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.

The Parochial Turn: An Anthropological Reflection into the New Politics of Bengali Identity

Bengal landscape - lino cut illustration by Nandalal Bose for Sahaj Path 1930

 

The Parochial Turn: An Anthropological Inquiry into the New Politics of Bengali Identity

Suman Nath

I. Introduction: The Unravelling of a Cosmopolitan Myth

For the better part of two centuries, Bengal, and its cultural heart of Calcutta, projected an image of enlightened cosmopolitanism onto the Indian subcontinent's consciousness. It was the cradle of the Bengal Renaissance, a vibrant intellectual crucible that produced the universal humanism of Rabindranath Tagore, the rationalist reformism of Rammohun Roy, and the syncretic spirituality of Sri Ramakrishna and Swami Vivekananda. This was the era of the Bhadralok, the "gentlefolk," whose identity was seemingly defined not by narrow sectarianism but by a commitment to culture, intellectual debate (adda), and a worldview that aspired to transcend the parochial. This celebrated "idea of Bengal," however, is now facing an existential challenge. A rising tide of strident, often belligerent, ethno-nationalism is reshaping its political and social landscape, replacing the language of universalism with the grammar of identity.

The contemporary political arena in West Bengal is a fiercely contested space where the incumbent Trinamool Congress (TMC) and the challenging Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) both strategically wield the potent weapon of Bengali identity. This, however, is not a sudden eruption. Its roots lie deep in the state’s history, and its recent manifestation has been meticulously prepared by the ideological labour of newer ethno-nationalist groups like Banglapokkho. The seismic shift was starkly evident in the 2021 Assembly election, a contest that transformed into a referendum on the very soul of Bengal.

This essay seeks to move beyond a purely political analysis to offer an anthropological deconstruction of this phenomenon. It will treat "Bengali identity" not as a fixed, primordial essence, but as a dynamic and contested construct, constantly being shaped and reshaped through symbolic performances, the invocation of fictive kinship, and the ritualistic creation of an "other." Through this lens, we can understand the recent proliferation of identity politics not merely as electoral strategy, but as a profound cultural drama reflecting deeper anxieties about economic decline, cultural marginalisation, and the very definition of belonging in modern India. This inquiry will delve into the anthropological history of Bengali identity, examining the internal contradictions of the Bhadralok ideal and the lingering trauma of Partition. It will then analyze the role of Banglapokkho as "ethnographers of grievance," who created the symbolic vocabulary for the current moment. Subsequently, we will deconstruct the TMC's masterful performance of cultural guardianship, particularly through the use of kinship tropes, and the BJP's corresponding failure in cultural translation. Ultimately, this essay argues that Bengal is undergoing a fundamental re-negotiation of its collective self, a "parochial turn" that threatens to permanently shrink the once-expansive Bengali mind.

II. The Ghost in the Machine: An Anthropological History of Bengali Identity

To understand the present, one must excavate the past. The contemporary politics of identity in Bengal are haunted by the ghosts of its historical identity formations: the elite Bhadralok, the fractured memory of Partition, and the legacy of the Left Front's three-decade rule.

The Bhadralok Construct: A Contradictory Legacy

The Bhadralok was more than just an educated middle class; from an anthropological perspective, it was a classic "status group" in the Weberian sense. Membership was defined by a constellation of cultural markers: proficiency in a highly standardised, Calcutta-centric dialect of Bengali; a deep reverence for a literary canon stretching from Bankim Chandra to Tagore; a particular aesthetic sensibility; and adherence to a code of conduct known as bhodrota (gentility). This identity, forged in the colonial crucible, was inherently paradoxical. It was cosmopolitan in its engagement with Western thought and liberal ideals, yet deeply exclusionary in its social composition. It was overwhelmingly dominated by the three upper castes of Bengali Hinduism—Brahmin, Baidya, and Kayastha—and its cultural capital was inaccessible to the vast majority of rural and lower-caste Bengalis, as well as the state's significant Muslim population.

This elite group's self-perception as the vanguard of Indian modernity created a hegemonic "idea of Bengal" that equated Bengali culture with Bhadralok culture. This created a stratified social order where cultural legitimacy was intrinsically linked to caste and class. This historical reality is crucial: the celebrated cosmopolitanism of Bengal was never a universally shared experience. It was a privileged status, creating a latent resentment and a sense of exclusion among those outside its hallowed circles, a sentiment that modern identity politics can now easily exploit.

