Borrowed Pride

 Borrowed Pride

Isn’t it ironic how we, as people, often begin to value something only after an outsider appreciates it? As if the worth of what we possess needs validation from someone we subconsciously deem superior. Until then, it remains ordinary. Overlooked. Taken for granted.

And what better example of this phenomenon than us, Indians - when it comes to embracing our own culture, heritage, history, and values?

Somewhere along the way, we internalized a silent hierarchy. A belief that if a “white” foreigner admires something, it must indeed be extraordinary. But when it belongs to us, it becomes mundane.

When I was in Rishikesh, I encountered people from all over the world who had traveled thousands of miles solely to learn Yoga. Not for leisure. Not for a trend. But with genuine reverence and curiosity. Almost every foreigner I spoke to expressed deep admiration for Hindu philosophy, traditions, and spiritual practices. They weren’t casually interested, they were invested. Hungry to learn more.

The more conversations I had, the more an uncomfortable realization dawned upon me how carelessly we disregard the treasures passed down by our ancestors.

One day, a woman from Hungary asked me, “Are you taught Yoga in school? Do you learn about it properly?”

I was speechless.

Yes, we do have Yoga as a subject. But how do I explain that it is often treated as a formality? That many students lack interest, and sometimes even the teachers lack depth in what they teach? How do I admit, without feeling embarrassed, that something the world reveres is something we barely respect?

How do I quietly defame my own country in front of someone who has come here in admiration?

People from across the globe attend Kirtans, sit through Ganga Aartis, meditate by the river, and speak about the profound upliftment they experience. They immerse themselves wholeheartedly. Meanwhile, many of us are busy replicating Western lifestyles, convinced that imitation equals progress.

Here’s the paradox: they are adopting our rituals not because it’s fashionable, but because they find them meaningful. Scientific. Grounded. Transformative. They seek peace here because they are exhausted by the chaos of their own environments. And we; blessed with that peace by birth dismiss it as ordinary.

We chase what they have.
They cherish what we have.

The irony deepened when I visited the so-called “Beatles Ashram.” I had little idea about its history. As I read the information boards inside, curiosity led me to research further. I learned that the ashram gained global fame after the British rock band The Beatles visited in 1968 and composed a significant part of their White Album there.

But before that? It was the spiritual training center of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, who established the International Academy of Meditation for teaching Transcendental Meditation. Originally known as Chaurasi Kutiya — named after its 84 meditation domes where sages practiced in silence — it was a sanctuary of spiritual discipline and inner exploration.

Yet it didn’t become globally recognized for meditation.
It became famous because a Western band stayed there.

It was even renamed after them.

Think about that.

A sacred space rooted in centuries of spiritual practice gained mainstream recognition only when endorsed by Western celebrities. Not when sages meditated there. Not when a profound meditation movement began there.

Are we really this conditioned?

Do we truly require foreign approval to recognize the magnificence of our own inheritance?

It isn’t about glorifying one culture over another. It is about reclaiming perspective. About understanding that what we possess is not inferior, nor does it require external validation.

Perhaps the real tragedy isn’t that others appreciate our culture.

Perhaps it’s that we wait for them to do so before we do.