India is a tropical country, which means that we don’t just have high temperatures — we have high tempers too. Scientists call it the ‘heat-aggression hypothesis’. I call it ‘easily outraged’. Basically, the hotter it gets, the angrier we get. All the ACs and fridges we have so far have been proven to cool only our bodies, not so much our minds.
And with global warming on the rise, our tempers have started hitting the roof — literally. We debuted on the global outrage stage when a certain top-level Russian tennis player failed to recognise India’s favorite batsman. Then came Deepika’s cleavage commotion, Kareena’s son’s name, and Snapchat’s CEO allegedly calling India poor. We started combining outrage with patriarchy, religious hate, and bad grammar.
Over time, our rage and range took a wild turn. We went from educating Sharapova to getting jealous about Hardik Pandya’s sex life.
But here’s the thing — eventually, we move on.
Sachin retired, and now even Russian ice cricketers probably know of Virat Kohli’s off-stump weakness. The internet loves Deepika now because of her mental health advocacy. Taimur, once a ‘national controversy,’ is now the most liked reel on Instagram. Snapdeal still gets hate for something Snapchat’s CEO said. Meanwhile, Hardik Pandya went from being #cancelled to #vicecaptain because, finally, he can proudly say, ‘Main Klassen ko out karke aaya.’
We hated Tanmay Bhat in 2016. Now we hail him as YouTube’s wise uncle. Even the great Elvis Presley wasn’t allowed to shake his legs on TV. So give it some time, and one day, Ranveer Allahbadia’s non-joke will be a graphic tee on some Gen Alpha kid’s chest.
But here’s where it gets dangerous. Like any addiction, our tolerance keeps increasing. Between Deepika’s cleavage commotion and the All India Bakchod Roast, there was a gap of just a few months. Now we’re angry every three business days. First, it was Udit Narayan. Then Bryan Johnston. Now Ranveer. Outrage gives us a dopamine hit, and like any good junkie, we need a stronger dose each time. We could be outraged about real issues — we tried — but there’s no thrill in getting mad over AQI levels when you can just unfollow the Instagram account that keeps reminding you about it.
We have local, national, and global outrage categories — Praneeth Hanumantu, Allu Arjun’s sunroof, Trump’s policies. Just like our alcohol — desi, Royal Stag, and single malt — depending on what time of the month it is, our outrage choices evolve too.
Which is why I personally try not to judge the already judgemental. Comedian Vir Das once said there are two Indias (which, funnily enough, also outraged a bunch of people). And it’s true — every scandal just exposes us more. I mean, sure, we’re calling Ranveer crass, but we all hurl abuses about mothers and sisters. And if you’re Hyderabadi, you know a certain audio clip with the name Nagarjuna (iykyk) that makes India’s Got Latent look like a kids’ programme.
Now that we know all this outrage is just another dopamine hit, who are we to judge each other for getting our fix? All one can do is be aware and try to make money out of it. News channels do it for TRPs. I do it for columns. And you? You’re reading this, so clearly, it’s worth your time. We’re going to keep outraging more and more. The least we can do is be aware — and if possible, profit from it.
(The writer’s views are his own)