The Trauma of Partition: A Cleaved Cultural Body

If the Bhadralok created a vertical hierarchy, the Partition of Bengal in 1947 created a horizontal schism. From an anthropological viewpoint, this was not merely a redrawing of political borders but a violent cleaving of a single cultural body, a shared linguistic and social universe. It resulted in one of the largest refugee flows in human history and created a profound and lasting "refugee consciousness" within West Bengal. This event bifurcated Bengali identity into two often-antagonistic sub-groups: the Ghoti (the native West Bengali) and the Bangal (the refugee from East Bengal, now Bangladesh).

The lived experience of the Bangal community was one of trauma, loss of homeland (bhitamati), and a desperate struggle for survival and acceptance in West Bengal. This experience, as documented in countless memoirs and scholarly works like Prafulla K. Chakrabarti's The Marginal Men, fostered a deep-seated anxiety about land, belonging, and cultural preservation. (Chakrabarti, Prafulla K. The Marginal Men: The Refugees and the Left Political Syndrome in West Bengal. Lumière Books, 1990. While a specific URL isn't available for the book itself, its academic footprint is well-established.) The Ghoti-Bangal dynamic, with its stereotypes and social tensions, became a permanent feature of the state's social fabric. This historical trauma created a reservoir of collective anxiety—a fear of being displaced, dispossessed, and culturally overwhelmed—that lies dormant within the Bengali psyche. Political actors can reactivate this trauma by framing contemporary challenges, such as migration or economic competition from other groups, as existential threats to Bengali identity itself.

The Left's Sublimation of Identity

The 34-year rule of the Left Front (1977-2011) represents a unique chapter in this story. The official ideology of the Communist Party of India (Marxist) was rooted in class struggle, explicitly rejecting "bourgeois" identity politics. However, the Left did not erase Bengali identity; rather, it sublimated it. While political discourse was framed in terms of class, the state actively patronised a specific, secularised version of Bhadralok culture. It protected and funded Bengali cinema, theatre, and literature, effectively becoming the custodian of Bengal's high culture.

Anthropologically, this period can be seen as one of "cultural preservationism" coupled with economic stagnation. The Left Front government preserved the cultural pride of the Bengali middle class while failing to deliver on industrial growth or employment. This created a generation that was deeply proud of its cultural heritage but profoundly anxious about its economic future. The decline of Calcutta as India's economic powerhouse and the exodus of capital and jobs created a vacuum. When the Left Front’s class-based political narrative collapsed in 2011, it left behind a populace that was culturally self-aware and economically aggrieved—the perfect conditions for the rise of entrepreneurs of identity who could fuse cultural pride with economic grievance.

III. The Ethnographers of Grievance: Banglapokkho and the Making of the 'Bengali Cause'

Into the vacuum left by the Left stepped new actors who re-centred Bengali identity as the primary axis of political mobilisation. Foremost among them is Banglapokkho, an ethno-nationalist organisation that, since the mid-2010s, has acted as an ethnographer of Bengali grievance, meticulously documenting, amplifying, and politicising a narrative of cultural and economic victimhood.

From Grievance to Movement: The Ideological Project

Led by figures like Garga Chatterjee, Banglapokkho’s project can be understood as an exercise in boundary-making. Its central goal is to sharpen the lines between the Bengali "in-group" and various "out-groups." Their primary targets are twofold: the perceived cultural imposition of the "Hindi-Hindustani belt" and the alleged economic exploitation by non-Bengali business communities, particularly Marwaris and Gujaratis, who have historically controlled significant sectors of Bengal's economy.

Their narrative is simple and powerful: Bengalis, the inheritors of a superior culture, have been systematically marginalised in their own homeland. They are, in this telling, a colonised people within the Indian federal structure. This narrative is propagated through a sophisticated use of social media and confrontational on-ground activism. 

The Symbolic Repertoire of a New Nationalism

An anthropological reading of Banglapokkho’s methods reveals a rich symbolic repertoire:

1. Language as a Sacred, Territorial Marker: Their most visible campaigns involve demanding the primacy of the Bengali language on shop signs, in banking services, and in government offices. This treats language not merely as a tool of communication but as a sacred object, a totem of the tribe. The act of painting over a Hindi or English sign with Bengali script is a ritualistic act of reclaiming territory and purifying a space deemed to have been contaminated by foreign influence.

2. The Ritual of Economic Demands: The demand for an 80-90% reservation for "sons of the soil" in local jobs is more than just an economic policy proposal; it is a ritualistic claim for restorative justice. It links cultural identity directly to material well-being, arguing that economic prosperity can only be achieved by purging the system of outsiders who are siphoning away wealth that rightfully belongs to the native population.

