Daniel: Alright Sophia, five-word review for Shashi Tharoor's Why I Am a Hindu. Sophia: My faith, not your politics. Daniel: Ooh, sharp. Mine is: "Ancient philosophy versus modern fanaticism." Sophia: I think we’ve landed on the exact same battleground. That really is the core of it. Daniel: It perfectly captures the tension in Why I Am a Hindu by Shashi Tharoor. The book is a tightrope walk between a deeply personal, philosophical exploration and a fiery political polemic. Sophia: Exactly. And Tharoor is in a unique position to write this, right? He's not just a scholar; he's a high-profile politician in India and a former Under-Secretary-General of the United Nations. This book, which has been both widely acclaimed and quite controversial, is his direct response to the rise of Hindu nationalism, or what’s known as Hindutva. Daniel: Precisely. He's essentially trying to rescue his personal, pluralistic faith from what he sees as a political hijacking. He feels the brand has been stolen. And that brings us right to the central conflict of the book: the idea that there are two very different versions of Hinduism competing for India's soul.

Sophia: Okay, so let's start there. What is Tharoor's Hinduism? If it's not the one we see in political headlines, what does it look like? Daniel: It’s a faith of experience, not of doctrine. He describes his own Hinduism as something he absorbed through upbringing, conversation, and culture. He admits he doesn't know many Sanskrit mantras and reads the great texts in English translation. For him, Hinduism is, in his words, a "civilization, not a dogma." There's no single founder, no compulsory prophet, no organized church, and crucially, no single, mandatory holy book. Sophia: That sounds incredibly open and personal. But how does he define a 'Hindu' then, if there are no fixed rules? Can you just decide you are one? Daniel: That's the beauty and the challenge of it. He argues that being a Hindu is about a way of life and a way of thinking. It’s a faith that allows you to choose your own path to the divine. You can worship God in a specific form, like his personal devotion to Ganesh, the elephant-headed god. Or you can be a philosophical Hindu who contemplates the formless, universal spirit, the Brahman. He even quotes the ancient Rig Veda, which expresses skepticism about whether the Creator himself even knows how the universe began. Sophia: Wow, a holy text that basically says, 'Maybe even God doesn't have all the answers.' That’s a level of intellectual humility you don't often associate with religion. Daniel: Exactly. It's a faith that makes a virtue of doubt. Tharoor loves this aspect. He tells a fantastic story from 1995 when reports spread like wildfire that statues of the god Ganesh were suddenly drinking milk. Millions of people rushed to temples with spoons of milk, and in many cases, the milk would touch the statue's trunk and just... disappear. Sophia: I remember hearing about this! Scientists were all saying it was just capillary action, that the porous stone was absorbing the liquid. Daniel: They were! They even demonstrated it on TV. But for millions of believers, it was a miracle. A sign that the gods were present and interacting with their world. For Tharoor, this event, whether you see it as faith or physics, captures the essence of popular, lived Hinduism. It's personal, it's immediate, it's a bit messy, and it’s not dictated by some central authority. Sophia: Okay, so that's "Hinduism One"—the personal, diverse, almost 'choose-your-own-adventure' faith. What is the other Hinduism he's fighting against? Daniel: That's Hindutva. And this is where the book pivots from philosophy to politics. Tharoor explains that Hindutva isn't a religious term; it's a political ideology coined in the 1920s by a politician named V.D. Savarkar. Savarkar defined a Hindu not by their faith, but by their geography and ancestry. Sophia: How so? Daniel: He argued a true Hindu is someone who considers India their motherland, the land of their ancestors, AND their holy land. By that definition, Indian Muslims and Christians are immediately excluded, because their holy lands—Mecca and Jerusalem—are outside India. Sophia: Whoa. So that's the hijacking. It takes this vast, open philosophy and turns it into a political litmus test for nationalism. It sounds less like a religion and more like a political party's platform that uses religious symbols for branding. Daniel: That's precisely Tharoor's argument. He sees it as a perversion. It replaces the open-armed embrace of 'all paths lead to the same truth' with a clenched fist of identity politics. It demands conformity where the religion itself celebrates diversity. Sophia: Now, this is where some of the criticism of the book comes in, isn't it? Some reviewers, particularly in India, have argued that Tharoor's version of Hinduism is too idealized. They say he's a privileged, Western-educated intellectual who is out of touch with the very real, grassroots appeal of Hindutva, which gives a sense of pride and strength to many. Does he grapple with that? Daniel: He does. He argues that the appeal of Hindutva is born from a manufactured sense of insecurity and historical victimhood—a narrative of a glorious Hindu past destroyed by foreign invaders. He believes true Hinduism is inherently self-confident and doesn't need this kind of aggressive posturing. But you're right to point out the tension. The book is a powerful defense of a liberal ideal, but it's an ideal that is actively being contested on the ground.

