The Orientalist Lens: Deconstructing the "Snake Charmer" Caricature of PM Modi

In May 2026, Norway’s largest daily newspaper, Aftenposten, sparked widespread international outrage by publishing a cartoon depicting Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi as a snake charmer. Accompanying an opinion piece by journalist Frank Rossavik titled "A clever and slightly annoying man," the illustration portrayed Modi seated cross-legged, playing a flute to charm a fuel-station nozzle shaped like a snake rising from a basket. Ostensibly a commentary on India's pragmatism regarding global energy imports and its multi-aligned foreign policy, the cartoon instead collapsed into a textbook exhibition of media racism. By reviving one of the oldest, most patronizing colonial tropes used against the Indian subcontinent, the publication revealed the persistent undercurrent of Orientalism that continues to shape how the Western press views the Global South.

To understand why this cartoon is fundamentally racist, one must examine its visual semiotics and historical weight. The image of the "snake charmer" is not a benign piece of folklore; it was a deliberate construct of British colonial ethnography designed to justify imperial subjugation. During the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, depicting India as a land of mystics, snake charmers, and occultists served a vital political purpose. It framed India as a primitive, irrational, and pre-modern space that was fundamentally incapable of self-governance. By superimposing the face of a democratically elected leader of 1.4 billion people onto this specific caricature, the Norwegian media effectively stripped India of its political agency, modernity, and sovereign dignity. It reduced a complex nuclear power and a major global economy to a caricature of backwardness.

This depiction is a classic exercise in what the theorist Edward Said termed Orientalism—the systemic academic, literary, and artistic framework through which the West constructs the East as its exotic, stagnant, and backward "Other." Under the Orientalist gaze, the East is never allowed to be modern on its own terms. If India engages in sophisticated, multi-aligned diplomacy—balancing trade relations with both Western nations and energy suppliers—the Western media struggles to comprehend this through a framework of rational, sovereign self-interest. Instead, it must rely on exoticized metaphors of deception, mysticism, and "charming." By representing geopolitics as "snake charming," *Aftenposten* relied on an ethnocentric hierarchy where Western actions are viewed as "strategic and rational," while Indian diplomacy is rendered as "cunning, mysterious, and backward."

Moreover, the cartoon exposes a textbook case of anthropological ethnocentrism—the tendency to view one's own cultural and political frameworks as the universal standard, thereby rendering any deviation as abnormal, backward, or morally deficient. The European elite media frequently positions its own geopolitical alignments and moral postures as the objective baseline of global reason. When a rising power from the Global South refuses to act as a geopolitical vassal, the ethnocentric reflex kicks in: rather than attempting to understand the nation’s policies from its own standpoint, the observer defaults to patronizing caricatures.

What the Western commentariat fundamentally lacks is a lens of cultural relativism—a foundational methodological tool in anthropology that requires observers to suspend their own cultural biases to comprehend an alternative system's internal logic. Applied to global politics, a culturally relativistic approach would compel European journalists to evaluate India's multi-aligned foreign policy through the lens of India's own domestic imperatives, history, and socioeconomic realities. It would recognize that balancing energy imports to sustain the development of 1.4 billion people is a highly rational, self-interested calculation. Instead, by abandoning cultural relativism, Aftenposten reduces a calculated, sovereign strategy to a primitive, exoticized performance of "snake charming," proving that the European press struggles to see non-Western nations as modern rational actors.

The ultimate irony of the "snake charmer" trope is its utter disconnect from contemporary reality. PM Modi himself has famously remarked in international forums that while the West once stereotyped India as a land of snake charmers, it is now a land of "mouse charmers"—a reference to the nation’s

 explosive growth in digital technology, software development, and space exploration. India currently boasts the world’s most advanced real-time digital public infrastructure (UPI), is a leader in space exploration with missions to the Moon and Mars, and is a crucial hub of global technology. To reduce a country driving global digital transformation to a cross-legged man with a flute is not just lazy journalism; it is an active, xenophobic denial of coevalness—the refusal to acknowledge that the "Other" exists in the same modern time and space as the observer.

In conclusion, the Aftenposten cartoon is not an isolated error of judgment, but a symptom of a broader structural pathology within Western media. It demonstrates how easily modern European commentary retreats into the comfort of nineteenth-century colonial fantasies when dealing with the rising, assertive powers of the East. As the geopolitical center of gravity continues to shift toward a multipolar world, Western media outlets must urgently dismantle their ethnocentric frameworks. True journalistic critique requires engaging with the complex realities of Global South nations as equal, modern sovereign entities, rather than retreating into the patronizing, racist caricatures of a bygone empire.

