Against Obedience: Power Distance & The Case For Cultural Defiance In India

In the 1980s and 1990s, ‘Ideal Boy’ posters became commonplace in India’s classrooms. It didn’t matter whether you were in large cities like Delhi, Mumbai, or Kolkata, or small villages in rural Bihar or Uttar Pradesh; the posters’ patronising sermons about how to be an ‘ideal boy’ were ubiquitous and inescapable. Although seemingly harmless and ironically funny, these posters were instruments of moral propaganda and subliminal social conditioning. The “good habits” promoted by them were insanely stereotypical and sexist; they included waking up early in the morning, studying diligently, joining the National Cadet Corps (NCC) — India’s equivalent of the Boy Scouts — and above all, obeying one’s parents and elders. In 2023, they inspired Mumbai-based visual artist and designer Priyesh Trivedi to create his now-iconic ‘Adarsh Balak’ series of satirical illustrations and paintings mocking their original message and intent.

Whenever I think about these posters, I think about how deeply the idea of obedience and deference is embedded within India’s socio-cultural fabric. As children, we are taught at a very young age that respect equals unquestioned obedience. We are taught to bow our heads before elders, obey parents without protest, and sit in classrooms where questions are less important than memorized correct answers. This culture of deferential respect continues into adulthood. By the time we come of age, it becomes ingrained within our very being. Obedience becomes the through-line of Indian social life. The family enforces it, schools normalise it, strict workplace hierarchies perpetuate it, and politics thrives on it. The public image of an authoritarian politician as a “strict parental figure” works only because Indians are conditioned to see submission as love.

In the early 1970s, Dutch social psychologist Geert Hofstede described this phenomenon as 'power distance': the extent to which a society accepts and expects an unequal distribution of power. India’s score on the Power Distance Index is 77; much higher than the global average of 59. This means not only that hierarchy or unequal distribution of power is deeply entrenched in Indian society, but also that Indians on the 'lower' end of power often accept, and even expect this inequality. Unlike in Western societies, where individuals are often encouraged to challenge authority, Indians are socialised to accommodate it, and sometimes even to depend on it.

In India, this conditioning is not entirely top-down. Many Indians feel a strange comfort within hierarchical structures of power as defined by conservative social values as a result of caste and colonial politics. To them, such structures provide order; a clear sense of whom to follow and whom to defer to. At home, the patriarchal 'father' figure assumes this position. In politics, we coalesce around charismatic leaders and form personality cults. This is why, in moments of crisis, Indians are less likely to frame rules as limitations on personal freedom, and more likely to comply if the appeal is phrased in the language of obligation, trust, or charisma. In India, a unilateral diktat such as “the government needs your support”, for instance, is more effective than a neutral list of regulations. Our obedience, in other words, is not always coerced; it is offered, often willingly.

The result is a society steeped in a culture of obedience that discourages dissent, normalises conformity, and diminishes the value of individual autonomy. Children learn not to question teachers; employees hesitate to challenge managers; citizens grow accustomed to tolerating politicians’ failures. Even in creative fields, deference dulls the edge of innovation. Individuals censor and silence themselves because they fear offending authority or breaking social convention. In effect, India’s high power distance robs us of the dynamism that comes from questioning, improvising, and defying the status quo.

Perhaps this is why bodies of work like Trivedi’s Adarsh Balak’, which question the status quo, resonate with such a broad section of Indian society. By mocking the very values society glorifies, Trivedi’s version of the 'ideal' boy held a mirror to Indians, and, for once, if only for a brief moment in India’s popular culture, Indians recognised the joke: our society is built on the absurd idea that being submissive makes you good.

The greatest tragedy of Indian society isn’t inequality, corruption, poverty, or democratic backsliding; it’s the root cause of all these social troubles — the omnipresent culture of obedience which begins at home and defines every aspect of Indian life. Until we learn to disobey, to defy, to refuse, and to rebel, to say “no” even to parents, teachers, bosses, and politicians, India will remain a nation of subjects instead of citizens. We will keep confusing obedience with morality, even as it perpetually binds us to mediocrity in all domains of life. The future belongs to the curious; to those who question. If India doesn’t, we will remain trapped in our oldest and most dangerous virtue: obedience.

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