KS Nagarajan
There are stories of patriotism that are told on battlefields. There are others that are lived quietly, over decades, in the face of institutional indifference. The story of a 1971 war veteran, hands-on electrical and mechanical engineer and whistle-blower belongs to the latter category.
After serving the nation in uniform and later working with ONGC, he chose a different battlefield—one against corruption, institutional wrongdoing and the refusal of systems to correct their own mistakes. His allegations of serious corruption brought him into conflict with powerful interests. What followed, according to him, was not protection for a whistle-blower but years of victimisation, bureaucratic resistance and promises that were repeatedly ignored.
Twenty years is a long time for anyone to pursue justice. It is an extraordinarily long time for a citizen who believes that exposing wrongdoing is itself a service to the nation.
The troubling question is not merely what happened to one individual. It is what such experiences tell us about the institutional treatment of whistle-blowers. If citizens are encouraged to expose corruption but are subsequently left to fend for themselves, what message does that send to others who may witness wrongdoing? A whistle-blower should not have to become a lifelong litigant simply to establish that his concerns deserved to be examined.
The veteran says his case has travelled through several levels of the judicial and administrative system and that authorities have, at various stages, failed to honour commitments or have presented their version of events before higher judicial forums. He now has a fresh reason for hope: the Central Information Commission has admitted his appeal in the matter.
But there is another, less conventional dimension to his long struggle.
Rather than allowing frustration to consume him, he has continued working on technological innovations and ideas that he believes can contribute to nation-building. He says that even the Prime Minister’s Office had encouraged prestigious universities to assist him with incubation and CADD analysis. Yet, according to him, institutional response remained disappointing. After two decades, however, four professors have reportedly provided encouraging technical assessments of his work.
His larger ambition is even more interesting. He wants to dedicate his innovations to the Namo Bharat Mudra Trust, affiliated with the RSS, with the objective of creating a constructive cadre of “Karma Yogis”—citizens who regard national development, ethical conduct and the discharge of fundamental duties as responsibilities rather than slogans.
That idea deserves attention irrespective of organisational affiliations.
India does not suffer from a shortage of talent. Nor does it lack young people with energy and ambition. What it desperately needs is to channel that energy towards constructive purposes. The fight against corruption cannot be left exclusively to investigating agencies, courts and governments. It must become part of a wider culture of civic responsibility.
The Constitution speaks not only of rights but also of fundamental duties. Those duties can acquire real meaning when citizens actively reject corruption, dishonesty and indifference in their own spheres.
The veteran’s proposal to use visual scripts and the creative capabilities of communication and design students to awaken young people to these responsibilities is therefore worth exploring. Students should not merely consume information; they can become creators of powerful visual communication that challenges corruption and promotes responsible citizenship.
The real battle is not against an entire generation. Gen Z is neither inherently destructive nor incapable of idealism. The challenge is to ensure that its enormous energy, creativity and technological fluency are directed towards nation-building rather than cynicism, instant gratification or destructive activism.
Perhaps that is the most constructive lesson from a 1971 war veteran’s twenty-year struggle: patriotism does not end when the uniform is removed. It can continue in the fight for institutional accountability, in technological innovation and in inspiring the next generation to become responsible citizens.
A nation progresses when its citizens refuse to surrender—not merely to an enemy across the border, but also to corruption, injustice, apathy and institutional failure within.
