The question that haunts Indian political discourse—“If not Modi, then who?”—is not a genuine inquiry about leadership. It is a rhetorical trap, designed to shrink the imagination of a nation of 1.4 billion people into a single, chest-thumping silhouette.
It presumes that without one man, the world’s largest democracy would collapse into chaos, as though the Indian republic were a startup dependent on a visionary CEO rather than a constitutional democracy built on the collective will of its citizens.
The audacity of this question is matched only by its constitutional irrelevance, because the Indian Constitution has already furnished a clear, unequivocal answer: any Indian citizen who commands the confidence of the Lok Sabha can be Prime Minister. The real crisis is not the absence of an alternative, but the systematic erosion of the very institutions that make alternatives possible.
Article 75(1) of the Constitution is deliberately unromantic. It vests the power to appoint the Prime Minister in the President, acting on the advice of the Prime Minister, but the underlying convention is brutally democratic: the leader must enjoy majority support in the Lok Sabha, whose members are directly elected by the people.
There is no mention of a 56-inch chest, no requirement of a particular religion, caste, language, or political lineage. The Constitution does not recognise cults of personality; it recognises mandates.
Every Indian citizen who meets the eligibility criteria and can secure the trust of their elected representatives is constitutionally competent to lead. To ask “if not Modi, then who?” is to insult the very logic of representative democracy, which assumes that leadership is contingent, renewable, and replaceable. The framers of our Constitution were wise enough to know that no one is indispensable, and they built a system that ensures continuity even when individuals falter.
Yet, the persistence of this question in public discourse reveals a deeper malady. It is not a question but a campaign—a deliberate myth-making exercise that portrays the incumbent as invincible and inevitable. Journalists, academics, and assorted cheerleaders of power have amplified this fiction, as though Indian history began in 2014 and will end whenever Modi exits.
This is not only historically myopic but politically dangerous. It reduces governance to a one-man spectacle, undermining the collective accountability that parliamentary democracy demands. When a leader is projected as the sole repository of national destiny, every failure becomes personal, and every success becomes miraculous, but the institutions—the judiciary, the civil service, the Election Commission, the Parliament itself—are rendered marginal.
This is not strength; this is fragility disguised as strength. A democracy that cannot imagine its own succession is a democracy already in decline.
The irony is that this narrative of indispensability is not even original. It follows the Congress party’s old playbook of dynastic centrality, replacing one family with a single individual, but with a dangerous ideological twist. While the Congress model weakened internal democracy, the Hindutva model actively delegitimises constitutional checks and balances.
Over a decade of Modi’s tenure has seen a steady attrition of institutional independence, from the undermining of the Reserve Bank’s autonomy to the selective enforcement of tax laws, from the muzzling of dissent to the rewriting of history in school textbooks. Factually incorrect statements in Parliament go unchallenged, parliamentary committees are bypassed, and the Opposition is reduced to a decorative irritant.
This is not governance; this is authoritarianism in slow motion, wearing the saffron robes of cultural nationalism. The question “If not Modi, then who?” is thus a shield against accountability, a way to deflect scrutiny by posing as the only bulwark against anarchy.
But the Constitution offers a richer, more demanding vision. It does not ask us to choose between a strongman and chaos; it asks us to choose collective leadership, institutional fidelity, and the slow, unglamorous work of democratic deliberation.
The Preamble is not a poetic prelude; it is a revolutionary compact. It promises justice—social, economic, and political—not as a gift from a benevolent ruler, but as a right enforceable through law. It promises liberty of thought and faith, equality of opportunity, and fraternity that assures dignity.
These are not values that can be delivered by a single leader, however charismatic. They require Parliaments that debate, courts that adjudicate, bureaucracies that implement, and citizens who participate. The answer to “If not Modi, then who?” is, therefore, “We, the people of India”—not as a slogan, but as a constitutional reality. Every voter, every MP, every minister, and every Prime Minister is a temporary trustee of this sovereign will
To embrace this constitutional answer is to reject the false dichotomy of strong leadership versus weak democracy. India does not need a leader who thunders from a podium; it needs a system that works quietly and fairly.
The deficits we face today—rising poverty, unemployment, hunger, homelessness—are not accidents of global capitalism; they are the predictable outcomes of a governance model that prioritises spectacle over substance, centralisation over decentralisation, and loyalty over competence. The Hindutva project, as the author argues, is a colonial and capitalist project dressed in indigenous garb, one that thrives on division and deference.
It cannot solve the developmental crisis because it is the crisis. The only way out is through the Constitution, not around it. Collective leadership, with its messy compromises and shared responsibilities, is far more effective in addressing complex challenges than the edicts of a solitary sage.
The beauty of the Indian Constitution is that it does not fear the future. It does not enshrine any individual, party, or ideology as eternal. It trusts the people to choose, to err, and to correct.
That is why the question “If not Modi, then who?” is not just flawed—it is unconstitutional in spirit. It denies the people their agency, their wisdom, and their right to imagine a different India. The answer is not a name; it is a process.
It is the electoral college, the parliamentary floor, the committee room, and the polling booth. It is the citizen who casts a vote, the activist who files a PIL, the journalist who asks a tough question, and the MP who reads the budget.
The Constitution has already answered; we only need the courage to listen. If not Modi, then anyone—and that “anyone” is the very essence of democracy.
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*Academic based in UK
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