South Asia in the Mirror: A Psychologist's View on Shared Struggles Beyond Borders
Disclaimer: This is not a hate piece. It is a personal observation based on research, professional experience, and reflection. The intention is not to demean any nation or its people, but to promote honest dialogue for societal growth and healing.
As a clinical psychologist, I am trained to observe patterns—not just in individuals, but in entire societies. These patterns repeat, they cause harm, and often, they are denied in the name of national pride. Being a Pakistani, I have frequently heard that pointing out flaws within our system is an act of betrayal. If I critique my country, I am accused of comparing it to India. And if I do that, the conversation quickly shifts to a rivalry of "who’s worse?" This binary is not only flawed; it misses the point entirely. What separates India and Pakistan is essentially just a border—one drawn through political decisions, soaked in the trauma of partition. Yet the realities faced by people on both sides, particularly the underprivileged, remain hauntingly similar.
There is an undeniable mirroring of social dysfunctions across the region. We bribe officials here to get work done, and so do they. We depend on connections to bypass rules, and so do they. We judge by sect, caste, or religion, and so do they. We publicly shame people who think differently, and so do they. Changing countries does not necessarily mean escaping dysfunction. It often only changes the dialect of the dysfunction. Whether you are in Pakistan or India, the same social diseases persist under different masks. The only difference is the accent with which the same pain is expressed.
In both nations, poverty is more than a financial reality—it is a psychological one. It impacts emotional regulation, family structures, and the ability to dream. Ironically, those who live slightly above the poverty line suffer the most, caught between rising inflation and unrealistic societal expectations. Whether it is a laborer in rural India or a clerk in urban Pakistan, the constant struggle to survive with dignity erodes mental health. This shared emotional burden knows no national boundary; it is part of the South Asian identity that remains unspoken and untreated.
One of the most powerful narcotics in both societies is political distraction. When governments struggle internally, they look outward. A struggling Pakistani administration highlights Indian failures. An Indian leader facing backlash points fingers at Pakistan. The media follows suit, the public joins in, and a dangerous illusion is created: "At least we’re better than them." In psychology, this is called externalization—blaming others to avoid facing one's own flaws. It is a common defense mechanism in therapy and a massive roadblock in both national and personal growth.
In the digital landscape, originality is often overshadowed by mimicry. Pakistani vloggers celebrate foreign tech. Indian YouTubers repackage the same content for monetized views. While content flows, creativity often stalls. This copy-paste culture highlights a deeper problem: a lack of self-investment. We are so consumed by either beating or imitating each other that we fail to nurture what is authentically ours. The issue isn’t a lack of talent—it’s a lack of internal focus. Homegrown innovation takes a back seat while borrowed success is paraded as pride.
It is important to emphasize that this critique is not an act of betrayal; it is an act of love and responsibility. I love Pakistan deeply, and it is precisely why I refuse to remain silent. Patriotism should not mean blindness. It should mean holding ourselves to a higher standard. This blog is not about proving which nation is superior. That distraction keeps us locked in denial. What I’m advocating for is shared healing—acknowledging that the dysfunctions we see are not unique but deeply rooted across the region. Until we stop using nationalism as a shield and begin embracing reflection as a cure, change will remain a distant dream.
At the heart of both countries lies a citizenry that wants peace, dignity, fairness, and opportunity. But this shared aspiration cannot manifest until we stop competing in pain and begin cooperating in healing. Whether in Lahore or Lucknow, Karachi or Kolkata, it is time to remove the emotional masks and face the uncomfortable truths. Healing does not begin with ego. It begins with honesty. If these words make you uncomfortable, perhaps that is the first sign that truth has touched a nerve. Sit with it. Let it speak.
About the Author: Reema Ayub is a practicing Clinical Psychologist and researcher focusing on South Asian identity, social behavior, and collective trauma. Her work is grounded in lived research, therapeutic observation, and the pursuit of deeper regional dialogue beyond political borders.