‘We, The People of India’: TM Krishna’s book is part-explainer, part wake-up call for the republic

Those who believe that artists must concentrate only on their art and venture nowhere close to socio-political commentary or activism are likely to get riled with Carnatic classical singer TM Krishna’s new book, We, The People of India: Decoding A Nation’s Symbols. Apart from his music, which is a serious commitment, he is also deeply invested in his role as a public intellectual, eager to hold the government accountable and champion the rights of citizens.

This book examines how a post-colonial Indian identity has been shaped over time through iconography, history, mythology, poetry, and music. It is divided into five chapters: “The National Flag: A Symbol of Freedom”, “The Lion Capital: An Emblem for Justice”, “Satyameva Jayate: An Old Truth for a New Motto”, “Jana Gana Mana: A Song and an Anthem”, and “The Preamble: A Vision for the Republic.”

Meaning-making

The symbols are old but not frozen in time. They are presented as contested sites of meaning-making, open to interpretation, and available to be claimed by those who worry about the decline of plurality and want to fashion an Indian identity that is non-sectarian.

This book is part-explainer, and part wake-up call. It tells you about the significance of each colour of the national flag, then compels you to think about how the shift from khadi to polyester is “representative of the India we have become: synthetic and plastic”. It fills you in on the official discussions that went into selecting the lion capital from an Ashokan pillar for the design of the national emblem, while also characterising Emperor Ashoka as “a bloodthirsty overlord who had metamorphosed into a personification of kindness” and suggesting that “India needed to discover self-realisation and forgiveness to move ahead with positivity…after Partition”.

It traces the origin of the national motto “Satyameva Jayate”, often translated as “Truth Alone Triumphs”, to the Mundaka Upanishad, while mourning the demise of truth-telling in films like The Kashmir Files and The Kerala Story that are engaged in the task of “demonisation of the Muslim”. It looks at the national anthem not only as a ceremonial celebration of unity in diversity but also as an emotional artefact that evokes pride “even in those among us who are not card-carrying nationalists”. It offers an expansive reading of the Preamble to the Indian Constitution, insisting that the construct of “fraternity” must embrace LGBTQ+ people.

What shines throughout this book is the author’s earnest attempt to explore what nation-building means in today’s context and what it can look like when it is led by the people, and not the state. He offers more of an invitation than a blueprint here for how citizens can overcome “narrowness of spirit” and “seek a society of love, where choices are based on empathy and concern”.

While naysayers might dismiss this aspiration as the wild fantasy of an urban, Hindu, English-speaking, heterosexual man with caste privilege, it is worth pausing and reflecting on how this “society of love” builds on saint-poet Kabir’s conception of “premnagar” (city of love) and saint-poet Ravidas’s idea of “begumpura” (city without sorrow). As a weaver and a leather worker, respectively, they felt the urgency of why it was necessary to shake up the status quo.

Hum dekhenge

The author seeks to emulate their courage. As a recipient of the Ramon Magsaysay Award in 2016 for “recognising that dismantling artistic hierarchies can be a way of changing India’s divisive society” and for “democratising the arts”, he continues to question, challenge, and provoke, with an inclusive vision guiding his words. Krishna received the award alongside Ambedkarite activist Bezwada Wilson, one of the founders and National Convenor of the Safai Karmachari Andolan, who campaigns for the eradication of manual scavenging.

This book transported me back to an evening at Mumbai-based G5A, a warehouse repurposed into an arts hub, where the author sang Faiz Ahmed Faiz’s Urdu poem “Hum Dekhenge”, which has acquired the status of a protest anthem. Iqbal Bano sang it in 1985 to express her disenchantment with the oppression and censorship under the Zia-ul-Haq regime in Pakistan. Today, it fuels the resolve of many, including the author, to keep raising their voice against the tyranny of the political establishment. They are convinced that the tide will turn, and they simply cannot wait.

We, The People of India: Decoding a Nation’s Symbols reinforces the idea that safeguarding the principles and vision upon which our nation was founded cannot be an individual project; it has to be a collective effort. It is a heartfelt, provocative, and intellectually rich book, drawing from academic research and lived experience, urging readers to notice the irony that symbols of freedom, which concretise abstract ideas, are protected, but freedom itself is trampled upon.

The most important takeaway here is a plea to substitute reverence with reflection so that these glorious symbols do not become empty of meaning but can be cherished as an inheritance that is alive and relevant today, empowering citizens to break through the shackles of fear and speak up.

Chintan Girish Modi is a writer, journalist, and literary critic. He has contributed to various anthologies, including 101 Indian Children’s Books We Love (2013), Borderlines: Volume 1 (2015), Clear Hold Build (2019), Fearless Love (2019), and Bent Book (2020). He can be found on social media with the handle @chintanwriting on Instagram and X.

We, the People of India: Decoding a Nation’s Symbols, TM Krishna, Context/Westland.