There is a deep, almost brutal truth in Sidney Sheldon’s aphorism—one that transcends the realm of individual ambition and finds resonance in the destinies of nations.
History is replete with the paradox that great civilisations, far from rising in tranquil isolation, ascend in the shadow of formidable adversaries. Adversity, when it takes the shape of a worthy rival, becomes not a curse but a crucible of national greatness.
A nation without enemies is like a muscle untested, an idea unchallenged, a spirit untempered. Complacency sets in. Intellectual life becomes decorative rather than generative. Ethics yield to convenience. The dream of permanence lulls the people into an opiate of false security. Culture becomes exhibition rather than essence, and politics devolves into performance rather than purpose. Peace, when prolonged in the absence of threat or tension, does not refine—it decays.
History offers ample testimony. The Roman Republic rose not by idle peace but in fierce contest with Carthage. The American resolve was forged through existential rivalry with the British Empire, later tested by the ideological juggernaut of the Soviet Union. Israel, a nation surrounded by hostility, has survived and innovated because it could never afford to rest. China, in its long civilizational march, has repeatedly redefined itself in the face of foreign domination and internal implosion.
The Nietzschean dictum—“What does not kill me makes me stronger”—rings truer at the scale of nations than it ever could for individuals. Strength is not inherited; it is cultivated, often at great cost, through confrontation with those who threaten to undo you.
And herein lies India’s peculiar predicament.
Seven decades after independence, India continues to define itself against Pakistan—an entity that has steadily slid into a vortex of economic implosion, political instability, and ideological extremism. This fixation, this psychological tethering to a state that has failed in almost every metric of modern governance, limits India’s own self-conception. It’s akin to a scholar obsessing over the envy of an illiterate neighbour.
India’s real challenges lie not in the fires across the western border, but in the shifting tectonics of global power: in China’s muscular expansionism, in America’s shifting strategic calculus, in the weaponization of global trade and technology, and in the race for control over critical resources and AI futures. While we stay transfixed by the chronic nuisance of a collapsed rival, the giants of the world are redrawing the rules of engagement.
To envision itself as a leading power, India must choose adversaries that reflect its potential, not its past. Pakistan is no longer the mirror in which India should see its reflection—it is a relic. The true tests of India’s strength, maturity, and global standing will emerge from how it contends with the economic might of China, the technological dominance of the West, and the turbulence of multipolar competition.
This does not mean inviting conflict—it means embracing complexity. It means recognizing that national greatness is not forged in the echo chamber of self-congratulation, nor in rivalry with the weak, but in difficult negotiations, strategic deterrence, and robust defence against those who possess real power.
A country is never sovereign unless it controls its narrative of threat and ambition. And to do that, it must reframe its enemies—not with belligerence, but with clarity. Greatness requires resistance. Resistance requires adversaries worth respecting. And respect, in geopolitics, is born not in shared history, but in the anticipation of future contests.
India stands at an inflection point. To rise, it must stop shadow-boxing with ghosts and begin grappling with giants. That is the paradox of power: the stronger you grow, the more daunting your enemies must become. Anything less is not worthy of India’s civilizational inheritance—nor its aspirations.
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