A New India
Chapter 280 - 280: International Media and Racism

The dawn of the next day brought a stark divide in global perspectives.

While the Indian press hailed Rohan as a visionary leader and celebrated the successful passage of the State Reorganization Bill, international newspapers painted a far grimmer picture.

Headlines from prominent publications across the globe read like indictments:

"India's Democracy Under Siege: A New Era of Authoritarianism" (The New York Times)

"Rohan's Iron Fist: The Death of Dissent in the World's Largest Democracy" (The Guardian)

"Political Purge or Progress? The Cost of Rohan's Vision for India" (Le Monde)

"India's Government Crosses the Line: Opposition Silenced" (BBC World).

The framing was clear, Rohan's decisive actions were seen not as reforms but as a descent into authoritarianism.

The nuance of India's internal challenges, the riots, and the misinformation campaigns were overshadowed by accusations of political repression.

In London, a small café near Hyde Park was unusually crowded that morning.

Arun Kumar, a young Indian student studying engineering at the University of London, sat quietly at a corner table, sipping his tea and scanning the front page of The Times.

The headline screamed: "Rohan's Clampdown: India on the Brink of Fascism."

"Hey, Arun," a voice called out mockingly. It was James, one of his classmates.

He strode over, holding his own copy of the paper, a smirk plastered on his face. "Looks like your country's turning into a dictatorship. How does it feel to be the future subject of Emperor Rohan?"

"Curry boy!" shouted another one waving the paper. "You guys locking everyone up back home now? Is that how you run things over there

Arun clenched his fists under the table but forced a tight smile. "It's a complicated situation, James. You can't judge it just from—"

"Complicated?" James interrupted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Sure. Sounds like an excuse for locking up your opposition. I thought India was a democracy?"

Before Arun could respond, another voice added in. "I bet they don't even know what democracy means over there," a middle-aged man sitting nearby said loudly, his tone dismissive. "They're all the same, just a bunch of backward people trying to play modern."

Arun's cheeks burned with humiliation.

He wanted to argue, to explain the complexities, but the weight of their ignorance and mockery silenced him.

He felt utterly alone.

At other place in London similar scene played out.

Aarav Sharma, a law student at the University of London, stood in a crowded tube station reading a local tabloid.

The headline blared: "Rohan's Tyranny: India's Descent into Darkness."

A man in a pinstripe suit, standing nearby, glanced at Aarav and sneered. "You lot don't waste any time, do you? First, you mess up your own country, then you come here to take our jobs."

Aarav turned, his voice steady but laced with anger. "You don't know anything about what's happening in India."

"I know enough," the man shot back. "Your people can't even govern themselves without turning into despots. That's why we had to civilize you in the first place."

Aarav felt his blood boil, but the words caught in his throat.

As the train arrived, the man walked away, leaving Aarav standing there, fuming but silent.

Back in India, Rohan sat in his office, his face grim as Neeraj read out excerpts from international coverage. "They're not holding back, sir. Some of these articles are brutal."

"Read one," Rohan said flatly.

Neeraj hesitated before opening the latest edition of The New York Times. "'Rohan's recent actions mark a troubling shift in India's democratic ethos. By jailing opposition leaders under the guise of national security, his government has shown a willingness to prioritize power over principle. The world must question whether India is still a democracy or if it is sliding into authoritarianism.'"

Rohan leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "And the BBC?"

Neeraj cleared his throat. "'India's Prime Minister, celebrated for his sweeping reforms, now faces accusations of undermining the very democracy he swore to protect. Critics argue that his methods, while effective, come at a dangerous cost: the erosion of democratic norms.'"

Rohan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "They don't see the context, Neeraj. They don't see the riots, the misinformation, the chaos we had to contain. They see only what they want to see."

Neeraj nodded. "Sir, they're framing this as an attack on democracy because that's the narrative that sells. They don't understand the realities on the ground."

"It's not just about understanding," Rohan said, his tone sharp. "It's about control. They're afraid of a strong India, an India that doesn't conform to their expectations. This is their way of undermining us."