Daniel: And that insecurity is so fascinating because it clashes dramatically with the core philosophy Tharoor celebrates, which is incredibly self-assured. He constantly returns to one of the most famous lines from the Vedas: 'Ekam sat vipra bahudha vadanti.' Sophia: Which means? Daniel: "Truth is one, but the wise call it by many names." This is the philosophical bedrock of his Hinduism. It’s the ultimate statement of tolerance. Your God, my God, her God—they are all just different names for the same ultimate reality. Sophia: Okay, I love that framing. It’s like an open-source operating system for spirituality. It's flexible, adaptable, anyone can build on it. But every open-source system has bugs, right? What about the biggest, most persistent bug in Hinduism's code: the caste system? Daniel: He confronts it head-on. He calls it an "abomination" and a "perversion" of Hindu social practice. He doesn't try to defend it. Instead, he argues that the resources to fight it exist within Hinduism itself. He tells this incredible story about Adi Shankara, one of the most revered philosopher-sages in Hindu history. Sophia: What happened? Daniel: Shankara, a high-caste Brahmin, is walking down a narrow street with his disciples, and they see a man from a so-called 'outcaste' community coming towards them. His disciples shout at the man to get out of the way of the great sage. But the man stands his ground and asks Shankara a question. He says, "You teach that the divine spirit, the Atman, is the same in all beings. Is the Self within me different from the Self within you? How can you ask one body to move away from another?" Sophia: That's a mic drop moment. He used the sage's own philosophy against him. Daniel: Completely. And Shankara, instead of getting angry, is stunned by the man's wisdom. He realizes the man has just taught him the true meaning of his own philosophy. He prostrates himself on the ground before the outcaste and declares him his guru, his teacher. Tharoor uses this story to show that the highest ideals of Hinduism are fundamentally anti-caste. Sophia: That's a powerful story. But is it enough? This is where the sharpest critiques of the book lie. Critics, especially from Dalit communities—the communities historically oppressed by the caste system—argue that figures like Tharoor are 'caste-blind.' They say that celebrating these philosophical gems doesn't erase the centuries of brutal, lived oppression codified in other texts, like the Laws of Manu. Does one beautiful story from a sage really outweigh that? Daniel: It’s a deeply important and valid criticism. Tharoor's response would be that he's not trying to erase that history. His argument is that the political project of Hindutva often seeks to preserve or ignore these hierarchies for political gain, while the philosophical project of Hinduism offers a clear path to dismantle them. He quotes Swami Vivekananda, another giant of modern Hinduism, who insisted that caste was a social custom, not a religious imperative, and that it had to be destroyed. Sophia: So he's separating the philosophical ideal from the flawed social reality. Daniel: Yes, and he admits the reality is still grim. He cites data showing that untouchability is still practiced by a shocking number of people in India, across all religions, not just Hinduism. His point is that the fight against it must be fought, but the weapons for that fight can be found within the faith's own highest values.

