Perhaps it is time that foundational knowledge of the Constitution and fundamental civil and criminal law become a graduate-level requirement

As constitutionally aligned, civically educated, and politically unaffiliated ordinary citizens, we find ourselves asking an increasingly uncomfortable question: do we, as a nation, actually understand what secularism means? Or have we reduced it to a ritual that is recited loudly, interpreted selectively, and practised inconsistently?

The Constitution of India is not ambiguous: The Preamble declares India a “Sovereign Socialist Secular Democratic Republic”, committed to justice, liberty, equality, and fraternity. These are not ornamental words. They are binding promises. In our school civics classes, we were clearly taught that India is not a Hindu state, not a Muslim state, and not a state aligned to any faith. That choice, debated intensely during Partition, was consciously made. History may argue alternatives; the Constitution settled the matter.

We accepted that contract, which entailed such an agreement: We, the citizens, understand that secularism, as envisaged by the framers of the Constitution, was never about hostility to religion. It was about neutrality. Equal distance. Equal respect. Equal restraint. Article 14 guarantees equality before the law. Article 15(1) prohibits discrimination on grounds of religion, race, caste, sex or place of birth. Article 25 assures freedom of conscience and the right to profess, practise, and propagate religion—subject to public order, morality, and health.

That final qualifier matters: Rights were never absolute; they were balanced. And yet, the imbalance around us is hard to miss. We live in a secular republic where laws are not uniform across citizens. Personal laws vary by religion. Religious institutions are regulated differently. The right to publicly demonstrate one’s faith appears uneven. It is guided less by constitutional principle and more by perceived sensitivity. In practice, equality often yields to expectation: how strongly might a group react, how disruptive could it become, and how inconvenient would enforcement be?

This is not neutrality; it is a negotiation: Even equality before the law seems elastic. Similar statements by different citizens attract wildly different consequences: blasphemy in one case, free expression in another. Some misrepresentations invite swift condemnation; others are met with studied silence. Over time, the perception of uneven protection takes root, eroding trust not only in institutions but also in the idea of fairness itself.

A secular state cannot allow fear of disorder to determine the scope of rights. That quietly shifts power from law to threat, and maybe that is what has been happening in the neighbouring counties and is the next step for us. It weakens institutions and eventually harms every citizen, including those momentarily protected by silence.

In recent times, we have also witnessed symbolic acts. Some individuals publicly carry the Constitution, holding it aloft and invoking it as a moral authority. Symbols matter. They remind us of the Republic’s conscience. But symbolism must eventually be matched by clarity. It may help if those who raise the Constitution also stand up and state, unambiguously, that every action, speech, process, and policy they support respects the Constitution, if not always literally, then at least morally and in spirit. That reassurance matters. For the average citizen watching from the sidelines, the lines are increasingly blurred.

Reservations present another unresolved contradiction: Reservation was an affirmative action that was both morally necessary and constitutionally sanctioned in the early years of the Republic. Article 15(4) allows the state to make special provisions, and Article 16(4) to make special provisions (reservations) for backward classes of citizens not adequately represented in public services, forming the constitutional basis for affirmative action like quotas for the SCs, STs, and OBCs in government jobs, ensuring substantive equality, not just formal equality.

These were corrective tools, meant to address historic exclusion and enable mobility, not to fossilise identity. So the questions today are practical, not ideological. 

How does backwardness remain unchanged across generations? How does the child of a senior civil servant continue to qualify under criteria meant to offset deprivation? At what point does empowerment require reassessment?

If secularism implies equal opportunity, should reservations, at least in education, not be aligned primarily with economic vulnerability across caste, region, and religion? And once education is enabled, should professional responsibility not be merit-based? 

A secular republic must aspire to competence without prejudice, not competence with permanent qualifiers. The discomfort deepens when free expression enters the room. Democracy thrives on debate, dissent, and critique, including the questioning of belief systems. But when the same expression is defended for one and penalised for another, not by principle but by anticipated outrage or political leverage, freedom becomes conditional. It does not build or manage harmony.

Perhaps the confusion we experience as citizens stems from a more basic gap. 

We demand constitutional behaviour without ensuring constitutional understanding. Perhaps it is time to insist that foundational knowledge of the Constitution and fundamental civil and criminal law become a graduate-level requirement across disciplines, including engineering, medicine, commerce, and the arts, not as ideology, but as civic literacy. Passing this understanding should involve no quotas, no grace marks. One could even uncomfortably argue that such literacy should precede full participation in the formal system: salaried employment, public loans, passports, not as punishment, but as preparedness. Rights carry weight only when understood.

The Constitution has not failed to define secularism. What we suffer from is selective understanding. We remember secularism when it reassures us and (mis)interpret it when it challenges us.

A secular republic is not one where no one is offended. It is one in which laws, rights, and responsibilities apply equally, even when enforcement is uncomfortable.

Until we accept that discipline, secularism will remain something we recite fluently, admire selectively, and practise imperfectly.