Image credit - https://share.google/RyDBks69je0DkWNRg

The Shadow of the Ojha in the Age of Aadhaar

The air in the Jhargram and Paschim Medinipur tribal belt of West Bengal changes as the sun dips below the horizon. The vibrant, dusty bustle of the college day is replaced by a heavy, palpable silence, broken only by the rhythmic crunch of dry leaves under the boots of men patrolling the village peripheries. As a faculty member recently posted to a government college here, I have moved from the sterile world of academia into a landscape where the line between the physical and the metaphysical is perpetually blurred.

In my recent visits to the neighbouring villages with my students, I find that even if they learn Darwin, balance chemical equations, and measure human anatomical details in the practical rooms well, yet, the moment the lecture ends, the conversation often drifts to the Ojha—the local sorcerer. Villagers, who include our students, speak with absolute conviction about the "evil eye." They describe how their elders identify a potential witch whose mere look can make one fall ill. It creates a malady that only the sorcerer can remedy through jhar-fuk. To them, this is not "superstition." It functions as a necessary defence mechanism in a world they perceive as spiritually volatile.

This landscape—Junglemahal—is etched with the history of the occult. Take, for instance, the village known locally as Dain-mari - its name literally translates to "the place where witches are killed." It stands as a grim reminder of a belief system where the "witch" is the scapegoat for every unexplained misfortune. But today, the traditional fear of the supernatural has mutated into a modern, hyper-vivid hysteria.

The Anatomy of a Modern Phantom

A new folklore has emerged, one that feels like a fever dream of the digital age. Throughout villages in Jhargram and Paschim Midnapore, a specific terror has taken hold. The villagers are gripped by reports of "Identity Snatchers." The description of these figures is remarkably consistent and terrifyingly specific: they are tall, dark figures who arrive in groups, clad entirely in black with high-necked collars and masks obscuring their faces. They wear heavy boots that thud against the earth, yet they possess a supernatural agility, jumping great distances to evade capture if anyone tries to intervene. Most strikingly, they carry large knives and speak only in English.

From an anthropological lens, this is a fascinating "urban legend" manifesting in a rural heartland. These figures are the perfect inversion of the local tribal identity. Where the villager is local, these figures are "outsiders". Where the villager speaks Santali or Bengali, these phantoms speak English—the language of the elite, the court, and the distant bureaucracy.

In her seminal work, Purity and Danger, Mary Douglas speaks of ‘dirt’ as "matter out of place." This is the root cause of taboo and fear. Therefore, these black-clad, English-speaking jumpers are the ultimate "matter out of place." They represent a localised personification of a globalized, predatory force that the villagers feel is closing in on them. They are not merely thieves; they are "identity vampires."

The SIR Drive and Administrative Anxiety

To understand why these rumors focus so obsessively on the snatching and burning of Aadhaar cards, Voter IDs, and PAN cards, we must look at the timing. This panic has peaked exactly as the Special Intensive Revision (SIR) drive is underway.

In the tribal consciousness, the "document" is the thin thread connecting them to survival—to rations, to land rights, and to the right to exist in the eyes of the State. Here, the SIR drive, while intended as a routine administrative update, is perceived through a lens of historical trauma and precariousness. The fear that English-speaking intruders are burning these cards represents a localised interpretation of "Administrative Anxiety." If your "paper self" is destroyed, your "physical self" becomes invisible to the State, and therefore vulnerable. The large knife carried by the phantom is the tool of "severing"—a symbolic representation of being cut off from one's citizenship and protections.

The Fortress of Fear and the Night Vigil

The result of this anxiety is a total social shutdown. Scores of villages are now ruled by fear after sundown. In Kherejora, men aged 18 to 60 have formed night vigils, patrolling with torches, lathis, and axes from 8 PM until 4 AM. Even those who work grueling day shifts, like 25-year-old labourer Uttam Mahato or his 58-year-old father Kartick, find themselves sacrificing sleep to guard their borders.

This is "Dain-mari" logic applied to the 21st century: find the "outsider," the "other," and neutralise the threat before they can cast their bureaucratic spell. The villages have effectively closed themselves off to outsiders. The fear is so pervasive that even women, though not patrolling, spend sleepless nights in groups, convinced that a knock on the door leads to the snatching of their belongings and identities. The tragedy lies in the human cost and the potential for violence. There are already sporadic reports of innocents being harassed or beaten out of sheer suspicion. In an environment where everyone is looking for a tall man in a mask, any stranger becomes a monster by default. If a villager feels insecure about their future due to the SIR drive, the "Identity Snatcher" provides a tangible target for that existential dread.