Sophia: So we have this profound conflict: a beautiful, open-source philosophy on one hand, and a rigid, exclusionary political movement on the other, both claiming the same name. Where does that leave a practicing Hindu? What's Tharoor's solution? Daniel: This is where the book becomes a manifesto. It's a passionate call to action. He argues that liberal, tolerant Hindus have been too quiet for too long, allowing the most extreme and intolerant voices to define their faith for the world. He says they need to take it back. Sophia: What does 'taking it back' even look like in practice? Is it just about telling better stories and winning arguments? Daniel: It's about living the philosophy. He points to the long history of syncretism in India—the blending of cultures and faiths. He calls it the 'Ganga-Jamuni tehzeeb,' a term for the fusion of Hindu and Muslim cultures in North India. He tells this wonderful legend from the Tirupati temple, one of the holiest Hindu shrines. The deity there, Lord Balaji, is said to have two wives. One is the Hindu goddess Padmavati. The other is Bibi Nanchira—a Muslim princess. Sophia: A Hindu god with a Muslim wife? Daniel: According to the legend, yes. And for centuries, this was just an accepted part of the local lore. It’s a perfect example of the kind of lived, blended reality that Hindutva, with its obsession with purity and division, seeks to erase. Taking Hinduism back, for Tharoor, means celebrating these syncretic traditions, not hiding them. Sophia: That's a beautiful image. It’s about choosing integration over purification. Daniel: Precisely. And it's also about changing the very language of pride. He says the Hindutva slogan, 'Garv se kaho ki hum Hindu hain'—'Say with pride that you are a Hindu'—is the wrong emphasis. It defines 'us' against 'them.' He believes the real pride should be in a shared national identity that is large enough to contain all of India's faiths. He suggests a better slogan would be 'Garv se kaho ki hum Indian hain'—'Say with pride that you are an Indian.' Sophia: That shifts the focus from religious identity to civic identity. Daniel: Exactly. And it's rooted in his belief that the fundamental thing about Hinduism is that it's a religion without fundamentals. It's a faith for the non-dogmatic, for the questioner, for the person who is comfortable with ambiguity and multiple truths. That, he argues, is the Hinduism that is truly worth being proud of.

Sophia: So, when you boil it all down, this book isn't just an explanation of Hinduism. It's really a defense of a certain idea of India itself—one that is pluralistic, diverse, and fundamentally tolerant. Daniel: That's the ultimate takeaway. Tharoor's final argument is that the open, accepting, and non-dogmatic nature of Hinduism is the very thing that has historically underpinned India's democracy. To lose the true spirit of the faith is to risk losing the secular, pluralistic fabric of the nation. Sophia: It’s a pretty high-stakes argument. Daniel: It is. And he closes with a beautiful, ancient Puranic story that I think sums up his entire worldview. A young warrior wants to marry a princess, but her father, the king, gives him an impossible task: he must find Truth and bring it back to the court. The warrior searches everywhere—in temples, in monasteries, with sages—but finds nothing. Sophia: Of course not. It's Truth. Daniel: Exactly. Finally, defeated, he takes shelter in a dark cave during a storm. And inside, he finds a terrifying old crone—wrinkled, toothless, with matted hair. She reveals that she is Truth. The warrior is horrified, but he knows he must bring her back. As they are about to leave the cave, the crone stops him and says, "When you present me to the king, you must do one thing for me. Tell them... tell them that I am young and beautiful." Sophia: Wow. So even Truth itself isn't always true. Or at least, it's not simple. Daniel: That's the point. Truth is complex. It's mysterious. It's paradoxical. And so is faith. It's not a simple slogan on a political banner or a weapon to be wielded against your neighbors. It’s a profound mystery to be explored. Sophia: A powerful reminder that maybe the most authentic faith lies in embracing the questions, not in claiming to have all the answers. It really makes you think about that thin, blurry line between our personal beliefs and our public identities. Daniel: And that's a question for everyone, regardless of their faith or background. The book is a fascinating and provocative read, and we'd love to hear what you think. Find us on our social channels and share your perspective. Sophia: This is Aibrary, signing off.