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My neighbor recently started renovating their house. The drilling went on for hours. Sometimes late at night. Sometimes during holidays. Everyone around was disturbed, but that didn’t seem to matter.
I have seen people use lots of water to wash cars during droughts. I have heard loud music late at night when others were trying to sleep. I have seen cars parked so badly that another person couldn’t get out.
Each of these things seems small. But together, they made me think.
They reminded me of something that happened when I was learning to drive in the UK.
I was driving fast on a highway and wanted to overtake a big truck. Out of habit, I lightly pressed the brake. My driving instructor got worried.
“Why are you braking?” he asked.
I told him I was being careful because I was passing a large vehicle.
“But why?” he said calmly. “You are in your lane. He is in his. Trust him.”
Trust him?
In India, we don’t really learn to trust people in public spaces. We learn to be alert, fast, and strong. Public life teaches us to protect ourselves first.
Then he said something that surprised me even more. “When you brake,” he said, “the car behind you also brakes. Then the next one does the same. Soon, traffic slows down for kilometres. Think about others.”
Thinking about others in public spaces felt new to me. It took time to change my behaviour.
Once you notice this difference, you see it everywhere. In restaurants, a child screams while the parent ignores it. On the roads, people honk nonstop. In parking areas, people park without caring how others will get out.
So the question comes up.
Why do Indians often seem un-empathetic?
This question is asked a lot. Sometimes with anger. Sometimes with blame. But the answer is not simple.
Indians are not born unkind. The problem is that our society often makes it hard to show empathy. What looks like carelessness is often learned behaviour.
For a long time, life in India has been tough. There were famines, colonial rule, few jobs, and strict social rules. Many people grew up feeling insecure. When life feels like a competition where only a few can win, people focus on survival.
When that happens, empathy feels like a luxury. People start thinking, “If I don’t look after myself, no one will.”
This doesn’t make people cruel. It makes them tough.
India is also very crowded. Millions of people struggle every day. When you see suffering everywhere, your brain learns to ignore it. If you felt deeply for every problem you saw, you would feel overwhelmed.
So people emotionally shut down. This is called empathy fatigue. It looks like indifference, but it is actually self-protection.
Hierarchy also plays a big role. Indian society is very structured. Age, money, caste, gender, and power decide how people are treated. Respect and kindness are often shown to those above us, like elders or bosses, but not always to those below us.
This makes empathy selective. We care deeply about some people, but not everyone.
History made this worse. During colonial times and in strict school systems, people were taught to obey, not question. Speaking up was discouraged. But empathy often means asking difficult questions and standing up for others. When people are trained not to do that, they stay silent.
Emotions are also not talked about openly. Many children grow up hearing things like “don’t cry,” “be strong,” or “adjust.” Especially for boys, showing feelings is seen as weakness.
When people don’t learn how to understand their own emotions, they find it hard to understand others. Unexpressed feelings often come out as anger or irritation.
There is another reason too. Many people believe that suffering is fate or karma. Saying “it’s their karma” or “God will take care” can make us feel better, but it can also stop us from helping.
Compassion becomes a thought, not an action.
This leads to a strange situation. At home, Indians can be extremely caring. Families are close. During disasters, people help generously. Guests are treated with great warmth.
But in public places, behaviour changes. People become rude, impatient, or aggressive.
The reason is simple. In India, empathy is often for “our people,” not for strangers.
Still, things are changing. Slowly, but clearly.
More people are talking about mental health. More young people are exposed to different cultures through travel and the internet. Schools, startups, and creative spaces encourage openness and equality. Many young Indians are more emotionally aware than earlier generations.
The truth is this: India never lacked empathy.
It learned to use it carefully because life was hard.
When people are always stressed, kindness becomes selective.
So how do we create more empathetic Indians?
The answer is not telling people to “be nicer.” Empathy grows when systems improve.
When people feel safe about healthcare, jobs, and basic dignity, they have space to care about others. When schools teach children how to understand emotions, empathy becomes natural. When society is less hierarchical, people treat each other as equals. When public spaces are clean and organised, people behave better.
Mental health support also matters. People who understand their own pain don’t pass it on to others.
Leaders matter too. When leaders speak calmly and show care, people copy them. When leaders spread fear or anger, society becomes harsher.
The biggest truth is this:
Empathy is not just a personal quality.
It is shaped by society.
If we want kinder, more empathetic citizens, we must build a society where people feel safe, equal, and heard.
Only then will trusting others-and thinking about others-feel normal in everyday Indian life.
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