The Failure of the "Rational" State

Local officials, including the Superintendents of Police for Jhargram and Paschim Medinipur, have dismissed these as mere rumours, noting they have failed to identify any actual culprits or evidence of such intruders. They have stepped up awareness drives and patrolling, but they are fighting a ghost. 

We treat superstition as an absence of knowledge, rather than a presence of a specific, lived history of marginalisation. We teach the "what" of science, but we fail to address the "why" of the fears that keep our students awake at night.

The nights in Junglemahal remain long and dark. The villagers are exhausted, yet they remain vigilant, convinced that their very existence is at stake. Until the State can speak to the villagers in a language they trust—rather than the "English" of a distant, intimidating administration—the sal forests will continue to be haunted by the ghosts of our own bureaucratic making.

Two phones or the story or an eternal migration

It was a long day at Keshiary, Kaleidoscope's new workplace. The upcoming university visit, two hours of student seminar and the previous nughta extravaganza made him tired. Yet, the call of fallen sal leaves their yellow colour, and smell made him rethink the straight back home. The Kushgeria haat has this irristible call that is too difficult to ignore he thought just when two of his partners decided to answer the call. A toto - the electric rickshaw, the last resort of employment was carrying a lone passenger answered their waving hands. Would you take us to Kushgeria haat? Yes, the old man driving the toto replied, kaleidoscope took the front seat beside the old man. The gentle breeze of late January, fallen leaves of sal tree, forests, lateritic dusty country road was everything that an otherwise urban eye would have looked for. The yellow greenish forest border from a distance had and irristible call just as the old man whispered the stories of garam than with an ever sceptical and yet submissive words as he touched his forehead and whispered a prayer crossing one of the groves - the garam than. "What is a God? Any stone with a bright vermillion becomes a God, God is the one we have never seen but is the one we are taught to believe by our forefathers." He continued to narrate how little he has, little home, little farm land that lays fallow most of the year, a little toto with a very little savings, that makes him live. 

Kushgeria haat arrived, Kaleidoscope got down, he too wanted to do some marketing before calling off a day. The haat is smaller than the one before Makar Sangkranti but as colourful as it was. Kaleidoscope wanted to go back to the sweet vendor where last time they ventured. Porks, with chopped heads of pigs was spectacular, and profound and it was not there during the Makar haat, or was it something Kaleidoscope missed? 

The return journey was even more spectacular as they took an unusual Auto - something that doesn't ply here! It stopped, and it was carrying two ladies. One, younger than the other, visibly sick because of motion sickness and the other married, skinny and visibly poor. The sister in law was taking her brother's wife to Tamilnadu where she works now. The elder lady, her brother's wife looked tensed, holding two phones. One with a rubberband and other a smartphone. She will join in the ever increasing number of migrant labourers to work at school site down south. Perhaps a smartphone next time, replacing the phone with rubber band? Did they see homebound, the movie? Will they know that Kushgeria haat, fallen sal leaves are romance for another migrant, an elite one? As they get down, a pair of parrots shouted, on a dead tree trunk, the smell of fallen sal leaves was intoxicating and an evening of a different migrant life started to emerge with a promise, not quite the way it is going to happen to the Tamilnadu goers in a general compartment with cramped and sqeezed bodies. 

Beyond the Cult of Personality: The Permanent (?) Power of the RSS

Source: https://www.rammadhav.in/articles/rss-at-100/

It is a pervasive error in contemporary Indian political analysis: we remain fixated on the visible political face—the individual leader, the electoral cycle, the current party manifesto. So for example, we tend to concentrate on Modi or for that matter Mamata and not the people who work behind the scene. For Modi, this is much more important, as he is an ultimate product of Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) - an unparalle ideological organisiton that now shapes much of Indian landscape. To truly understand the long game being played out in India's democracy, we must tear our eyes away from the political stage and focus on the organizational depth and ideological engine that provides the actual governing blueprint: the RSS.

The prevailing narrative often treats the Sangh Parivar as synonymous with its political instrument, the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP). This conflation is a mistake that dangerously underestimates the durability and systemic nature of the Hindutva project. As noted political scientists, including Walter Andersen and Shridhar Damle, have long argued, the RSS is not merely a volunteer wing or a think-tank; it is best understood as a "super-party" or a parallel institutional structure, acting as a shadow state operating outside the bounds of constitutional accountability. Its longevity and influence are entirely independent of who happens to be the Prime Minister this decade. The true source of RSS power is not charisma, but cadre and routine.

