Image of India’s Prime Minister Narendra Modi speaking at a BJP rally. The lotus symbol, central to the BJP’s identity, is prominently displayed on the podium.

I remember sitting on the couch with my dad during the 2014 Indian election results. The screen flashed with exit polls, anchors shouted over each other, and my dad, a die-hard nationalist, pumped his fist in the air when Modi was declared the winner. “This is the India we need!” he said, eyes glowing with pride. At the time, I didn’t know what that really meant. I was too young to understand the politics or what it meant to vote for someone promising strength, pride, and cultural revival. But even then, it felt like something significant had shifted.

Now, more than a decade later, I understand. What my dad cheered for was not just a political shift but the beginning of a cultural transformation. That transformation, however, did not happen on its own; rather, it was deliberately shaped and encouraged by political leadership. Modi’s ascent was not driven solely by policy proposals or personal popularity but by something deeper and more enduring: a fusion of religion, tradition, cinema, and national identity that he mobilized to reinforce political power.

A broader shift is underway. A generation is growing up with a version of India that is narrower, angrier, and less tolerant of dissent. The dream of a secular, pluralist democracy is not collapsing in flames. Instead, it is gradually fading – not through violent overthrow, but through a slow redefinition of national identity, carried out not by coups or constitutional amendments but by symbols, cultural narratives, and everyday practices. This shift has been carefully engineered through the weaponization of culture. In Modi’s India, culture is not just an expression of identity, but also a tool to define who belongs and who does not. Democratic erosion here often does not start in parliaments or courts, but earlier and more subtly – in movie theaters, at temple stages, within WhatsApp group chats, and across primetime TV screens. These are the arenas where political belonging is reshaped, often invisibly, in ways that pose deep risks to the future of Indian democracy.

Modi did not need to dismantle India’s democratic institutions to weaken them. Instead, he has reshaped how power is perceived and who it serves. He has reframed majoritarianism as a cultural renaissance by cloaking his politics in Hindu symbolism, religious imagery, and civilizational pride. In this version of India, religious identity has become political currency.

Central to this shift is a politicized version of Hindu nationalism known as Hindutva. Coined in the early 20th century, Hindutva, literally meaning “Hindu-ness,” is a political ideology that seeks to define Indian culture in terms of Hindu values and promote the idea of India as a Hindu nation. Though not new, under Modi, it has evolved into a populist force that defines who belongs in the nation and who does not. This is less about religion itself and more about consolidating political power through a narrowly defined national identity.

Bollywood has also played an essential supporting role in this project. Once a space for pluralism and secular storytelling, Hindi cinema has become an amplifier of Hindutva ideology. Recent films center on Hindu heroes and subtly frame Muslims as outsiders or threats, and Muslim characters, once common in Bollywood, have nearly vanished from major roles.

This cultural shift closely mirrors the political one. Blockbusters like Padmaavat and Ram-Leela glorify upper-caste Hindu masculinity and frame it as a form of national strength. These films do more than entertain; they serve as vehicles of ideology, reinforcing the idea that Indian identity is inseparable from Hindu tradition. Scholars and critics have called out this transformation, pointing out how major actors avoid speaking out, roles are selected with caution, and scripts are shaped to align with dominant narratives. In Modi’s India, challenging Hindutva on screen is not just controversial: it can also come at a career cost. This cultural conditioning through media is just one part of a broader political strategy that reshapes how citizens see themselves, their nation, and their place within it.

Modi’s influence on culture extends far beyond the movie screens. He has positioned himself as the embodiment of the fusion between politics and religion, carefully cultivating an image that feels less like a traditional politician and more like a divinely appointed guardian of the Hindu nation. His consecration of a Ram temple – built atop the ruins of a centuries-old mosque – was both a deeply symbolic and strategic act. Televised across the country, the ceremony sent an unmistakable message: India belongs to Hindus, and Modi stands as its protector.

For a secular democracy, this is dangerous ground. That temple stands where Hindu extremists destroyed the Babri Masjid in 1992, a flashpoint that led to the deaths of nearly 2,000 people. Modi didn’t just inherit that history; he turned it into campaign messaging. He returned to Ayodhya during the election cycle to center his political legitimacy around divine authority.

The reinterpretation of religious tradition by Modi’s political party, the BJP, is particularly clear in the evolving image of Lord Ram. Once honored in Hindu epics as a righteous, soft-spoken prince committed to moral duty, Ram is now increasingly depicted as a muscular militant ready for battle. BJP leaders and their allies actively promote these images, recasting Ram from a moral exemplar into a symbol of Hindu strength and aggression.

This visual rebranding was not accidental; it supported a broader political project where Hindu identity was framed as synonymous with national loyalty, and where Muslims were increasingly painted as threats to cultural and political order. The slogan “Jai Shri Ram,” once a simple religious invocation, became a rallying cry in violent attacks and political intimidation, showing how quickly symbols could shift from expressions of faith into tools of exclusion. What began as cultural imagery hardened into ideology, and that ideology has continued to reshape everyday life in India, with real and devastating consequences.

In Assam, a Muslim man protesting his eviction was shot and stomped to death by police, while a state-employed photographer jumped on his corpse. Rather than being condemned, the photographer was embraced by the police. This wasn’t justice. It was a public performance of loyalty to the Hindu nation.

Since Modi took office, India’s democratic classification has downgraded from “free” to “partly free” according to international watchdogs. Civil liberties are waning. Journalists face legal threats and harassment. Protesters are criminalized. Muslims, who make up roughly 14% of the population, are increasingly vulnerable to violence, surveillance, and exclusionary policies.

The government defends its actions using language about national security, public order, and cultural pride. But the real purpose is simpler. By stoking fear and resentment, the Modi government keeps its Hindu voter base emotionally mobilized and politically loyal.

Meanwhile, economic stress continues to mount, unemployment is rising, prices remain high, and public services are under strain. Yet Modi’s image remains remarkably resilient, bolstered by carefully staged spectacles and emotionally charged narratives. Temple openings dominate the front pages, while economic failures are pushed to the margins. It is easier to sell a mythical past than to confront a broken present.

This is all part of the populist playbook. Recast the nation’s identity, invent internal enemies, and flood the media with symbols. When institutions push back, they’re labeled elitist or anti-national. For now, the strategy is working. Modi won a third term, but there were cracks. His party lost the seat that included the Ram temple. Even some Hindu voters may be questioning whether nationalism is a substitute for governance.

Even the Constitution feels more fragile. The Citizenship Amendment Act introduced religion as a criterion for legal belonging. Detention centers are under construction for “illegal migrants,” many of whom are Indian Muslims without documentation. Though framed in legalistic terms, the intent is plain. The state is redrawing the nation’s demographic fabric.