3. Digital Tribalism: Banglapokkho has masterfully utilised platforms like Facebook and Twitter to forge a "digital tribe." Here, a community of followers is built through shared memes, historical grievances (the shifting of the capital from Calcutta, the equalisation of freight charges), and a specific vocabulary of othering. This online space functions as an echo chamber where a cohesive group identity is forged in opposition to a clearly defined enemy, building solidarity and mobilising members for real-world action.

4. Defining the 'Other': The construction of the "outsider" (bohiragoto) is specific and loaded with stereotypes. The "Hindi-speaking" person is often portrayed as culturally crude and lacking the sophistication of the Bengali. The Marwari or Gujarati businessman is depicted as an unscrupulous exploiter. These are classic techniques of "othering," where the out-group is stripped of its humanity and reduced to a set of negative characteristics, making them a justifiable target for resentment and political action.

Banglapokkho, in essence, laid the ideological and symbolic groundwork. They tilled the soil of Bengali grievance and planted the seeds of sub-nationalism. They created a ready-made political vocabulary and a mobilised constituency, which an astute political actor could then co-opt and scale up for electoral gain.

IV. The High Priestess of Identity: Mamata Banerjee and the Performance of 'Bengaliness'

If Banglapokkho wrote the script, Mamata Banerjee and the Trinamool Congress delivered the definitive performance. Facing the full might of the BJP’s electoral machinery in the 2021 election, the TMC executed a brilliant strategic pivot, transforming the contest from a battle over governance into a cultural war for the soul of Bengal. This strategy is a masterclass in the anthropological concepts of fictive kinship and political ritual.

"Didi" and "Meye": The Anthropology of Fictive Kinship

Central to the TMC's success was the masterful deployment of fictive kinship—the extension of kinship terms and obligations to non-kin. For years, Mamata Banerjee has cultivated the persona of "Didi" (elder sister). This is not just a nickname; it is a carefully constructed political identity that positions her within the cherished structure of the Bengali family. The Didi is a figure of authority, but also of care, affection, and protection. She is the one who looks after the family, a pre-political role that generates loyalty and emotional connection.

In 2021, this was taken a step further with the slogan "Bangla Nijer Meyekei Chay" (Bengal wants its own daughter). This was an act of profound symbolic power.

• Invoking Kinship: By casting herself as Bengal's "Meye" (daughter), Banerjee transformed the state from an administrative unit into a symbolic family, and the election into a domestic drama.

• Gender and Honour: In a patriarchal society, the "daughter" is a symbol of the family's honour. The slogan implied that this honour was under threat from outsiders, and only the "own daughter" could protect it. This resonated deeply, turning a political choice into a moral obligation to defend the "family."

• Territorial Defence: The phrase "Nijer Meye" (one's own daughter) created an unbreakable link between kinship and territory. She was not just any daughter; she was of this soil, this blood. This framing rendered the BJP's leaders, by definition, as outsiders trying to take over the family home.

The Political Ritual of "Bohiragoto"

The "daughter" narrative was complemented by the systematic, ritualistic "othering" of the BJP as bohiragoto. This was a multi-pronged performance:

1. Linguistic Othering: TMC leaders and supporters relentlessly mocked BJP national leaders for their mispronunciation of Bengali words and names. This was more than just political banter; it was a way of marking them as culturally incompetent, as failing the basic test of belonging.

2. Aesthetic and Ritualistic Othering: The TMC contrasted the BJP's aggressive, masculine chant of "Jai Shri Ram" with Bengal's own devotional traditions, particularly the worship of the female deity, Durga. Mamata Banerjee's public chanting of the Chandi Path (a hymn to the goddess) during the campaign was a powerful counter-ritual, positioning herself as the chief priestess of an indigenous faith against an imported, alien one.

3. Embodiment of Authenticity: Mamata Banerjee’s personal style became a key part of this performance. Her simple, white cotton saree, humble rubber slippers (hawai choti), and colloquial Bengali dialect served as a constant, visual representation of "authentic" Bengaliness. This stood in stark contrast to the crisp, professionally managed image of the BJP's national leaders, whom the TMC successfully painted as a corporate, detached force. She did not just speak for Bengal; she embodied it.

This strategy, as detailed by the campaign's architect Prashant Kishor, was to ensure that every person in Bengal felt that an outside force has come to capture us.  By framing the election in these deeply anthropological terms—kinship, honour, ritual purity, and territorial defence—the TMC made policy debates irrelevant and transformed the vote into an act of profound cultural affirmation.

V. The Unaccommodated Other: The BJP's Crisis of Cultural Translation

The BJP's 2021 campaign in Bengal can be studied as a case of profound cultural mistranslation. The party, accustomed to success with its pan-Indian Hindutva narrative, failed to grasp the unique cultural syntax of Bengal. Its attempts to compete on the terrain of Bengali identity were seen as inauthentic, clumsy, and ultimately, alienating.

