Living the Present: A Response to Shashi Tharoor’s View on Nationalism and Ayodhya
To understand our present, we do need to visit the past. But we cannot stay there permanently—or even temporarily for too long—unless there is a real need. Yet it seems to me that some scholars, especially historians writing within academia, often overstay in the past. They unearth so many minute details hidden in writings and archives—things a common person like me would never know otherwise. And though I deeply respect their work and know it’s not easy—often thankless—it sometimes feels like they remain too absorbed in the past, while ordinary people are struggling to make sense of the present.
Of course, I speak only as a layperson. My approach to history is not from the top down, but from the ground up.
Though I live in solitude as a sannyasi, whenever I visit people, I stay with them for several days—sometimes even weeks. I interact with them where they stand in life, learning a lot from their struggles and joys. Naturally, they expect some “spiritual teachings” from me, and we talk about those too. But I also involve myself in their day-to-day life—even cooking for them, since I love cooking for others.
I was born and raised in a normal, lower-middle-class family. No scholars or intellectuals lived around us or in our family. After my father suffered huge losses in business, our family slipped into poverty for many years. Just managing a proper one-time meal was a daily struggle. So when I later began to read books in Tamil and English, it was not to become a scholar—but to understand life better through others’ experiences. I did often visit history through these books, but I didn’t feel the need to stay there long. I had to return to the present and live with real people.
That’s why I believe in this bottom-up approach. Visiting the past helps me understand the present—but only when it brings clarity to the needs of today. Staying too long in the past, especially when life is demanding our attention now, doesn’t make sense to me.
Let me give one example. In Dr. Shashi Tharoor’s Why I Am a Hindu, he devotes several pages [pp. 155–179] to Deen Dayal Upadhyaya, after briefly discussing Savarkar [pp. 143–146] and Golwalkar [pp. 147–154]. He analyzes different ideas of nationalism—territorial, religious, cultural—and finally speaks of his own idea of “civic nationalism.” A central part of his discussion is on our Constitution, which, as he points out, these earlier RSS leaders almost rejected.
But what struck me was this line from him:
“It is ironic that Prime Minister Modi keeps on emphasizing the message of development and economic transformation, while his aides persist in raising bogeys that their leader has been attempting to lay to rest.” — p. 231
Now, I understand Tharoor’s concern. He is exposing how some people close to power keep reviving old fears or prejudices—bogeys—which the Prime Minister himself claims to move away from. Tharoor rightly points out that after coming to power with the promise of sab ka saath, sab ka vikas, the Hindutva core has taken advantage of its proximity to government to push a sectarian agenda. And this, he says, distracts from the Prime Minister’s central message—that “economic growth is his faith, the Constitution is his holy book, and Parliament is his temple.”
Tharoor’s analysis of past right-wing leaders is important. But as a layperson, I focus more on what the Prime Minister is officially saying now. He declared from the Parliament itself that the Constitution is his holy book and Parliament is his temple. That is on record forever. This I would prefer to call ‘Constitutional Nationalism,’ adding it to the already existing strands of nationalism. Whatever anyone else may say, this statement holds weight. And it’s from this present moment that I try to understand what kind of future we are heading toward.
Of course, as Tharoor notes, in a future political climate, those who support the Right-Wing agenda might attempt to redefine our national identity differently. But for people like me, living in the present—where our future is actively being shaped—this moment is more crucial than staying stuck in the past or fearing an imagined future based on earlier events and statements. My mantra is: learn from history, live in the present, and shape future history to be better than the past.
Above all, in a constitutional democracy—especially in a federal system like ours—even with a ruling party holding a brutal majority, pushing through radical constitutional amendments is not that easy. A sensitive, secular President, even if elected with Right-Wing support, and a strong judiciary, would not allow such changes to pass without resistance. Moreover, our electoral democracy would compel any political party to think twice before attempting such drastic moves, unless they resort to a backdoor tactic like declaring an emergency and suspending the Constitution entirely. And Tharoor knows this better than most—he is, after all, the author of The Great Indian Novel (Picador, 1994), a satirical retelling of the Mahabharata woven around the events of modern Indian politics, including the Emergency imposed by Indira Gandhi.
In this sense, what Modi is attempting is to create a better future by learning from the past, which had a mixture of both good and bad incidents—rather than hanging around the past in which his own ideological predecessors spoke about nationalism and the Constitution. If he endorsed only those old views and refused to move ahead, we have every right to criticize and question him. But simply hanging around the past, without cooperating even with those with whom we cannot agree ideologically to create a better future—and also a history based on our present—won’t help anyone.
What Tharoor says about Dr. Krishna to his childhood friend should be applied in all situations:
“…She [Dr. Nanditha Krishna of the Indian Council of Historical Research] has asked me to point out that she agrees with my depiction of Hinduism but not with my rejection of Hindutva….” — p. xv [BJP, Hindutva]
So nationalism, which once remained a taboo and ugly word, is now accepted by many scholars without hesitation—including Tharoor—and is going to stand, here in India and around the world. In spite of secularism—though that word was later added to our Constitution—the spirit of nationalism is still part of our born nature and ethos, which I think even our Constitution does not oppose.