The Engine of Obedience: Shakhas and Pracharaks

The Sangh’s operational genius lies in its dual structure of the shakha (the daily branch meeting) and the pracharak (the full-time missionary). While the political theatre captures headlines, over 70,000 daily shakhas are quietly operating, functioning as decentralized ideological cells. These aren't political rallies; they are sites of 'character-building'—physical drills, ideological indoctrination, and the constant cultivation of a homogeneous, masculine Hindu Rashtra consciousness. This grassroots discipline ensures that the movement is rooted in daily life, not just five-yearly elections. It is here, in the physical commitment and ideological repetition, that the deep, long-term conditioning of the swayamsevak (volunteer) takes place.

More critical still is the Pracharak system. These are men who commit their lives—often practicing celibacy and renouncing family and professional life—to the organisation's cause [Andersen & Damle, 2019]. They are the highly dedicated, ideologically indoctrinated, full-time staff who are seamlessly deployed across all sectors: politics, labour, education, and civil society - you name it RSS has it.

When a political wing needs leadership, it is the pracharak system that furnishes the cadre. From district-level organisers to Chief Ministers and even the Prime Minister, many of the BJP's most effective politicians are simply pracharaks reassigned to a political mission. This one-way street—where the RSS lends its human capital to the BJP—underscores the relationship: the political party is an instrument, and the organisation is the permanent master.

The Real Command Structure

The command centre of the Sangh does not sit in the Prime Minister's Office in New Delhi; it resides in the Sarsanghchalak's office in Nagpur. The Prime Minister is an elected official, accountable to the Constitution and the voters. The Sarsanghchalak (Chief) is the ideological and spiritual guide, appointed for life, without accountability to any democratic process. The transfer of power within the RSS—by nomination from the predecessor—guarantees absolute ideological continuity and protects the core mission from popular political volatility.

The executive head of the RSS is the Sarkaryavah (General Secretary), who is elected by the Akhil Bharatiya Pratinidhi Sabha (ABPS). This operational leadership is the true nerve center that coordinates the sprawling web of the Sangh Parivar. It is this figure, working closely with the Sarsanghchalak, who dictates the direction and sets the priorities for the entire network—including the political wing.

Political scientists have long referred to the RSS as a "super-party" or "state within the state" precisely because of this structure. It can hold its political affiliate accountable, veto key policy positions, or, if necessary, orchestrate a leadership change within the BJP itself to protect the sanctity of the broader Hindutva mission. The politician is replaceable; the system is not.

Penetration, Not Just electoral Victory. The greatest measure of RSS success is not the number of seats the BJP wins, but the depth of its penetration into everyday society and cultural practices.

The Sangh Parivar is a constellation of nevery fully known number of affiliating organisations —from the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP) in religion and the Bharatiya Mazdoor Sangh (BMS) in labour to Vidya Bharati in education. In addition to that, they have hundreds of NGOs. These organisations function as ideological foot soldiers, embedding the core message into every segment of society where direct political intervention would fail.

Therefore, even if the BJP were to suffer a debilitating electoral defeat tomorrow, this network would not vanish. The teachers in Vidya Bharati schools would still teach an RSS-approved version of history; the local shakhas would still run daily; the cultural narrative of "Hindu victimhood" would still be championed by the VHP. The political victory merely provides the opportunity to accelerate the mission; the organisation is the engine that keeps it running permanently.

To look at India’s political landscape through the narrow lens of election results is to willfully ignore the monumental organisational effort that has been underway since 1925. The challenge to secular, constitutional democracy is not rooted in the ephemeral popularity of a single leader, but in the permanent, dedicated structure of the RSS. Until this distinction is clearly understood, analysts and opposition parties alike will continue to confuse the political instrument with the ideological master. The greatest threat is not a powerful politician, but the indestructible organisation behind them.

Having said that, it is equally important to understand that the increasing reliance of RSS and a rising public perception that equates BJP’s success with Modi-Shah duo can be counterproductive. So, if any decision made by them becomes unsuccessful or brings damage to the party, it would then be attributed to RSS’s failure. This centralising tendency bears the risk that India has witnessed before during Indira Regime. 

The Quiet Roar of a Bullet and Quiet Noise of Data: Rahul Gandhi and his Voter Adhikar Yatra

Inshort

This piece analyzes the symbolic appropriation of the Royal Enfield "Bullet" motorcycle by Rahul Gandhi during his "Voter Adhikar Yatra" in Bihar. Traditionally a symbol of aggressive masculinity and political machismo in India, the Bullet is re-contextualised by Gandhi as a vehicle for non-violent political advocacy. Drawing on principles of symbolic anthropology, the piece argues that this act subverts established political narratives, transforming the bike's powerful rumble from a roar of dominance into a rhythmic beat of democracy. The analysis extends to his distinct approach to press conferences, where an emphasis on data, facts, and the abhay mudra—a gesture of fearlessness and reassurance—further deconstructs the conventional, aggressive political posture. This strategic symbolic shift represents a new form of political engagement, one that seeks to replace the culture of violence and sensationalism with a focus on constitutionalism, truth, and genuine connection with the electorate.

