Claiming Heroes We Didn’t Raise

In India, we’ve got a habit that’s as endearing as it is absurd: we love to adopt ‘sons’ and ‘daughters’ who’ve made it big abroad, draping them in tricolour pride like they’ve just stepped out of a Bollywood blockbuster. The latest star in our sky is astronaut Sunita Williams, who recently splashed down after a record-breaking jaunt in space. Butch Wilmore spent the same amount of time up there but Indians couldn’t care less.

Right from the Prime Minister and President to anybody with an X or Y account greeted and tweeted about it and her ancestral village in Gujarat lit up with poojas like it was hosting a cosmic homecoming. “Our girl!” they proclaimed, as if they had personally strapped her into the rocket.

Let’s hit pause and zoom out. Sunita’s a marvel—nine months orbiting Earth, nine spacewalks, and a career that screams brilliance. But she was born in Ohio, raised in the US, and launched skyward by NASA. India’s contribution? A proud ancestral link and maybe a few fervent prayers. Some of the more vocal admirers are acting like the uncle who boasts about his niece’s straight A’s despite not helping with a single homework assignment. She’s American-grown, folks—her grit’s forged in the Stars and Stripes, not the saffron fields.

This isn’t a solo act, either. When Rishi Sunak snagged the keys to 10 Downing Street in 2022, India erupted in a patriotic frenzy. “Our boy’s ruling Britain!” they crowed, as if he’d been groomed in a Delhi drawing room. Never mind that Rishi’s Southampton-born, Oxford-polished, and probably says “cheers” more than “namaste.” His brown skin and Punjabi heritage were enough for people to claim him as a desi triumph, even as he wrestled with inflation and not, say, the price of paneer. Ironically, it was Sunak himself who tightened immigration laws, making it harder for Indians to secure work and residency in the UK.

The list goes on. Sundar Pichai became Google’s big boss, and we hollered, “IIT ka ladka!”—forgetting that Silicon Valley, not Kharagpur, turned him into a tech titan. Kamala Harris stepped up as US Vice President, and people lost no time in unearthing her Tamil roots faster than you could say thayir sadam. She’s Oakland-raised, not Chennai-bred, but that didn’t stop us from beaming like proud grandparents. When Indra Nooyi took the reins at PepsiCo, India puffed its chest, conveniently ignoring that her leadership skills were honed in Connecticut boardrooms rather than under a neem tree in Chennai.

And let’s not forget the sporting world. When tennis star Emma Raducanu clinched a US Open title, they scrambled to highlight her Indian connection, tenuous at best. Similarly, golfer Akshay Bhatia, making waves in the PGA Tour, is suddenly ‘one of us’, though his entire sporting journey has played out on American greens. Cricketer Shivnarine Chanderpaul, a West Indies veteran, may have an ancestor somewhere in India, but his batting prowess was honed on Caribbean pitches, not in Mumbai’s maidans. And remember Harmeet Dhillon? The California-based lawyer made headlines in US politics, and we gleefully added her to the list of global desi achievers, even if her worldview is shaped more by the US Constitution than the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita.

It’s a laughable tic, this urge to plant our flag on heroes thriving in fancy zip codes. As soon as desi name is spotted in the headlines and suddenly it’s a national victory lap. Why the obsession? Maybe it’s a post-colonial itch, a need to see ‘our own’ outshine the old masters. Or perhaps it’s just human nature—who doesn’t love a success story with a hint of familiarity? No harm in drawing inspiration from Sunita’s courage or Rishi’s rise, but claiming credit is like taking a bow for someone else’s performance.

Meanwhile, we’ve got heroes aplenty right here—no visas required. Think Abdul Kalam, the Missile Man who rose from Rameswaram’s shores to the Rashtrapati Bhavan, building rockets that didn’t need a foreign launchpad. Or take Mary Kom, punching her way to Olympic glory from Manipur’s dusty rings. These are legends India nurtured, not borrowed. Add to that the likes of P V Sindhu, who smashes global badminton giants, or Neeraj Chopra, whose javelin soars higher than our collective foreign aspirations.

Next time a desi dazzles abroad, let’s cheer—heck, light a diya if you must—but save the ownership papers. This country has enough self-made icons to fill a hall of fame. Sunita and Rishi are fabulous, but they’re not our homework to brag about. Let’s raise a toast to our homegrown heroes instead—they’re the ones who truly carry our flag, no adoption fee required.