Rooted in Chaos

I remember walking down a newly built road, dodging construction debris and traffic, when a friend quipped, “It’s like we’ve all become tourists in our own city.” We laughed it off, but I felt a pang of worry: Was I losing that comforting sense of home, of something deeply familiar and mine? As skyscrapers sprout where small shops once stood and global franchises replace local street vendors, the line between ‘progress’ and ‘loss’ starts to blur. And it’s not just about losing old landmarks; it’s about losing parts of our collective identity—an anchor that keeps us rooted to who we are.

This conflict becomes even more jarring for India’s indigenous communities, whose ties to the land form the very fabric of their existence. Picture the Dongria Kondh of Odisha, who see the Niyamgiri Hills not merely as property but as sacred—an extension of their identity. When industrial giants arrived for mining, the threat to evict them from their ancestral land felt like an assault on their very souls. While they stood their ground and safeguarded their sacred hills, the psychological impact of that battle still lingers. After all, losing land can mean losing your language, traditions, and inherited stories—your sense of self. Research (Indian Journal of Psychological Medicine) has repeatedly underscored how cultural loss is a key driver of anxiety, stress, and even PTSD in marginalized communities.

The Adivasis of Chhattisgarh know this all too well. Displaced from their forest homes without adequate rehabilitation, they’ve been forced to navigate urban or semi-urban worlds where their indigenous skills and customs hold little weight. It’s a bit like waking up in a foreign country and realising you’ve lost your passport, language guide, and support system—all at once. The emotional upheaval leads many to experience depression, heightened anxiety, and profound isolation. And the worst part? This trauma doesn’t just vanish with time. Children inherit the emotional weight of their parents’ displacement, manifesting as chronic insecurity and a fractured sense of identity.

These stories echo everywhere: the Baiga tribe in Madhya Pradesh, evicted under the banner of wildlife conservation, only to be left grappling with sudden upheaval and PTSD. Elders feel helpless outside the forest, while the younger generation stares at a clash between two worlds. Traditional roles slip away, and with them goes a sense of belonging. It’s like being torn from a story halfway through and then asked to continue in a language you don’t fully understand.

Psychologists and sociologists often refer to this as “cultural grief,” a form of mourning that arises when a group loses the tangible symbols that define its identity. According to Social Identity Theory (Tajfel & Turner, 1979), when people are stripped of group membership markers—like shared customs and land—the psychological fallout can be devastating. We see it in families who lose not just their farms but their communal rituals, harvest festivals, and oral histories that have been passed down for generations. Without these cultural cornerstones, there’s a collective heartbreak that can lead to depression, substance abuse, and domestic unrest.

But do we have to choose between tradition and progress? Perhaps the real conversation lies in how we define “progress” in the first place. What if we saw it as an inclusive process that values consultation with local communities, protects their spiritual ties to the land, and offers real rehabilitation rather than mere compensation? The Kalbelia community of Rajasthan offers a glimmer of hope. Their folk dances and nomadic heritage are being celebrated on national and global platforms through government and NGO initiatives. By weaving their culture into modern frameworks, they’ve found a way to keep their roots intact while accessing broader opportunities.

In cities, too, we can do our part. Imagine cultural festivals and hubs where indigenous artists, farmers, and educators can share their traditions. Or think of community-driven mental health initiatives that acknowledge the connection between identity and well-being, rather than forcing an entirely ‘urban’ model onto people who’ve lost their ancestral anchors. 

If you’re feeling that internal tug-of-war—between the thrill of modern life and a yearning for something more grounded—maybe it’s time to pause and reconnect. Whether it’s visiting a tribal art festival, supporting ethical tourism in indigenous regions, or simply learning about the land you stand on, these small acts can help bridge the gap between progress and belonging. And if you find yourself struggling with that sense of rootlessness or worry over vanishing traditions, remember you don’t have to face it alone. Seeking therapy or community support can offer a fresh lens on how to honour both where we come from and where we’re heading. At the end of the day, India’s true heritage isn’t just in its monuments or city skylines; it’s in the stories, rituals, and spiritual ties that keep us grounded—even when everything around us is changing.

Because real progress isn’t about forgetting who we are—it’s about carrying our cultural roots into the future, scars and all, and wearing them with pride.