Beyond the Isms: Choosing a Life Without Labels

The world craves labels. It loves to tuck us neatly into boxes called “isms.” Nationalism, socialism, feminism, atheism, theism—the list never ends. Each promises clarity, but most deliver cages.

At first, isms seem useful. They compress complexity into a word. But soon the word demands loyalty. To wear the label is to accept its entire baggage, even the parts that don’t belong to you. And before long, the label speaks louder than you do.

Take feminism. I believe in equality—deeply. But equality doesn’t need a manifesto stamped onto it. The moment I wear the “ism,” I inherit the assumptions, conflicts, and agendas of others. My simple belief becomes a banner, a battlefield.

This tension exists in faith, too. I do not believe in any higher being. And yet, I sit with the Vishnu Sahasranamam. I let the voice of M. S. Subbulakshmi or the youthful innocence of Ishaan Pai wash over me, and something within me stirs. Not faith, not surrender—something beyond those words. I love devotion in music, even if I do not subscribe to devotion in doctrine.

So tell me—why must rejecting one ism shove me into its opposite? If I am not a theist, must I be an atheist? If I am not a nationalist, must I be branded anti-national? Must every “no” be misheard as a “yes” to its enemy?

Nietzsche warned: “Convictions are more dangerous enemies of truth than lies.” Jiddu Krishnamurti asked: “When you call yourself an Indian or a Hindu or a Muslim or a Christian… do you see why it is violent? Because you are separating yourself from the rest of mankind.”

Isms divide. They flatten. They demand allegiance when life itself demands fluidity.

Albert Camus once wrote: “I rebel—therefore I exist.” My rebellion is not against gods or nations or traditions. My rebellion is against the demand to choose one box over another.

I exist in between. I exist in the space where music moves me, but belief does not bind me. Where equality matters, but labels don’t own me. Where doubt is not weakness, but freedom.

In the end, I don’t need an ism to define me. Because truth is not found in a label, but in the resonance of things that move us—like the timeless voice of Subbulakshmi, or the tender notes of a child singing Bhaja Govindam or a ‘Kun Faya Kun’.

I am not this. I am not that. I am simply here.