By Robert Clements
Crying Wolf..!
So now we’ve sent a delegation, along with our Oxford Dictionary-Shashi Tharoor!
Yes, a “Truth Team,” armed with PowerPoint presentations, diplomatic smiles, and Tharoor’s vocabulary, to convince the world: “This time, honest, we’re telling the truth.”
Apparently, even something as precise, targeted, and necessary as bombing terrorist camps must now come with a disclaimer: “We promise we did it for the right reasons. Please believe us. Sincerely, India.”
It should have been a moment of solemn pride—justice delivered with restraint and military efficiency. But instead, it has been drowned in doubt, not because of what we did this time, but because of what we’ve done so many times before.
Because when you make a habit of yelling “fake news!” at every uncomfortable truth, of branding every international report as “foreign propaganda,” and of treating fact-checkers like enemies of the state—don’t be surprised if, when we finally tell the truth, no one listens.
That’s what happens when you cry wolf.
For years now, we’ve swung a torch of bravado at the world’s eyebrows. When the UN said hunger in India had worsened, we accused them of being anti-India. When global watchdogs flagged declining press freedom, we claimed they were colonial stooges. When journalists were arrested for doing their jobs, we said they were threats to peace and national security.
We didn’t pause to think that truth was quietly exiting the building while we danced in the glow of jingoism.
Minorities lynched? Fabricated.
Dissenters jailed? Necessary.
Activists raising red flags? “Urban Naxals.”
Poverty reports? “West jealous of our economic growth.”
We became experts at rubbishing the world’s concerns while simultaneously craving their validation—an odd contradiction best performed under prime-time studio lights with ticker tapes flashing BREAKING: INDIA UNSHAKEABLE.
But the consequence of all that spinning, twisting, denying and deflecting is this: Now, when we actually have something to say that matters, we sound like those WhatsApp forwards we warned the aunties about.
The wolf has entered the village. But the villagers, tired of false alarms, have rolled their eyes and gone back to sleep.
Even worse, we’re not just losing the world’s trust. We’re losing our own.
Scroll through your Twitter feed. Flip through Instagram reels. Talk to a college student. Speak to the elderly who lived through wars and remembered real statesmanship. And you’ll see a sad, growing tribe of citizens who don’t know what to believe anymore—not because they don’t love their country, but because they’ve been deceived one too many times.
One day it’s about banning maps that show inconvenient borders.
The next day, it’s silencing comedians who joked too sharply.The following week, it’s another YouTube channel banned for “national security.”
And then, just like that, in the middle of the digital din, the government says: “Believe us, this strike was real. It was justified. We have evidence.”
And many of us whisper back, “Do you?”
Not because we’re unpatriotic. But because we’ve heard this voice before—in fifty different accents and contexts—and too often, it was selling us snake oil.
So what do we do now?
We send a delegation.
We round up opposition MPs—many of whom were vilified yesterday—and tell them to play backup singers in the symphony of “Truth, India Style.”
And you can almost hear the irony crackling in the microphones.
We’re not flying out to declare victory. We’re flying out to beg for credibility.
Let that sink in.
And in doing so, we learn a lesson we should have never forgotten:
Truth is like a credit card.
Swipe it responsibly—on transparent governance, integrity, and humility—and it’ll work like magic.
Swipe it recklessly—on fake data, hollow nationalism, and cosmetic reforms—and one day, at the counter of global scrutiny, the message flashes:
“Declined. Insufficient authenticity.”
So, what do we do next?
Simple. Radical, even. But simple.
Tell the truth.
Start with admitting that we’re not perfect. No country is.
Acknowledge those rankings on poverty, education, press freedom—not with angry denials, but thoughtful reflection.
Don’t arrest the messenger—engage with the message.
Stop labelling every critique as “anti-national.” Pause to ask, “What if they’re right?”
Stop scripting every story into a Bollywood thriller. Sometimes the truth is mundane, unsexy—but real. And real is what we need.
Because truth doesn’t need a 10-member committee to validate it. It stands tall, even in silence.
Let’s go back to a place where we can accept our faults without shame, correct them with integrity, and celebrate our wins without the need for saying like little children, ‘I swear on my father! On my mother!”
Let’s raise a generation that’s not suspicious by default, that doesn’t smirk when the government says, “We did this right.”
Let’s remember that real patriotism isn’t about blind belief. It’s about clear-eyed love—a love that’s not afraid to question, to critique, to improve. And maybe, just maybe, next time the wolf comes—be it in the form of a threat, a crisis, or a genuine need for global solidarity—we won’t have to send a delegation with brochures and bullet points.
We’ll speak, and the world will listen.
Because truth, once restored, doesn’t need shouting. It whispers—and is heard.Until then, let’s keep that credit card in our pocket, but let’s also clean up the account. Because this nation has too much potential, too many heroes, and far too much truth waiting to be spoken—to waste on more cries of “wolf…!”
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