By Devendra Kumar Budakoti
“I prefer the slums of Bombay to the snow of Canada,” an elderly Indian once told his friend upon returning from abroad. This statement had little to do with nationalism or patriotism—it reflected deep emotional ties to people, places, and personalities back home. For him, the slums of Bombay (now Mumbai) embodied warmth, camaraderie, cooperation, and an inclusive spirit. Despite his siblings living in Canada, he felt isolated there—missing the chatter of neighbors, the open-door culture, and the unspoken sense of community.
In Western societies, privacy and individual space are sacrosanct—deeply valued, legally protected, and socially respected. Personal boundaries are rarely crossed, and any intrusion is seen as disrespectful. In contrast, Indian society places far less emphasis on individual privacy. This difference is rooted in India’s complex social fabric—especially our notions of family, kinship, and marriage.
Indian families function as tightly knit units. Even today, the majority of marriages are arranged, and even when couples fall in love, families often take charge of organizing the wedding. In our society, marriage is less a union between two individuals and more a social contract between two families. As such, background checks—both formal and informal—are standard practice. In urban areas, families often hire detectives or agencies to verify the character, family history, and habits of a prospective bride or groom. In small towns and villages, a network of relatives, friends, and acquaintances serve the same function.
With such scrutiny considered normal—even essential—how can the idea of individual privacy take root? Here, public interest in private affairs is not only accepted, but expected. The concept of “it’s none of your business” simply doesn’t fit within the cultural framework.
Marriage ceremonies further reflect these deep emotional and communal ties. The departure of a bride is not a quiet family affair; it is a public spectacle of shared emotions. In many villages, it’s not uncommon for the entire community to cry. Brides, mothers, relatives—even onlookers—can become hysterical, overcome by the emotional gravity of the moment.
During my father’s time, it was common for the groom to meet the bride for the first time on the wedding day, at the mandap. The match was determined largely by horoscope compatibility. Divorce, in such a system, was almost unheard of—not just because of legal challenges, but because society stigmatized it deeply. The very language reflects this: there is no equivalent word for “divorce” in many Indian languages.
While societal attitudes are changing—especially in urban areas—the national divorce rate remains low, estimated at around 1% to 1.3% in 2025. Rising career aspirations, increased awareness of women’s rights, and changing values have led to more divorces in cities, but the overall numbers are still modest by global standards.
The older generation often struggles with this new emphasis on privacy and individualism. When my mother visited her son abroad, she initially admired the clean streets, orderly life, and modern conveniences. But soon, she found herself isolated. There were no spontaneous visits from neighbors, and her grandchildren were too busy to sit and listen to her stories. When she returned, she told everyone: “Everything is perfect abroad, but there’s no one to talk to—or gossip with!”
Even the large Indian diaspora, while adapting to new environments, often maintains traditional values. Their festivals, music, dance, rituals, and religious practices help keep them rooted to Indian culture. The younger generation may lean towards privacy and personal space, but for many elders, these changes feel disheartening. Despite modernization, the family continues to be a fortress—one that must be guarded and preserved.
And that’s why India is not just a nation—it is a civilization. Our values, for better or worse, are embedded in a collective spirit that leaves little room for personal silos.