The Quiet Roar: Rahul Gandhi, the Bullet, and a New Language of Political Symbolism

A different ride - Rahul and his sister (source: https://share.google/CjJtuRE9e2XNX5X2o)

Rahul Gandhi’s recent "Voter Adhikar Yatra" in poll-bound Bihar, where he was seen astride a Royal Enfield “Bullet” motorcycle, is far more than a political stunt. It is a potent act of symbolic reappropriation, a deliberate challenge to the established language of political power in India. By choosing this iconic vehicle, Gandhi is not merely riding a bike; he is riding a wave of change, subverting a powerful cultural symbol and imbuing it with a new, unexpected meaning. This act, coupled with his evolving approach to public communication, including his data-driven press conferences and use of the abhay mudra, marks a profound shift in the grammar of Indian politics—one from aggression to advocacy, from violence to constitutionalism.

In the realm of political symbolism, few objects are as culturally loaded as the Royal Enfield Bullet. Its distinctive, visceral "thump" has long been the soundtrack to a certain kind of Indian masculinity. It is a symbol of raw power, rebellion, and an aggressive, often feudal, sense of authority. From rural strongmen to student union leaders, the Bullet has served as a two-wheeled throne, an extension of a domineering persona. This association is so deeply ingrained that motorcycle rallies, particularly those featuring Bullets, have historically been linked to muscle-flexing, intimidation, and even political violence.

What makes Gandhi's use of the bike so compelling is his deliberate reversal of this semiotic flow. Instead of using the Bullet to project aggression, he transforms it into a vehicle for a message of non-violence, constitutional protection, and voters' rights. In this context, the bike’s raw, untamed energy is redirected and channeled into a purposeful, disciplined journey. The loud, aggressive rumble is no longer a declaration of dominance but a steady, rhythmic beat of democracy, echoing the pulse of the people he seeks to represent. This is perhaps the first time in Indian political history that the biking rally, a medium long associated with intimidation, has been recast as a march for truth and non-violence.

This act of symbolic appropriation is a core concern of symbolic anthropology. The discipline explores how cultural objects and actions acquire and transform meaning within a society. Gandhi’s ride can be understood as a bricolage—a creative reassembly of existing cultural symbols to forge a new narrative. He takes a powerful, familiar symbol and strips it of its original, aggressive connotation, replacing it with a message of care and constitutional defense. The Bullet, in his hands, is no longer a weapon of intimidation but a tool of advocacy. It is a steed for a different kind of war—not against people, but for the preservation of a fragile democracy.

This symbolic transformation extends beyond the visual spectacle of the motorcycle. It is a piece of a larger puzzle, a new political grammar that Gandhi has been painstakingly crafting. This shift is most evident in his public interactions and press conferences. Historically, Indian press briefings have been loud, performative arenas of rhetorical combat. They are often characterized by belligerence, deflective answers, and a focus on grand, often unsubstantiated, claims.

Gandhi, however, has increasingly pioneered a different model. His recent press conferences are distinguished by a quiet but firm reliance on data, facts, and documented evidence. He has shifted the focus from bombastic rhetoric to a calm presentation of well-researched arguments - in sum a data war. This emphasis on empirical evidence is in itself a symbolic act, challenging a political culture that has grown comfortable with post-truth narratives and unsubstantiated allegations. He is effectively saying that a leader's power does not reside in the volume of their voice or the force of their personality, but in the veracity of their claims and the substance of their arguments.

This new political language is also deeply physical. His use of the abhay mudra— a hand gesture in Indian religions that signifies fearlessness, reassurance, and protection—is particularly telling, especially when it is compared with Indian National Congress's party symbol hand. It is a subtle but powerful rejection of the aggressive, finger-pointing gesticulations that have come to dominate political discourse. The abhay mudra is not a gesture of dominance but of connection and empathy. It is an invitation, not a challenge. It communicates a sense of calm reassurance and a promise of protection, a stark contrast to the performative anger and aggression that defines much of today's political communication.

In a political landscape where leadership is often defined by a rigid, hyper-masculine persona, Gandhi’s strategic use of these symbols offers a different vision. He is deconstructing the traditional leader archetype, one defined by aggression and power, and replacing it with an image of a leader who is caring, empathetic, and grounded in constitutional values. The Bullet, once a symbol of the untamed, is now a vehicle for a journey to protect and restore the Indian Constitution and the fundamental rights of its voters.