Whichever kind of nationalism one may try to define—cultural, territorial, religious, civic, social, ethnic, universal, or even a cosmic nationalism—they all have to be based on our Constitution, which has now become the foundation of our democracy.
So instead of living with some kind of ideological fear—creating anxiety in the minds of people (mostly the educated, since common people are not going to understand what scholars like Tharoor say)—let us live in the present, attempting to create a better future. Considering the audience to whom scholars like Tharoor write and speak—most of them being highly educated people—even they are not always persuaded by such concerns. Take, for example, the debate held in Chennai coordinated by Dr. Nanditha Krishna between Tharoor and Sai Deepak [see: https://youtu.be/7x-W_lIH5-4?si=YuZOiNV4RbaOpXPv]. Even Tharoor was a bit surprised by the reception to Deepak’s views among the audience, who clapped often in support. He responded with something like, ‘I see lots of support for such views. However, I would urge you to buy my book and also read it.’ Though not his exact words, that was the spirit. Like Dr. Krishna agreeing with Tharoor’s “depiction of Hinduism but not with my rejection of Hindutva,” several sensitive and serious educated people are also not ready to accept everything scholars like Tharoor say.
This being the Indian reality now, what to say about common people who neither have time nor the ability to understand such warnings based on past records? This doesn’t mean Tharoor or people like him are or will become irrelevant. But what we do at present is more important than merely dwelling in the past.
The reason I say this is that, in spite of his spirit of pluralism and “agree to disagree” attitude, Tharoor falls short of that spirit when he writes, ‘…The battle for India’s soul will be between two Hinduisms, the ‘secularist’ Indianism of the nationalist movement and the particularist fanaticism of the Ayodhya mob….’ [p. 280].
Yes, it is true that, in the past, the disputed structure in Ayodhya was demolished by a mob, and such acts should never be condoned. But unlike what some Muslim rulers did in history—not only demolishing Hindu temples but also using their remains in constructing mosques—the present Ram temple was not built using such symbolism or revenge. It came into being after a prolonged legal process, based on a unanimous verdict by the Supreme Court, which handed over the land to Hindus. That is a legal and constitutional fact.
What is even more significant is what wasn’t done after the verdict. Unlike rulers of the past who proudly incorporated the ruins of demolished temples into new religious structures—as still visibly seen in places like the Qutub Minar complex, which still displays Hindu motifs embedded in Islamic architecture—we have not done the same. No such act of symbolic retaliation has occurred. The Ram temple displays no remnants of the demolished structure, even symbolically. This was a conscious decision. It shows the maturity and restraint of a civilization that believes in the principle of “Live and Let Live.” This ethos teaches us to forget the past, forgive certain unfortunate events, and move forward—instead of repeating history or using it to stir fresh fear or bitterness.
Labeling all those who contributed—legally, materially, or devotionally—to the Ram temple as an ‘Ayodhya mob’ not only undermines the genuine devotion and constitutional legitimacy behind the effort but also contradicts the very spirit of pluralism Tharoor so often defends. Can those who now visit the temple peacefully and reverently also be dismissed as a ‘mob’
Such sweeping characterizations alienate both educated citizens and common people from trusting the secular intellectual class. Those in the secular camp must remember this if they wish to regain political and moral influence. Selectively targeting one side for criticism while turning a blind eye to the other will not help in a democracy driven by public trust and electoral accountability.
While some may privately speculate about undue pressure on the judiciary, such claims must be approached with great caution. Our courts have shown independence repeatedly, often ruling against sitting governments when constitutional values are threatened. Unlike in the U.S., where judges are openly appointed on party lines, the Indian judiciary continues to function without such partisan baggage. Scholars like Tharoor may never openly say that the verdict was manipulated—but those who circulate such narratives from behind the scenes are doing a disservice to democratic institutions.
Of course, scholars like Tharoor and historians must spend more time in the past. Their role is to interpret it responsibly, so that people in the present can understand both past and present contexts. But whether their interpretations resonate depends on how effectively they can communicate and “market” their views in today’s competitive political arena—where not just Sensex values but also ideological investments rise and fall with public mood.
In that sense, I am not rejecting history or scholarship. I just relate to it differently. I visit history not to dwell there, but to understand my present better. I walk with people—not as a preacher, but as someone who listens, learns, cooks, and lives among them. For me, that is where meaning is found—not just in archives or ideologies, but in real lives.
In the next article on this subject, I will share what Dr. Tharoor himself has said about history in this book. See: History: Subjective or Objective. see: https://dayanandbharati.in/history-subjective-or-objective/
Ashram, 11-4-2025
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