Cheena Khundrakpam
The relationship between Northeast India and the Indian mainland is not merely geographical or political — it is profoundly psychological. Despite being an integral part of the Indian Union since Independence, the Northeast continues to occupy a marginal position in the national psyche. The region, rich in ethnic diversity and cultural complexity, is often perceived through a narrow lens of difference. Stereotypes, cultural ignorance, and lack of representation have created what may be called a psychological distance between the Northeast and “Mainland India.”
This distance is not visible on maps, yet it shapes social interactions, institutional practices, and collective consciousness. It manifests as a sense of exclusion among Northeastern citizens, and as a sense of unfamiliarity or indifference among those from the mainland. The result is a persistent feeling of being Indian yet not being seen as Indian enough. The psychological gap cannot be understood without examining its historical roots. During the colonial period, British administrators described the region as the “Frontier” — an ethnographic curiosity rather than an organic part of India. This perception continued after Independence, when the Indian state inherited both the bureaucratic language of governance and the cultural hierarchies of the colonial system.
The postcolonial nation-building process was largely directed from the center. While the rest of India was integrated through shared cultural and linguistic narratives, the Northeast remained defined by its difference — its tribal identity, indigenous peoples, and ethnic plurality. Instead of being celebrated, this difference became the basis of othering.
This historical neglect created an enduring psychological wound — a sense that the Northeast was simultaneously inside and outside the national imagination.
The psychological gap is not an abstract concept — it is felt in the small, repeated moments of daily life. I recall vividly being asked, almost casually, “Don’t you have good universities in your state that you people came here and just fill up our seats?” — as though my presence in a mainland university required justification. My admission through merit was questioned, framed as if I had taken “their seat,” a seat that was earned fairly and on merit.
Often, before even asking where I am from, people would ask, “Are you an international student?” or “Are you from a foreign country?” When I replied that I am from Manipur, the next question would follow: “Is Manipur in India?”
These are not mere curiosities; they are psychological markers of distance. They show how incomplete the mainland’s imagination of India still is. I found myself repeatedly clarifying not just that I am from Manipur, but that Manipur is part of the Northeast of India.
The experience of being looked at — of having one’s “Mongoloid” facial features singled out, of drawing unfamiliar gazes in public places — often left me suspended between emotions. Should I feel proud that I stand out, or offended that I am made to feel foreign in my own land? This emotional tension — the confusion between visibility and alienation — is the essence of the psychological gap.
Many Northeastern people living in metropolitan cities have similar experiences. In public spaces, some are approached by strangers asking for photographs, as though they were exotic visitors rather than fellow citizens. The sense of being a foreigner in one’s own country is not a metaphor; it is a lived reality.
While the 21st century has brought modernisation and greater mobility, the mental distance between the Northeast and the rest of India remains deeply rooted. The gap may appear invisible in policy and discourse, but it continues to shape interactions, assumptions, and the consciousness of belonging.
Mainstream Indian media plays a major role in reinforcing this psychological gap. The Northeast appears in national news with less context of conflict, insurgency, or disaster, and is even more excluded from the space of creativity, intellect, and contribution.
Cultural representation is equally limited. In school textbooks, the Northeast is reduced to maps, exotic dances, or tribal attire. In cinema and literature, it appears either as a peripheral backdrop or as an aesthetic curiosity. The psychological impact of this exclusion is profound: the people of the region internalize a sense of invisibility, while mainland audiences develop an incomplete or distorted understanding.
In social interactions, this translates into micro-aggressions — questions like “Are you from China or Nepal?” — which expose the deep-seated ignorance of cultural diversity within the Indian nation. Such experiences accumulate into what psychologists might call collective alienation — a shared emotional distance reinforced through repetition and silence.
Education, ideally a bridge between regions, has instead deepened the psychological divide. The Indian education system continues to privilege certain histories, philosophies, and epistemologies — mostly drawn from the Sanskritic, Brahminical, or Western canon — while ignoring indigenous and tribal knowledge systems.
For students from the Northeast, this produces a dual sense of alienation: they are educated into an intellectual world that does not reflect their lived realities, and they rarely see their culture represented as a legitimate field of study. For mainland students, the absence of Northeast perspectives reinforces ignorance and distance.
This epistemic gap is a psychological one, because it determines what is thinkable and sayable within the national imagination. A lack of knowledge, or even a little knowledge, impacts the gap hugely, creating an assumption-based mindset about specific regional peoples or communities without proper analysis or study.
The philosopher Charles Taylor argues that recognition is not just a courtesy but a vital human need. To be misrecognized, or not recognised at all, is to suffer real psychological harm. This politics of misrecognition marks the relationship between the Northeast and the mainland.
The mainland gaze often views the region through a framework of difference — emphasizing physical appearance, language, or culture — rather than through a lens of equality and shared humanity. This gaze constructs the Northeast as “exotic” or “foreign,” thereby reinforcing the psychological boundary between “us” and “them.”
Recognition must therefore go beyond tolerance. It requires an epistemic shift — a willingness to understand the Northeast not as an “extension” of India, but as an integral site of Indian modernity, philosophy, and cultural creativity.
The cumulative effect of misrecognition and marginalization is a fractured identity. Many young people from the Northeast experience what psychologists call “double consciousness” — a divided sense of self between being Indian in citizenship and being “othered” in perception.
This tension affects self-esteem, belonging, and motivation. It also fuels feelings of anger or withdrawal among youth, who struggle to reconcile their regional identity with the national narrative. On the mainland side, ignorance breeds indifference or prejudice, further widening the emotional gap.
The psychological divide thus operates both ways — as internal alienation within the Northeast and external ignorance from the mainland. Bridging this divide requires structural change and emotional literacy.
Addressing the psychological gap demands more than policy inclusion; it calls for cultural empathy and educational transformation. A few pathways are essential. Introduction of content that meaningfully represents Northeast history, philosophy, and literature in national curricula as recognition begins in classrooms. Facilitate student and faculty exchange programs between Northeastern and mainland universities to foster dialogue and understanding. Promote representation of the Northeast beyond conflict in arts, academia, science, and innovation. Media visibility is psychological visibility. Encourage academic recognition of indigenous epistemologies, such as the ethics or the communal practices of tribal societies, as valid philosophical systems. Strengthen youth engagement with democracy through awareness programs and leadership training that link education with social responsibility.
In conclusion, the psychological gap between the Northeast and Mainland India is not a natural divide but a constructed one — produced by ignorance, misrepresentation, and historical neglect. It persists because it benefits the comfort of the center and maintains the invisibility of the margins.
But this gap can be bridged through recognition, dialogue, and education rooted in empathy. The Northeast does not seek charity or token inclusion; it seeks understanding and equality. Bridging the gap is not about erasing differences but about valuing them as part of the national consciousness.
To heal the psychological distance, India must reimagine itself — not as a singular civilization radiating from the centre, but as a plural consciousness that breathes through its many peripheries. The Northeast is not the edge of India; it is one of its beating hearts.
Bridging the gap cannot be achieved by the effort of one side alone; it requires a mutual initiative where both parties share equal responsibility to fill the void.
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Cheena Khundrakpam is a PhD Scholar in the Science & Humanities Department at Amrita Vishwa Vidyapeetham University.
