Four years ago, in an increasingly polarised India, five friends took an unusual step. Concerned about the steady deterioration of communal relations, especially between Hindus and Muslims, they decided to meet the chief of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), Mohan Bhagwat.
This was a personal initiative born out of anxiety over the country’s social fabric. The decision to meet Bhagwat was deliberate. For all the public claims about the independence of the BJP from the RSS, the Sangh remains the ideological mother body, with undeniable influence over the BJP’s thinking and approach.
The five friends did not claim to represent Muslims. They were concerned citizens, moved by the community’s growing alienation from the state. Years of inflammatory rhetoric and targeted policies had left many feeling cornered in their own country. They believed passivity was not an option. So even if there was a faint chance that dialogue could yield understanding, it was worth the effort. Initially, their step drew mixed reactions — cautious support from some, criticism from others, who saw it as legitimising an exclusionary organisation.
Undeterred, they expanded their outreach, meeting Muslim clerics, Sikh leaders, Christian priests, social activists, and educators. Across communities, one truth emerged: The absence of conversation was only deepening the mistrust.
The RSS’s history is no secret. Its literature contains ample anti-Muslim and anti-Christian rhetoric. Generations of its leaders have portrayed minorities as “outsiders” or obstacles to a vision of Hindu Rashtra. Against this backdrop, the question loomed: Could there be a change of heart, or were these talks futile?
Surprisingly, the meetings were direct. Bhagwat candidly outlined Hindu concerns about Muslims; the group raised Muslim concerns without hesitation. The tone was not always comfortable, but it was honest. And he kept his promise to try and reduce differences. From time to time he has spoken on the need for unity, to reduce hate and learn toleration.
From these conversations came several practical recommendations: One, sustained dialogue — regular platforms for Hindu and Muslim scholars, clerics, community leaders, and activists to meet locally and nationally to address misconceptions quickly. Two, joint social action — collaborating in disaster relief, literacy campaigns, and public health initiatives to create shared ownership of society. Three, shared cultural spaces — updating madrasa syllabi to include shared histories, holding joint cultural festivals, and celebrating major religious occasions together. Four, engaging with the Uniform Civil Code (UCC) — Muslims should be open to the idea if the government first shares a draft and seeks genuine feedback. Imposition without consultation, as seen with the Waqf (Amendment) Act, 2025, invites resistance. Five, noise sensitivities — Muslims could limit loudspeaker use for the five daily calls to prayer (azan) to reduce friction with neighbours.
Six, respecting Hindu sentiments on cow slaughter — while rare among Muslims, a visible campaign against it could ease one of the most sensitive communal flashpoints. Seven, managing Friday prayers — avoiding road blockages by staggering timings or finding alternative venues. Eight, community conduct — actively addressing lawlessness among some youth in Muslim-majority areas, with leaders promoting civic responsibility. Nine, both communities must refrain from using derogatory terms such as “kafir” for Hindus and “jihadis” for Muslims or other such terms that generate hate.
Many Muslim-majority countries have reformed to meet modern realities. Tunisia, Morocco, Turkey, Egypt, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Indonesia and Algeria have adapted laws on family, education and public life. Indian Muslims, too, can pursue reforms that respect faith while accommodating the sensitivities of a plural nation. Yet no internal reforms will succeed without reciprocity from the Hindu community and the state. Trust cannot be one-sided.
Over the last decade, many Muslims, Christians and Sikhs have grown deeply suspicious of the executive and judiciary. Laws perceived as discriminatory, selective justice, and the endorsement of majoritarian rhetoric have eroded faith in the state’s neutrality. There is enough evidence of law enforcement agencies favouring Hindus, particularly during festivals. A very good example is the Kanwar festival, with state police officials welcoming the pilgrims with flowers, touching their feet or showering petals from helicopters. Such actions in a secular country shake the confidence not just of minorities but also the very large secular society.
Confidence-building also requires the government to step back from polarising politics, apply laws equally, act against hate speech, and show in action, not just in words, that every citizen has an equal stake in India. Demonstration of equal action has been sadly lacking.
India’s strength lies in accommodating complexity — allowing multiple identities to coexist without fear. That balance is under strain. The choice is stark: Let mistrust harden into permanent division, or take the harder path of conversation, reform, and mutual respect.
This initiative with the RSS chief may have been just a drop in the ocean. Therefore, more citizens and institutions must commit to long-term, genuine engagement. India can still reclaim the pluralistic spirit that is its truest inheritance. Trust, once broken, takes time to rebuild. But it can be rebuilt. And in this time of suspicion, the smallest bridges matter.
The writer is former vice chancellor, Jamia Millia Islamia, former Lt Governor, Delhi, and currently chairman, Advanced Study Institute of Asia
