To walk in India is to tread on a broken promise. We refer to our country as a developing nation, but the very ground we walk on reveals how much remains broken. The metaphorical act of walking - moving forward, progressing - should feel liberating. Yet, in modern India, walking feels like carrying the weight of a country that hasn’t healed itself. It seems like one is walking through the streets, through chaos, inequality, and neglect.
During the 2020 nationwide lockdown, millions of migrant workers were left stranded in cities without transport, income, or food. With no trains or buses running, they began walking hundreds of kilometers back to their villages — from Delhi to Bihar, from Mumbai to Madhya Pradesh — under the scorching sun. Many collapsed on highways; some never reached home. This haunting image of barefoot laborers on empty expressways became one of the starkest symbols of India’s inequality, a reminder that while the nation celebrates digital progress, millions still struggle for the basic right to move safely.
On the one hand, we glorify the advancement: glittering metros, posh towers, and bustling start-ups. However, walk a little further than these glass walls and cracks will start to appear, in the form of open drains, plastic-choked streets, and people who walk miles to get basic amenities. Each of these steps reveals the extent of the minimal change of the unprivileged. Walking, both literally and figuratively, is a sin in this country, as you have to look at the ugly side of the system.
The government's promises of “inclusive development” echo across speeches and advertisements, yet reality feels divided into two Indias, one that is passing by progress and the other that is walking beside it. India, in the rural setting, continues to fight with inadequate sanitation, rotting infrastructure, and broken education systems. Even in cities, though, the illusion of progress disappears as soon as you are out on the street where there are potholes, piles of trash, and cars slamming along.
Not only are the rural poor deficient in civic sense, but the urban elite play their part in that as well. The sidewalks are abused, footwalks are parking lots, and cleanliness movements are a slogan rather than a habit. The irony is that we boast of economic growth, yet we do not achieve the most fundamental indicators of citizenship, which include respect for the public space, empathy for other people, and accountability.
In India, progress limps along.
Walking through India is not about crossing through physical boundaries; it is about walking through languages, faith, and invisible lines of belonging. In a country that celebrates diversity, language and religion have quietly turned into tools of control. What should have been our identity has become our division. Every region speaks in its own rhythm, yet only a few voices are allowed to sound “national.”
During recent years, debates over both language and belief have sharpened. Resistance to the imposition of Hindi in Tamil Nadu and Karnataka is another struggle that is wasting a greater agenda, which is the right to retain their cultural tongue without being labeled unpatriotic. Meanwhile, religion, which was to be a community glue through mutual values, has turned into a field of supremacy. Religion has now separated more than it united, has made worship a contest and belonging an outcast.
It is not the tragedy that India is diverse, but that this diversity is being policed all the time. The powerful ones choose the language known as pure, the religion as true, and who is where. These silent hierarchies continue to increase beneath the din of progress. The sin is not in walking, it is walking through a nation where the very things that should unite us are used to separate us.
Despite all the discussions of digital India and smart cities, civic behavior tends to be regressive. Dropping garbage out of car windows, roads blocked by political rallies, the zebra crossing ignored — these are everyday acts of collective indifference. And it is not only an infrastructural failure, it is a failure of attitude.
Urban citizens, armed with education and access, often behave no better than those they criticize. We blame the government for inefficiency but forget our personal role in maintaining civic order. Cities like Mumbai, Delhi, and Bengaluru show how modernization without manners creates chaos. The sin is not just political corruption; it is public complacency.
India loves to celebrate its spiritual depth, yet its compassion seems to shrink each day. The same society that builds temples forgets to build empathy. The same country that prays for peace refuses to make space for pedestrians. We move fast but without direction.
Poverty and unemployment are not just statistics; they are visible on every street corner where young people wander with degrees but no jobs. Women face harassment daily, and crimes often vanish beneath political debates. Even the environment bears the cost of our restless, polluted air, disappearing trees, and cities that suffocate under their own ambition.
Walking becomes a sin because it exposes us to these truths, truths that power prefers to overlook and privilege prefers not to notice.
Walking in India should not feel like an act of rebellion. It should feel like belonging. But until we rebuild our moral and civic foundation, it will remain an act of endurance. The sin is not walking — the sin is pretending everything is fine when the path itself is broken.
It is a country to be seen by walking and seeing its beauty and its decay: the strength of its people and the ineffectiveness of its systems. India is extraordinary, but extraordinary things require care, not complacency. We need not abandon pride in our nation, but we must earn it.
Perhaps, walking is not a sin after all — it is the reminder we need. Every step through this land is a confrontation with what we have ignored for too long. And maybe, if we learn to walk with awareness instead of denial, India will finally start moving forward, not just in headlines, but in heart.
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