This is a quiet revolution in political communication. It is a shift from the language of violence to the language of non-violence, from the culture of aggression to the culture of care. By transforming the roar of the Bullet and the gesticulations of political debate, Rahul Gandhi is not just leading a yatra; he is forging a new political identity, one that seeks to win hearts and minds not through intimidation, but through the gentle, yet powerful, rhythm of truth.

Author is a political anthropologist and teaches at Government General Degree College, Keshiary, Paschim Medinipur, West Bengal

A Saffron Independence: How BJP-RSS is Recasting August 15 in Bengal and Beyond

A Saffron Independence: How BJP-RSS is Recasting August 15 in Bengal and Beyond

Suman nath

Independence Day in India has long been a civic ritual of the Republic. Unlike religious festivals or partisan commemorations, August 15 was imagined as a national moment, where the flag-raising at Red Fort or in schoolyards and municipal offices stood for a collective belonging beyond ideological or sectarian lines. Yet, in recent years, particularly under the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) and its ideological parent Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), Independence Day is undergoing a slow but visible metamorphosis. The saffron hue of Hindu nationalism has begun to seep into what was once a secular civic celebration. 

The transformation is not merely rhetorical. Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s consistent and effusive praise of the RSS — most recently in his Independence Day addresses — creates space for its reinterpretation of national identity. By foregrounding the Sangh’s claim as the "truest custodian of Indian nationalism," Modi allows the RSS-BJP ecosystem to remodel August 15 in its own image. The result is that the Independence Day we see today is less a commemoration of anti-colonial pluralism and more a stage for Hindu majoritarian identity.

This is becoming increasingly visible West Bengal, where the BJP, still seeking to consolidate its ideological presence, has turned Independence Day into another site of Hindutva experimentation.

Saffron Symbols in Civic Spaces

In many districts of Bengal, within and at the outskirts of Kolkata — August 15 this year was marked not just by flag hoisting but by rituals more commonly associated with Hindu festivals. Makeshift pandals were erected, adorned with saffron buntings alongside the tricolour. At their centre stood not the standard portrait of national leaders but clay idols of Bharat Mata, draped in saffron robes, carrying a saffron flag along with the tricolour.

In several places, the distribution of the Bhagavad Gita replaced the more familiar distribution of sweets, a subtle but telling gesture. It reframes independence as inseparable from Hindu religiosity, situating freedom not in the pluralist vision of Nehru or Ambedkar but in the cultural revivalism of the Sangh. The message was clear: to be truly Indian is to be truly Hindu.

Perhaps most striking in Bengal was the invocation of Gopal Pantha, who is being portrayed as a “protector of Hindus” in the face of Muslims during the 1946 riot. In recent years, BJP-affiliated groups have installed his effigies in Independence Day pandals, presenting him as a symbol of indigenous resistance and proto-nationalism. While Pantha’s historical memory is ambiguous and layered, the Hindutva narrative simplifies him into a Hindu warrior, whose protection of dharma foreshadowed the freedom struggle.

In this way, Independence Day in Bengal is being re-scripted as a civilizational struggle, where the fight against colonialism is reframed as part of a longer battle to assert Hindu supremacy.

Parallel Independence Days

What emerges from these practices is effectively a parallel Independence Day. In one, schoolchildren still gather to sing the national anthem, the tricolour is hoisted at administrative offices, and officials give the ritual speeches. In the other, the RSS-BJP infrastructure creates its own public stages: pandals, processions, and distribution of religious texts. The latter is designed to appeal to grassroots sentiment, where religion and politics have long been intertwined, but now with sharper edges.

The contrast is stark. While the official Independence Day foregrounds constitutional nationalism, the parallel celebration emphasizes cultural nationalism. It is not a day of remembering Gandhi’s satyagraha or Subhas Bose’s Indian National Army; instead, it becomes a day of invoking Bharat Mata, Hindu warriors, and civilizational pride.

In Bengal, this parallel celebration also serves another purpose. For decades, Independence Day was overshadowed by the Left’s narrative of class struggle and the Congress’s attachment to Nehruvian nationalism. The Trinamool Congress, for its part, has often emphasized Tagore, folk traditions, and a softer regional-cultural framing. By introducing a saffronized August 15, the BJP attempts to break into this symbolic vacuum, projecting itself as the custodian of “real” nationalism, uncontaminated by either Left atheism or TMC populism.

Modi’s Endorsement of the RSS

The Prime Minister’s role in legitimizing this reframing cannot be ignored. Modi’s annual Independence Day speeches have often foregrounded the virtues of discipline, cultural pride, and the “civilizational mission” of India, terms deeply resonant with RSS vocabulary. His public acknowledgment of the Sangh as a patriotic organization rehabilitates its historical position, erasing the fact that the RSS was conspicuously absent from the freedom struggle.

