Why I Don't Watch the News

Some nights I'm at the dining table, my dad clicks the TV on, and the first thing that pops up is the news. Like a lot of dads in a lot of Indian homes, he'll let it run.

And every time, I notice the same vibe: our TV news feels like that "gali ki aunty" who lives to gossip—dramatic, busybody energy, except with a studio and a ticker. The anti-Pakistan chest-thumping for TRPs, the noisy debates, the way they turn everything into a spectacle—it's all so predictable.

I've tried to make myself like the news. I really have. Even when the world felt like it was on the edge, I still couldn't. Anchors spice things up, twist the story, and somehow skip the stuff that actually matters inside our own house. Private lives get aired out; public failures get ignored. It feels controlled. Not free. And honestly, it's exhausting.

The Psychology Behind Taking Sides

Recently, I asked my AI a question that had been bothering me: why do people take such hard sides the minute something goes public? And why are we so obsessed with other people's lives when our own are a mess?

Here's what clicked for me. Taking sides is how we signal who we are. It's identity and belonging. When an issue feels moral or emotional, picking a side is easier than sitting with the complexity. It's cleaner to think in binaries: right/wrong, victim/perpetrator. Neutrality reads like dishonesty. If you don't pick, people assume you're hiding something. So we perform outrage, we perform loyalty. It's social survival.

The Indian Context

In India, that effect is louder. We're deeply community-shaped—families, friend circles, local networks—which means collective emotions snowball fast. Social media adds kerosene. Sensational TV turns pain into programming. Voyeurism is rewarded: peeking into lives that aren't ours. And somewhere in there, it's also escape. If I can scroll and shout about someone else's mess, I don't have to face my own.

Then there's the media industry itself. Investigative reporting is risky. Corporate and political pressures are real. Paid news exists. Manufactured drama is cheaper than real accountability. So we get a diet of noise instead of nuance. And young people—people like me—check out not because we don't care, but because we're tired of being played.

I don't want noise; I want context. Not villains and heroes; just facts, accountability, and a little humility.

Until then, when Dad flips to the news, I'll probably keep the volume low. My head—and this country—already have enough drama.