Meanwhile, in Melbourne, Australia, an Indian family faced a more direct consequence of the media's portrayal.

Mohan Iyer, a shopkeeper, was sweeping the front of his small grocery store when a group of teenagers walked by.

"Hey, dictator!" one of them shouted, laughing as they threw an egg at his store window.

Mohan froze, his hands gripping the broom tightly.

His teenage son, Ravi, stepped out of the shop, his face red with anger. "What's your problem?" he yelled after them.

"Ravi, stop," Mohan said quietly, pulling his son back inside.

"But, Appa, they can't—"

"They can, and they will," Mohan interrupted, his voice heavy. "Let it go."

Ravi stared at his father, tears of frustration welling in his eyes. "Why do they hate us? We didn't do anything."

Mohan didn't have an answer.

He ignored the spray-painted across the shutters were the words: "Go back to your land of snakes!"

Not letting his son see it as well.

Then he sat down heavily, the weight of their shared humiliation pressing down on him.

In Sydney, a young Indian couple, Manish and Priya, were grocery shopping when they heard laughter coming from the checkout counter.

The cashier and a customer were watching a news broadcast on the small TV mounted on the wall.

"Look at this," the customer said, pointing at the screen. "They're all just corrupt over there. It's no wonder these Indians come here, they can't survive in their own country."

The cashier nodded, smirking. "Yeah, but they bring all their problems here. Probably planning to turn Sydney into some dirty slum next."

Priya's face flushed red as she grabbed Manish's arm. "Let's go," she whispered.

Manish turned to them, his voice trembling with controlled rage. "You don't know anything about us or our country."

The customer laughed. "Oh, I know plenty. Corruption, caste wars, and now dictatorship. Sounds like paradise."

Priya pulled Manish away before the situation could escalate, but the sting of the words lingered long after they left the store.

In Paris, an international symposium on democracy turned into a heated discussion about India.

A panelist, a prominent political scientist, declared, "What we're seeing in India is the death of democracy. When a leader jails his opposition under the pretense of maintaining order, he's no different from the dictators we've condemned throughout history."

In the audience, a young Indian diplomat, Meera, clenched her fists.

When the Q&A session began, she stood up. "With all due respect, Professor," she began, her voice steady, "your analysis lacks context. The so-called opposition leaders in question incited riots that killed innocent civilians. They used misinformation to divide the nation. This was not about silencing dissent, it was about preserving national integrity."

The professor raised an eyebrow. "And yet, the timing conveniently coincides with the passage of a controversial bill. Are we to believe that's merely a coincidence?"

Meera's jaw tightened. "Believe what you will, Professor. But know this: India's democracy is not for outsiders to define. We face challenges, yes, but we face them as a united nation. Your critique is easy from afar, but living through it requires resilience you cannot imagine."

Her words earned scattered applause, but the skepticism in the room was still there

Back in Delhi, Rohan gathered his closest aides in his office.

Rao, Atma Jayaram, Neeraj, and a few cabinet members sat around the table as Rohan paced.

"The international media is trying to delegitimize us," he began. "They don't care about the truth; they care about their narrative. And now Indians abroad are paying the price."

Neeraj nodded. "We're getting reports of increased racial incidents in the UK, the US, and Australia. Indian students and workers are being harassed."

Rohan stopped pacing and turned to Rao. "What can we do?"

"Sir, we can issue a strong statement condemning these acts and urging foreign governments to protect our citizens. But the root of this issue is the narrative. As long as the media frames us as authoritarian, this won't stop."

Rohan's eyes narrowed. "Then we need to change the narrative."

Jayaram spoke up. "That won't be easy, sir. These are powerful outlets with global reach."

Rohan smirked. "Let them be powerful. India is no longer a weak nation begging for approval. We'll counter their narrative with action. Let our progress speak for itself."

Jayaram hesitated. "But sir, even if we push back, some will never believe us. They've already made up their minds."

Rohan's voice hardened. "Yes but we have to try".