This rewriting of memory is not incidental. By linking Independence Day with RSS imagery, Modi ensures that future generations may remember the Sangh not as a fringe sectarian force but as central to the idea of India itself. In Bengal, where the RSS historically had little traction, this legitimation from the Prime Minister becomes a powerful instrument of political pedagogy.

The Saffronization of Ritual

Anthropologists of ritual often emphasize that festivals and public commemorations are never politically neutral. They are stages where symbolic meanings are contested, reaffirmed, and transformed. What the BJP and RSS are doing is to ritualize politics: they borrow the form of festival (pandal, idol, distribution, procession) and merge it with the form of civic commemoration (flag, anthem, national leaders). The hybrid ritual space thus produced is neither fully religious nor fully civic, but a new amalgam where saffron and tricolour blur.

In Bengal’s villages, where religious festivals are more familiar than civic rituals, this strategy is especially effective. A pandal with Gopal Pantha or Bharat Mata, adorned with flowers and saffron flags, feels less alien than a official flag-hoisting ceremony. By translating Independence Day into the grammar of Hindu festival, the BJP-RSS makes it emotionally resonant in a way that state rituals often fail to.

The Political Stakes

Why does this matter? At one level, the saffronization of Independence Day may seem like just another symbolic battle, akin to renaming roads or rewriting textbooks. But symbols matter. If Independence Day itself is redefined as a Hindu festival, then the very imagination of the nation is narrowed. Muslims, Christians, and others may find themselves excluded not by law but by the cultural language of belonging.

In Bengal, where Muslims form more than a quarter of the population, this exclusionary symbolism is politically charged. To distribute the Gita instead of sweets, to raise a Bharat Mata idol instead of a Nehru portrait, is to send a message: independence is not yours, it is ours. The partitioned history of Bengal, with its wounds of displacement and communal division, makes this gesture even more potent.

For the BJP, this is not just about cultural politics but electoral strategy. By turning August 15 into a Hindutva-inflected festival, the party hopes to consolidate Hindu identity across caste and class divides, much like it has attempted through Ram Navami processions. The figure of Gopal Pantha, for instance, bridges local folk memory with pan-Indian Hindutva. He is both “our own” and “one of us” in the larger Hindu pantheon of protectors.

Conclusion: A Different Freedom

Seventy-eight years after independence, the celebration of August 15 is no longer self-evident. What was once a secular civic ritual is now contested terrain. The BJP-RSS project seeks to saffronize the day, to merge it with Hindu identity, and to overwrite the pluralist anti-colonial legacy with a civilizational nationalist one.

In Bengal, this means Gita distribution instead of jilipi, Bharat Mata idols instead of national leader portraits, and Gopal Pantha as a protector-saint of Hindu India. These may look like small gestures, but together they signal the emergence of a different Independence Day — one where saffron overshadows the tricolour.

The stakes could not be higher. If Independence Day itself becomes captive to sectarian reframing, the very idea of Indian freedom risks being reduced to the freedom of one community. In celebrating independence, the nation might well be rehearsing its dependence — on the narrow script of Hindutva.

The author is a political anthropologist and teaches anthropology at GGDC, Keshiary, Paschim Medinipur, West Bengal

A Cultural Lens on the Sartorial Diplomacy Between Trump and Zelensky

Diplomacy often unfolds in gestures as much as in declarations, where attire, language, and rituals convey meaning transcending policy. On August 18, 2025, Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky walked into the Oval Office wearing a black jacket and collared shirt—a marked departure from his usual military-style attire. That detail, seemingly trivial, became laden with cultural symbolism. Donald Trump seized on it, jesting, “I said the same thing,” after hearing a reporter compliment Zelensky’s suit. Zelensky retorted with wit: “You are wearing the same suit. I changed. You did not” (Washington Post).

This seemingly lighthearted exchange reveals much: the collision of contexts (warfare vs protocol), the performance of gratitude as diplomacy, and the anthropological dynamics of cultural relativism and ethnocentrism. Through these lenses, we see how Zelensky, shaped by wartime ethos, recalibrated to Western formal norms to maintain a fragile alliance. The suit becomes a symbol—a sartorial gesture rooted in cultural codes of respect, solidarity, and strategic adaptation.

Cultural Relativism: Interpreting Symbolism in Context

Cultural relativism encourages us to understand behaviors within their own cultural frameworks rather than judging them by external standards. Zelensky’s habitual choice of combat-style clothing during wartime is not a fashion quirk but a profound ritual gesture. It symbolizes solidarity with Ukrainian soldiers on the front lines and signals leadership under siege. Earlier this year, Zelensky even insisted he would wear a suit only “after the war is finished” (Wikipedia).