The Hindutva-Bengali Syncretism Problem

The core ideology of the BJP is Hindutva, which seeks to create a unified, homogenous Hindu identity. This project ran headlong into the Bengali Bhadralok tradition, which, for all its faults, prides itself on its cultural distinctiveness (swatantrya) and intellectual exceptionalism. The BJP’s model, which had worked to consolidate Hindu votes elsewhere, was perceived in Bengal not as a celebration of Hindu identity, but as an attempt to erase its unique Bengali variant and subsume it into a North-Indian-dominated monolith.

The Performance Misfire: Misappropriating Icons

The BJP's primary counter-strategy was to appropriate Bengal's revered icons for its own narrative. This was a critical error in cultural translation.

• Tagore, the Nationalist? The BJP attempted to project Tagore, the arch-critic of narrow nationalism, as a figure aligned with their vision. Ads featuring Prime Minister Modi's image above Tagore's were met with outrage. From an anthropological perspective, the BJP was violating the "sacredness" of the icon. They were attempting to decontextualize Tagore from his local, cultural milieu and repurpose him for a national political project, an act perceived as sacrilege.

• Vivekananda and Bose: Similarly, Swami Vivekananda’s assertive Hinduism was highlighted while his universalist and syncretic messages were ignored. Subhas Chandra Bose was framed primarily as a victim of the Nehru-Gandhi dynasty, fitting him into the BJP's national anti-Congress narrative. In both cases, these complex figures were flattened into political mascots, an approach that offended the sensibilities of a populace that considers these icons to be their unique cultural property. An analysis by The Wire aptly noted that the BJP's attempts felt like a corporate takeover of Bengal's cultural assets, and that they are losing momentum.

A Tale of Two Rams: The Ritual that Failed

Perhaps the most potent example of this cultural disconnect was the slogan "Jai Shri Ram." In much of North India, this chant has been successfully mobilised as a unifying cry of political Hinduism. In Bengal, however, the primary religious traditions often revolve around Shaktism (the worship of the Goddess in forms like Durga and Kali) and Vaishnavism of a more devotional, less militant variety. While Ram is a respected deity, the aggressive, weaponised Ram Navami processions organised by the BJP and its affiliates were seen by many as an alien cultural import. They lacked the indigenous ritualistic resonance of Durga Pujo, the state's biggest cultural festival. The chant, meant to consolidate Hindus, instead ended up highlighting the BJP's cultural otherness, reinforcing the TMC's bohiragoto narrative. It was a symbol that simply did not translate.

VI. Conclusion: The Shrinking of the Bengali Mind

The political theatre of the last decade in West Bengal, culminating in the 2021 election, represents more than a series of electoral victories and defeats. It signifies a fundamental and deeply troubling shift in public consciousness. An anthropological analysis reveals this is not merely politics, but a story of identity remaking. It is a tale of how dormant historical traumas and contemporary economic anxieties were skilfully activated through the powerful, pre-rational tools of symbolic politics, fictive kinship, and the ritualistic casting out of an "other."

The TMC, by embodying the role of the protective kin, successfully weaponised Bengali sub-nationalism for its political survival. The BJP, through its failure of cultural translation, inadvertently played the part of the threatening outsider, validating the very narrative it sought to defeat. And groups like Banglapokkho continue their ideological work, ensuring that the grammar of grievance and exclusion remains central to public discourse.

The consequence is the "parochial turn"—a palpable shrinking of the Bengali mind. The cosmopolitan ideal, even if it was always an elite and flawed construct, provided an aspirational horizon for an inclusive, open, and intellectually curious society. That horizon is now receding. The vibrant culture of adda is being supplanted by the vitriolic certainty of social media tribes. The complex challenges of de-industrialisation, unemployment, and governance are being dangerously simplified into a crude binary of insider versus outsider. This inward turn is intellectually stifling and socially divisive. It threatens the social fabric of a state that was historically a melting pot and offers no real solutions to the material problems that fuel the very anxieties it exploits.

The critical question for the future is whether this parochial fervour is a transient political fever or the new, permanent condition of Bengal. Can the state reclaim a more inclusive and forward-looking vision of itself, or has the genie of ethno-nationalism, once released, been irrevocably let out of the bottle? What happens to a society when the bonds of kinship, real or imagined, become the sole and suffocating grammar of its politics? As Bengal stands at this crossroads, the legacy of its universalist thinkers hangs in the balance, threatened by the very people who claim to be their heirs.