Poonam Sharma
Ashwini Upadhyay has once again pushed India into a deeply uncomfortable but unavoidable conversation. With a single sentence—“If secularism could be imposed during the Emergency, then why can’t India be declared a Hindu Nation in the same way?”—he reopened old wounds, stirred historical memories, and challenged the moral certainties many Indians take for granted.
At first glance, the remark sounds deliberately provocative. Yet its power lies precisely in that provocation. It forces the nation to look backward before it looks forward—to revisit the Emergency of 1975–77, the political climate under Indira Gandhi, and the controversial manner in which “secularism” was formally embedded into the Constitution.
For some Indians, Upadhyay’s words resonate as a logical historical challenge. For others, they ring alarm bells, threatening the pluralistic fabric of the Republic. And for many, they sit uneasily in between—raising questions that feel dangerous not because they are wrong, but because they demand honesty.
To understand why this remark has shaken the nation, one must first return to one of the darkest chapters of Indian democracy.
The Emergency: When Democracy Was Suspended
On the night of June 25, 1975, Prime Minister Indira Gandhi declared a national Emergency under Article 352 of the Constitution. Civil liberties were suspended. Opposition leaders were arrested en masse. The press was censored. Courts were effectively sidelined. What followed was a 21-month period when democratic dissent was criminalized and power was centralized to an unprecedented degree.
It was during this authoritarian phase that the 42nd Constitutional Amendment (1976) was passed—often called the “Mini Constitution” because of its sweeping changes. Among its many provisions, two words were inserted into the Preamble: “Socialist” and “Secular.”
This is the historical fact that fuels Upadhyay’s question.
India was always religiously diverse, and the spirit of secularism existed in practice and judicial interpretation. But the explicit word “secular” was not part of the original Constitution adopted in 1950. Its formal insertion happened at a time when Parliament was not functioning freely, opposition voices were silenced, and the people had no meaningful say.
Critics of Indira Gandhi have long argued that this amendment lacked democratic legitimacy. It was passed not through national consensus, but under coercion—when fear, censorship, and arrests replaced debate.
From this perspective, Upadhyay’s argument is not invented out of thin air. It draws directly from history.
Was Secularism “Imposed”?
Supporters of the Emergency-era amendment argue that secularism merely articulated what India already was—a nation where the state treats all religions equally. They insist the word’s inclusion strengthened minority protections and reaffirmed constitutional values.
This is where Indira Gandhi’s legacy comes under sharp scrutiny. The Emergency is widely viewed as a personal power move following the Allahabad High Court judgment that invalidated her election. The subsequent constitutional changes, including the elevation of Parliament’s supremacy over the judiciary, were designed to entrench executive control.
Seen through this lens, secularism’s insertion becomes part of a broader pattern—where constitutional morality was reshaped from the top down, not grown from popular consent.
It is precisely this historical contradiction that Ashwini Upadhyay highlights, whether one agrees with his conclusion or not.
The Hindu Nation Question: Proposition
Upadhyay’s critics argue that equating the two—secularism and declaring India a Hindu nation—is a false comparison. Secularism, they say, protects all religions, while a Hindu Rashtra would privilege one faith over others.
That concern is not valid. India’s diversity is not theoretical; it is lived daily. A redefinition of national identity along Hindu lines .
Bharat ’s civilizational roots are Hindu. From festivals and languages to social customs and philosophical ideas, Hindu culture has deeply shaped the subcontinent. Acknowledging this does not automatically mean oppression, just as “secular” does not automatically mean neutrality.
The deeper issue, then, is not Hindu versus secular—but how constitutional ideas are born, imposed, or evolved.
Constitutional Flexibility vs Constitutional Morality
Upadhyay’s remark ultimately Finds a constitutional effort the flexibility of the Constitution . If it can be amended during extraordinary circumstances like the Emergency, can it also be revisited through democratic debate today.
Those who oppose reopening this discussion fear a slippery slope—where majority sentiment could override minority rights. Those who support it argue the opposite: that refusing to debate entrenches intellectual stagnation and historical dishonesty.
A healthy democracy, however, does not collapse under questions. It is tested by them.
India at a Crossroads of Reflection
This debate is no longer about Ashwini Upadhyay alone. It is about the self-image of Bharat.
Was secularism strengthened or weakened by being inserted during an authoritarian phase? Does constitutional legitimacy come solely from text, or from the context in which that text was written? And most importantly, can India revisit its foundational ideas without tearing itself apart?
Indira Gandhi’s Emergency remains a cautionary tale—a reminder that even well-intentioned ideals lose moral authority when imposed through force. Acknowledging this does not mean rejecting secularism. It means being honest about its journey.
Upadhyay’s statement may anger, disturb, or inspire—but it has succeeded in one crucial way: it has forced India to think.
In a democracy as vast and complex as India, thinking is not a threat. Silence is.
Whether one sees his remark as a logical historical challenge or a dangerous deviation from inclusivity, the final verdict does not belong to politicians or courts alone. It belongs to the indigenous Hindu people.
And perhaps that, more than anything else, is what makes this debate worth having.
