There was a time when outrage was exceptional. A major scandal, a shocking tragedy, a rare insult to faith or community, these sparked protest marches, fiery editorials, and long, difficult conversations. Today, outrage is routine. A movie poster, a cricket selection, a campus seminar, even a joke on a comedy stage can set off a storm. What was once rare has become ritual.
India has entered an age where outrage is not only political currency but also popular culture. And many are simply tired.
Outrage Everywhere
On television, outrage is the evening’s prime attraction. Debates are staged as battles, every issue framed as a national crisis. On social media, outrage is the fastest way to go viral. A clip stripped of context, a headline designed to inflame– all guarantee attention.
Bollywood, once a safe escape, has become a frequent battleground. Actors are hounded for old tweets, film dialogues are dissected for hidden insults, and boycotts trend almost weekly. As actor Naseeruddin Shah once observed, “There is a new intolerance in the air, everyone is waiting to take offense.”
Cricket, too, is not spared. A poor performance is met not with disappointment but with fury, accusations of bias, betrayal, even conspiracy. Former India captain Rahul Dravid noted, “We have to remember it’s just a game. But the abuse players get online makes it feel like more than that.”
On campuses, discussions that once thrived on complexity now risk being reduced to hashtags: “anti-national,” “fascist,” “urban Naxal.” Political theorist Pratap Bhanu Mehta has warned, “Outrage flattens argument. It gives the illusion of politics without the substance of debate.”
Why Outrage Works
Outrage offers clarity in a confusing world. It divides neatly into heroes and villains, us and them. For politicians, it rallies supporters and silences dissenters. For media houses, it boosts ratings. For influencers, it drives engagement.
But the speed of it is also its weakness. Each controversy burns bright and then fades. What dominates headlines one week is forgotten the next, replaced by the next storm. Few issues linger long enough to spark sustained reform. As a leading journalist once put it, “Noise is not news. And outrage without memory becomes meaningless.”
The Human Cost
Living in a constant state of outrage takes a toll. Citizens feel compelled to take sides on every controversy, however trivial. Silence is seen as complicity; nuance as weakness. Relationships fray as disagreements spill across dinner tables and WhatsApp groups.
The emotional drain is evident. Many now scroll past scandals with indifference, assuming nothing will change. This reaction, once a tool for accountability, risks becoming background noise. As psychologist Sudhir Kakar has written, “A society that shouts all the time eventually forgets how to listen.”
This is the paradox: society is angrier than ever, yet also more fatigued, more cynical.
Politics in an Age of Exhaustion
Leaders still find short-term gain in fueling outrage, but long-term risks are mounting. A politics built only on provocation eventually loses credibility. Citizens want more than endless drama, they want outcomes.
There are already hints of this fatigue in voter behaviour. Campaigns that rely solely on stoking grievances do not always succeed; parties that mix grievance with delivery tend to endure longer. As political scientist Yogendra Yadav has remarked, “You cannot build politics only on anger. You need answers as well.”
Beyond Outrage
Outrage is not inherently destructive. It has sparked movements against corruption, caste discrimination, and gender violence. But when it becomes the default response to everything, from a film trailer to a cricket defeat, it loses its edge.
What India needs, perhaps, is not less anger but a different relationship with it. Anger that is channelled into reform, not just performance. Discontent that fuels debate, not division. Outrage that is rare enough to matter, not routine enough to numb.
In today’s India, outrage has become a way of life. But exhaustion is spreading. Citizens cannot live in a state of permanent emergency. At some point, politics, media, and culture alike will have to answer a simple question: if everything is a crisis, how long before nothing feels like one?
