The recent controversy surrounding young Ishit Bhatt, the ten-year-old participant on Kaun Banega Crorepati 17, has drawn widespread attention not for his intellect, but for his attitude. When I first watched the viral clip in which he interrupted the host, Amitabh Bachchan, declaring that he already knew the rules, I felt a mix of amusement and discomfort. On the surface, it seemed like a child being confident, playful, and spontaneous. Yet beneath that moment lies a web of ethical questions about respect, parenting, social conditioning, and the moral cost of turning children into public spectacles. As a student of human development and ethics, I believe Ishit’s moment on national television offers more than entertainment or controversy; it provides a mirror of society. The way we interpret his behaviour, respond to it, and discuss it reveals far more about our collective moral compass than about one child’s conduct.
The ethical core: Confidence without reverence
Ethically speaking, confidence is a virtue. Aristotle called it a mean between cowardice and arrogance; a balanced expression of one’s worth. Ishit’s assertiveness could be seen as a modern reflection of that confidence: a young child who knows the format, trusts his memory, and dares to speak up. In a generation that often struggles with self-expression, this seems refreshing.
However, every virtue has its shadow. Confidence without reverence easily mutates into pride. Ishit’s tone and interruption reflected a lack of situational awareness; a failure to distinguish between self-assurance and self-importance. This is not a moral flaw to condemn a child for, but a moral lesson that we as a society must help him learn. The ethical responsibility here lies not in blaming the child, but in examining what kind of values our culture rewards. In an age where boldness is celebrated and humility often mistaken for weakness, we must ask: are we teaching children how to shine, or merely how to stand out?
The family and the moral ecology of growth
Every ethical lens eventually returns to the home. The family is the first school of moral reasoning. The way children interact with elders, handle correction, or perceive authority is shaped by everyday observation. I do not believe Ishit was being intentionally disrespectful; rather, he was mirroring a culture that often prizes being “smart” over being “wise.”
Ethics reminds us that upbringing is not merely about enabling achievement; it is about forming conscience. When a child learns that performance earns praise and humility goes unnoticed, they unconsciously prioritise attention over reflection. In many urban homes, especially in single-child settings, adults often orbit around the child; indulging every expression, laughing off rudeness as “confidence,” and mistaking entitlement for maturity. The ethical result is predictable: children grow fluent in asserting themselves, but illiterate in acknowledging boundaries.
Yet, we must not blame families alone. Parents today operate under immense social pressure. Every child must appear exceptional. Every talent must be showcased. When a family sees national television as a stage to validate their child’s intelligence, the focus quietly shifts from formation to performance. And once the spotlight turns harsh, the same society that demanded brilliance becomes merciless in its criticism. This is the ethical paradox of our times; we push children into visibility, then shame them for not handling it perfectly.
The ethics of media: Children as content
I cannot ignore the media’s complicity. Shows like Kaun Banega Crorepati thrive on human moments: laughter, surprise, emotion. A child contestant saying something unconventional instantly becomes viral material. But do we, as viewers, pause to consider the ethical cost?
Children, unlike adults, cannot fully grasp the permanence and consequences of digital exposure. A ten-year-old may not realise that a two-minute clip can define public perception of him for years. Producers, networks, and audiences share moral responsibility here. Television can inspire curiosity, but it can also distort innocence. The ethical obligation of the media should be to protect children from sensationalism, not to amplify their every misstep for ratings or clicks. When the clip spread across social media, I noticed a troubling pattern. Many users mocked the boy, labeling him “arrogant,” “spoilt,” or “ill-mannered.” Others attacked his parents. This public dissection of a child’s personality based on a fleeting moment is ethically indefensible. A society that prides itself on child rights must recognise that psychological safety is also a right.
Ethical compassion
From a personal standpoint, I find it difficult to join the chorus of condemnation. I do not see arrogance in that small boy; I see innocence testing its boundaries. Ethics demands compassion as much as critique. The philosopher Martin Buber once wrote that moral life begins not in judgment but in relationship; the “I-Thou” encounter where we see another not as an object of evaluation but as a fellow being in growth. Ishit deserves that empathy. Every child makes mistakes in tone or manner. The ethical duty of adults is to correct with gentleness, not humiliation. What I fear most is not that he spoke sharply, but that he may grow up fearing to speak at all.