When he shifted to a suit—or more precisely, a hybrid “combat formal” outfit with a black jacket—he was not abandoning his wartime symbolism but adapting it for a new context: a high-stakes diplomatic stage where Western expectations demand sartorial decorum (Economic Times).

Seen through cultural relativism, Zelensky’s stance is consistent. His attire reflects a nuanced cultural negotiation: remaining authentic to wartime symbolism while recognizing the sartorial expectations embedded in Western diplomacy.

Ethnocentrism: Western Norms as Diplomatic Currency

Ethnocentrism becomes visible in the Western assumption that a suit equals respect, dignity, and seriousness. Earlier this year, a reporter asked Zelensky, “Why don’t you wear a suit? Do you own a suit?”—a question that implied not wearing one was a form of disrespect, measured through Western dress codes (Reddit transcript).

This same ethnocentric pattern applied to gratitude. Senator J.D. Vance admonished Zelensky for failing to say “thank you” enough, implicitly framing gratitude as a ritualized obligation in diplomacy. In that worldview, deference to U.S. leaders was seen as a moral requirement, not just a polite choice (Washington Post).

Yet Zelensky’s cultural position as wartime leader prioritized different values: solidarity with soldiers and national resilience over outward shows of deference. Western ethnocentric judgments—like equating a suit to seriousness—risk misreading those cultural signals.

Gratitude as Strategic Adaptation

In August, however, Zelensky pivoted dramatically, deploying what observers dubbed “gratitude diplomacy.” He repeatedly thanked Trump—eight to eleven times in the space of minutes (Reuters)—and even presented a handwritten letter from his wife to Melania Trump (Kyiv Post).

Through cultural relativism, these acts represent Zelensky’s adaptation within Western communicative codes: repeating “thank you,” offering personal tokens, and adopting semi-formal attire to demonstrate deference. From an anthropological lens, this was not capitulation but code-switching—an acknowledgment that in global diplomacy, ritual gratitude and formality can carry as much weight as battlefield victories.

Suit as Symbol of Stability

The suit itself carries layered meanings. By moving from military fatigues to hybrid “combat formal” attire, Zelensky conveyed a message of dual authenticity: he was willing to engage on Western terms while preserving his wartime identity.

Trump’s comment—“You look fabulous in that suit”—functioned both as a compliment and as reinforcement of ethnocentric norms. Zelensky’s witty retort—“I changed. You did not”—highlighted the asymmetry: it was he who had adapted, not Trump (Telegraph India).

Thus, the suit was more than fabric; it was a diplomatic performance. Clothing, in this context, functioned as a nonverbal contract signaling respect and seriousness—proof that even amid existential war, optics matter.

Intercultural Diplomacy: Power and Performance

The European leaders present at the meeting also played their part, repeatedly thanking Trump for “leadership” (Times of India). This collective performance reinforced Trump’s centrality in the alliance.

For anthropologists, the dynamics are telling: Zelensky and European leaders alike adjusted their cultural signals—gratitude, titles, attire—to align with the dominant ethnocentric expectations of U.S. leadership. Such adaptation illustrates how less powerful actors strategically employ “flattery diplomacy” to maintain critical alliances.

Lessons in Anthropology and Diplomacy

This episode demonstrates broader truths:

• Authenticity vs Performance: Zelensky balanced authenticity (wartime solidarity) with performative diplomacy (gratitude and suits).
• Symbolic Capital: Gratitude and attire served as symbolic capital to strengthen alliances.
• Ethnocentric Pitfalls: Western emphasis on dress and thanks risks overlooking cultural variation in expressing dignity.
• Narratives of Diplomacy: Ultimately, the “suit and thanks” became the story—an optics victory, even if substantive policy gains were limited (AP News; The Sun).

Conclusion

Through cultural relativism and ethnocentrism, the Trump-Zelensky meeting becomes more than a photo opportunity. It is a case study in how cultural codes—clothes, words, gestures—mediate global power relations.

Zelensky’s sartorial shift and his effusive gratitude were not trivial—they were adaptive strategies in the face of ethnocentric expectations. Trump’s remarks about the suit, and the West’s insistence on gratitude, revealed the cultural assumptions embedded in diplomacy.

In a world of asymmetric power, leaders like Zelensky must navigate between cultural authenticity and external norms. His “combat formal” attire and repeated thanks illustrate how survival in diplomacy often requires performing rituals on another culture’s stage. Anthropology reminds us that behind every suit and every “thank you” lies a world of cultural codes—and the delicate art of balancing them.