The recent incident at Delhi airport, involving a Nepali transit passenger and a social media post, was not an isolated event. The viral social media post concerned a Nepali citizen who was denied boarding for her flight to Berlin during a transit stop in Delhi, despite having all valid travel documents. The Indian Ministry of Home Affairs clarified that the denial was made by the airline (Qatar Airways), which deemed her visa insufficient for the destination country; however, she travelled to Berlin from Nepal afterwards.

It was a familiar, painful echo. For many Nepalis, the tone, the subtle condescension, the air of superiority, has reopened a wound that has nothing to do with immigration, security or airline counters and everything to do with dignity. This single moment, like so many before it, exposed the raw nerve of the people-to-people relationship between Nepal and India: It is straining not on treaties or trade, but on a deep, unhealed psychological division. We respond more to tone than to facts, and more to posture than to policy. Kathmandu and New Delhi now need to look past emotional reactions and build a more respectful way of working together. The frequent tensions, often sparked by minor issues, show that the two countries still see their shared past and future very differently. Until this psychological gap is bridged, the relationship will remain volatile, perpetually held hostage by the latest viral post or diplomatic slight.

The root of this tension lies in the fundamentally different ways both nations perceive their history and identity. Nepali national confidence is built on the singular, proud fact of its unbroken sovereignty. Nepal was unified in the mid-1700s and was never colonised, which strongly shapes its national identity and pride. This is not meant as a competition; it is just a defining part of what Nepal is. India, an independent republic since 1947, often sees the subcontinent as a shared cultural space, where borders feel less rigid, and identities overlap.

This difference in historical experience creates a communication gap. When an Indian, often with genuine warmth, says, “We are basically the same people,” or “Nepal is culturally part of India,” Nepalis do not hear affection. They hear erasure. If your entire national identity is predicated on having protected your separate existence, then ‘we are the same’ does not sound like intimacy; it sounds like a metaphorical annexation. The psychological cost of this perceived erasure is immense, forcing Nepalis into a constant, exhausting defence of their distinct identity. Intention does not guarantee reception, and in this relationship, reception is often marked by profound suspicion.

However, the fault line is not one-sided. If Nepal demands respect, it must also practice it. There is a growing, toxic habit towards Indians, often through the casual use of the derogatory slur dhoti. Taxi drivers or locals in tourist hubs behave rudely the moment they detect an Indian accent. This prejudice, this reactive defensiveness, is a self-inflicted wound on Nepal’s moral authority. It is also important to acknowledge that Nepalis often face similar prejudice in India, with derogatory terms like Bahadur and Chaukidar, used to stereotype and diminish their identity. Both societies are guilty of stereotyping, and both have learned to defend their ego before opening their hearts.

Nepal’s political landscape further complicates this cycle of emotional reaction. People often feel that outside powers, especially India, try to control Nepal’s domestic politics and resources when its interests are involved, given the geographic and cultural proximity and open borders between the two countries. This creates strong resentment and the feeling that Nepal’s sovereignty is being eroded from within. Whether this interference is real or just perceived, it easily sparks nationalist pushback.

Compounding this, Nepali politicians frequently exploit the ‘North and South’ card, strategically playing one powerful neighbour against the other to serve narrow domestic political ends. Such a cynical use of geopolitical tension doesn’t just turn Nepalis away from their own policymakers; it also blocks the development of a mature, self-reliant foreign policy. It keeps the country talking about outside threats instead of focusing on real development and honest partnership. The result is a political class that profits from the emotional volatility of the relationship, ensuring that the psychological wound remains open and unhealthy.

The emotional high of this psychological strain remains the 2015 border blockade. It happened right as Nepal was reeling from a devastating earthquake. Life for Nepalis felt harsh, with cold kitchens, limited medical care, and a sense that a close neighbour had turned its back during a moment of national grief. For many, it shook the long-held roti-beti bond. It will take years of patient listening and humility to heal this wound. The memory of that winter, when a friendly neighbour seemed to turn away, still shapes how people feel today.

Across the open border, India and Nepal have long shared a roti-beti bond, families connected through marriage, food, festivals and everyday life. Even when politics gets messy, the human ties stay strong. This is evident in diaspora communities in countries such as Geneva, London, Sydney, Dubai and many others: Nepalis and Indians live side by side as close friends. They share homes, food, celebrations and help each other when needed. Abroad, they stand together as South Asians, showing that our bond is stronger than our arguments. It reminds us that beneath all the political noise, our relationship is built on warmth, familiarity and shared humanity, and that spirit can lead us forward. For this to happen, both countries need a new way of talking and thinking about each other.

For India, that means treating Nepal as an equal, not a younger sibling. It means dropping lines like ‘we are one’ in official talk, checking stereotypes about Nepalis in media and daily speech, training airport and border staff to speak with respect, and quietly acknowledging the hurt caused in 2015. For Nepal, the work is just as important: Stop using the dhoti slur, stop building identity only around ‘not India’ and treat Indian visitors fairly.

It must recognise that large states act differently, often out of inertia rather than malice, and learn to distinguish between genuine malice and bureaucratic clumsiness.

The future of the Nepal-India relationship will not be shaped by who apologises first or who lectures better. It will be shaped by who listens deeper. We share civilisational depth, religions, language, music, migration and kinship, but shared roots do not automatically create trust. Trust must be practised in small ways every day. The Delhi airport controversy can become another spark for anger, or it can become a mirror. It is an opportunity to pause and understand why our two countries harbour emotional reflexes disproportionate to any single moment.op