I’m a Hindu, and I Oppose Hindutva
I was born into a Hindu Bengali household, but religion was never the center of our lives. My father was an atheist, my mother an agnostic. Our home was more cultural than religious. Yes, we celebrated Durga Pujo with unbridled joy, invited guests for Lokkhi Pujo, and kept Shyama Sangeet playing in the background, but my mother skipped daily puja more often than she performed it. There was no restriction on eating meat during Navaratri, no rigidity, no orthodoxy.
Instead of the Mahabharata or Ramayana, I grew up on Ramachandra Guha, Mahasweta Devi, and Tagore. My idea of Hinduism came not from ritual but from Bharatnatyam, where I learnt Krishna’s mischiefs, Draupadi’s humiliation, and Ravana’s ten heads, each one representing sins to avoid. To me, Hinduism was never about dominance or exclusion. It was about stories, dance, music, and the space to interpret freely.
But standing in 2025, that soft, plural Hinduism feels like a distant memory.
What Changed After 2014?
When the BJP swept to power in 2014, the language of politics in India shifted dramatically. Under the Congress rule, my childhood memories of politics were mostly abstract. My father criticizing policies, my mother discussing Manmohan Singh’s economic vision. But post-2014, conversations were no longer about development or economy. They revolved around a new keyword: Hindutva.
Coined in the 1920s by Vinayak Damodar Savarkar, Hindutva means “Hindu-ness,” an ideology that sees India primarily as a Hindu nation. It is not about faith but about hegemony, where Hindus are viewed less as a religious community and more as an ethnic identity tied to the state.
This was a turning point for me. Suddenly, I was the “black sheep” in my community for refusing to believe that Hindus were inherently special. Hindutva, to me, was exclusionary; it had no place for Dalits, minorities, or dissenters. And if a religion excludes, I do not follow it.
My opposition to laws like the CAA (Citizenship Amendment Act) and NRC only deepened this divide. CAA created India’s first religion-based citizenship test, openly discriminating against Muslims. When I protested in 2021, I exercised what I believed was my democratic right. The response? Rape threats, abuse, and being labeled “anti-national” online. As a woman, the hate was multiplied. That was when I realized: in today’s India, to question Hindutva is to risk being silenced.
The Rise of Hindutva Pop Culture
What unsettles me most is how seamlessly Hindutva has seeped into popular culture. Ranveer Allahbadia’s podcasts regularly showcase pro-Hindu guests who bend science to justify supremacy. On YouTube, bhajans like Prem Krishnavanshi’s “Insaan nahi ho saalo, ho tum kasaayi; Bahut ho chuka Hindu-Muslim bhai bhai” play in pandals, normalizing hate in the garb of devotion.
Cinema, too, has been weaponized. From The Kashmir Files to The Kerala Story and the upcoming The Bengal Files, mainstream films have become tools of propaganda, peddling paranoia and painting one community as the eternal villain. Religion, once a deeply personal space, is now entertainment, politics, and warfare all rolled into one.
Modi’s India Has No Room for Liberal Hindus
Modi’s brand of politics has reduced national discourse to a few polarizing keywords: Mandir, Masjid, Hijaab. To criticize his government is to be branded anti-India. This is not accidental; it is the essence of Hindutva hyper-nationalism, where questioning the ruling ideology is seen as a betrayal of the nation itself.
The irony? The Congress that once championed liberalization in the 1990s laid the economic groundwork that Modi capitalized on. But instead of liberal values, Modi has entrenched illiberalism. India is now polarized to the extent that dissenters must either leave the public sphere or brace for targeted harassment.
Why I Oppose Hindutva?
I oppose Hindutva not because I am against Hinduism, but because I am Hindu. My Hinduism is not about exclusion but about freedom, debate, and the right to question. I believe in a secular India where faith is personal and the state is neutral.
But in today’s India, liberal Hindus like me are outcasts. We are told to either conform or get out. We are vilified online, ostracized offline, and yet I choose to speak. Because silence is what Hindutva wants, and silence is what I refuse to give.
As I write this, I know many will dismiss me as “anti-national” or “pseudo-secular.” But I would rather be called names than surrender my voice. My Hinduism does not fear questions. My Hinduism does not demand supremacy. My Hinduism is mine, and it does not need to be Hindutva.
The systematic portrayal of Hinduism as something bad, regressive, or oppressive — especially after 2014.
ReplyDeleteLet us be clear: Hinduism is not a political party. It is one of the oldest living civilizations, a way of life followed by more than a billion people across the world. Yet, in the last decade, criticizing Hinduism has become a fashion statement in intellectual circles, media debates, and even social activism.
Before 2014, Hinduism existed for thousands of years — with its philosophy, its tolerance, its acceptance of diversity.
After 2014, because of political shifts in India, many critics began attacking Hinduism itself, instead of critiquing policies or leaders.
Labeling Hinduism as “oppressive” or “regressive” suddenly became a way to look “modern” or “progressive.”
But I ask: Is it progressive to demonize the majority’s faith while staying silent on actual violence and intolerance happening around us?
Why do we see outrage only when it is connected with Hindu traditions?
In Pahalgam, Kashmiri Pandits were driven out of their homes, killed, and displaced. Where were the voices then?
When Kanhaiyalal, a Hindu tailor in Udaipur, was brutally beheaded for a social media post — why was it not discussed as loudly as so-called “Hindu oppression”?
In 1946, the Great Calcutta Killings and Bengal Massacre saw tens of thousands of Hindus slaughtered — yet history textbooks hardly mention it.
These were not “political debates” — they were massacres, atrocities, and injustices. But somehow, they are pushed under the carpet.
Instead of cherry-picking practices to insult, why don’t we talk about:
Hinduism being the only major faith that openly says: “Ekam Sat Vipra Bahudha Vadanti” — Truth is one, but expressed in many ways.
Women scholars like Gargi and Maitreyi, celebrated centuries before feminism was even a concept.
The fact that India gave shelter to Jews, Parsis, Buddhists, and Christians — because Hindu culture has inclusivity at its core.
If Hinduism is so regressive, why do millions of people across the world, from Silicon Valley CEOs to spiritual seekers, proudly embrace it?
Why is Yoga, Ayurveda, and meditation celebrated globally, while in India they are mocked as “communal”?
The truth is: it has become fashionable after 2014 to attack Hinduism, not because Hinduism changed, but because politics changed. Instead of opposing a party, people are demonizing an entire civilization.
When did we ever say Hinduism is bad? When did we ever say the problem lies in the practice? The outrage is against religious politics, using identity as a political tool to divide people, divide the very secular identity of the country. A country that allows you to practice any ritual or religion you want to, is being curbed by the very ruling party. If you think speaking against injustice, dracorian practices and religious hegemony is fashion, you must introspect.
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