadic, perhaps this connection needs renewed emphasis.

The brilliant novelist Arundhati Roy once observed that “India lives in several centuries at once.” Nowhere is this more evident than in our civic contradictions – technological sophistication alongside medieval waste disposal practices; constitutional democracy alongside feudal entitlement behaviors; and global ambitions alongside hyperlocal disregard for public spaces. The question isn’t whether India can overcome its civic deficiency – history suggests we’ve done so before – but whether we consider it important enough to prioritize in our national conversation. The answer will determine whether a future train passenger’s social media post features feet on tray tables or a model of civic sense worth celebrating. The choice, like the tray table itself, remains firmly in our hands.