Dr Buragadda Srinadh
It’s a strange sight in Indian politics today—on prime-time debates and social media, you’ll find Communist spokespersons like Vivek Srivatsav invoking the Constitution with almost evangelical fervour only to, in the next breath, demand withddrawing of the Waqf amendment Bill, framed and passed by a democratically elected government. That contradiction—screaming “democracy!” while dismissing an elected mandate—sums up the ideological schizophrenia that has shriveled India’s once-formidable Left into a rhetorical sideshow.
The Left’s downfall wasn’t sudden. It was slow, stubborn, and entirely self-inflicted. For decades, the CPI(M) clung to a mothballed Marxist-Leninist orthodoxy, refusing to adapt even as India changed beyond recognition. Post-1991 liberalization saw the rise of a consumerist, aspirational middle class, the tech boom, urban migration, and a digitally connected youth. But the Indian Left kept chanting “class struggle” like a broken record, blind to the fact that the proletariat was now buying smartphones, investing in mutual funds, and dreaming of a startup, not a revolution.
In the process, they missed the forest for the banyan tree. Their worldview narrowed into an obsession with opposing the RSS. Everything was reduced to a tired binary: fascists vs. secularists, Hindutva vs. Marx. The nuance was gone. Every saffron flag was labelled fascist; every Hindu ritual, communal. But while the Left was stuck in seminar rooms and editorials, the RSS was building schools, training volunteers, and creating real cultural capital. The RSS focused on influence; the Left focused on outrage. Guess who won?
Ironically, in trying to demonize the RSS, the Left gave it mystique. The constant attacks made the RSS more intriguing to curious young minds. Silence worked better than sloganeering. While the CPI(M) issued statements, the Sangh quietly expanded. While the Left called for resistance, the RSS was busy organizing blood donation camps. The Left made noise; the Sangh made inroads.
Their governance record didn’t help either. In Kerala and West Bengal, the Left initially earned praise for land reforms and labour rights. But success bred arrogance. In Bengal, intellectual elitism turned into political decay. The Nandigram and Singur fiascos exposed their hypocrisy—champions of the poor suddenly acting like land-grabbing corporates. And the infamous 2008 withdrawal of support to the UPA over the Indo-US nuclear deal was perceived not as ideological courage but as national sabotage. That one move revealed the party’s readiness to sink the country’s strategic interests just to stand by ideological dogma.
The result? Irrelevance. From being courted as kingmakers in the 90s and early 2000s, today no major party wants them in alliance. They offer no electoral dividends, no ground cadre, and certainly no fresh ideas. In 2019, CPI(M) won just 3 Lok Sabha seats. CPI managed 2. In 2024, they cling to a Kerala redoubt more out of inertia than inspiration.
Contrast that with the rise of the RSS-BJP ecosystem. From being banned and persecuted post-Independence to becoming the ideological backbone of the ruling party, the RSS played the long game. They didn’t shout; they built. They didn’t rage; they recruited. They didn’t debate identities; they embedded them into everyday life. The BJP, riding on this silent groundwork, rebranded Hindutva into a potent mix of tradition, modernity, nationalism, and aspiration. The result is the most dominant political force India has seen in decades.
The irony stings deeper when you consider that both the Communists and the RSS operated underground during British rule. Both were suspected, marginalized, and harassed after Independence. But one chose cultural nationalism and rooted itself in Indian soil. The other mocked “Bharatiyata” and imported class struggle theories that increasingly felt alien to Indian realities.
Today, CPI(M) finds itself desperately trying to stay relevant, even in student politics, once its stronghold. Meanwhile, the RSS shapes debates on nationalism, education, identity, and even secularism—terms the Left once owned. And as spokespersons like Srivatsav make circular arguments about democracy while calling to override democratic outcomes, they become caricatures of what the Left once stood for: intellectual honesty, mass mobilization, and social justice.
What happened instead is a classic case of ideological rigidity meeting historical momentum. The world changed. The country evolved. The RSS adapted. The Left didn’t.
History doesn’t wait for those stuck in echo chambers. And India has long moved on from those still clinging to 20th-century manifestos in a 21st-century republic.
