Recent years have been witness to many efforts to ‘decolonise’ the Indian education system, particularly through the rewriting of NCERT textbooks. The central idea behind this movement is to create a curriculum that reflects an “Indian” perspective, emphasising indigenous knowledge systems, philosophies, and historical narratives over the West-centric views that have dominated Indian education for decades. Proponents argue that this change will reclaim India’s intellectual heritage and develop a sense of cultural pride among students.

Decolonisation directly challenges the colonial mindset and actions that have plagued us for too long. India’s indigenous education system was systematically dismantled, making way for a colonial education model that infiltrated every aspect of life, all backed by the colonial state. The colonisers’ language, teaching methods, assessment, and knowledge became inescapable norms for the colonised population.

The colonial education system, as outlined in Macaulay’s Minute, aimed to create compliant, loyal citizens and bureaucrats to uphold colonial rule. It sought to produce native individuals who were anything but truly civilized, reinforcing the divide between the school system and the native populace.

After independence, various governments took steps to rewrite the textbooks in order to reverse the effect of colonisation on the education system. However, this approach fell short in addressing the deeper issues of intellectual decolonisation in the context of history writing.

Merely changing the content of the syllabus, as we are currently witnessing, does not address the fundamental problem that Shri Aurobindo identified back in 1905, when he wrote: “information cannot be the basis of intelligence”. In this article, I will argue that the process of intellectual decolonization requires far more than altering the syllabus. It demands a transformation in the entire approach to education, including how we think, teach, and evaluate knowledge.

The core of the current educational reforms effort lies in changing the content of the textbooks. The goal is to infuse Indian thought, culture, and history into the curriculum, thereby making it more representative of India’s intellectual heritage. Superficially, this may seem like a logical and necessary step. For too long, Indian students have been taught from a syllabus that marginalises their own culture in favour of a Western worldview. Changing the content to reflect Indian philosophies, historical figures, and events appears to be a move towards reclaiming intellectual sovereignty.

However, mere inclusion of Indian thought into the curriculum does not make the curriculum Indian. As Shri Aurobindo pointed out, knowledge that is not rooted in deep understanding and critical inquiry, is superficial. Changing the syllabus without changing the intellectual foundations upon which it rests, is akin to building a grand structure on weak soil. No matter how Indian the content, if the underlying framework of teaching, learning, and evaluation remains the same, we will have achieved nothing more than a cosmetic change.

If we focus specifically on the humanities, particularly history and historiography, we need to acknowledge that historiography—the graphein of historia—is not our way of recounting the past. Itihasa does this with far greater depth and without needing to be categorised as “History.” Calling Itihasa history is not only a reduction; it’s a blatant expression of a colonial mindset that we have been conditioned to accept.

The desperation of Hindus to “prove” the historical existence of figures from our Itihasas is a manifestation of the inferiority complex drilled into us by mainstream narratives. that reduce our cultural heritage to mere mythology. This pathological need to prove the historicity of our Itihasa figures betrays a colonial hangover, one that our ancestors never carried because they understood the deeper, immaterial significance of these stories.

When we start playing the leftist game of providing historical evidence for figures like Rama, Krishna, or other Puranic figures, we’re willingly walking into a trap set by our adversaries. We’ll never be able to provide archaeological evidence for beings like Jatayu, no matter how much we try. And when we fail, they’ll waste no time in branding us as “pseudoscientific” or turning the debate on its head by ignoring the evidence we do provide and fixating on the lack of evidence for others.

But here’s the crux: these figures aren’t meant to be chained to the limitations of historical inquiry. They are the foundation of our cultural consciousness, timeless and immortal, not confined to any particular moment in history. The linear concept of time and historicism is an Abrahamic import that has no business being imposed on Sanatan Dharma, where time is cyclical, not linear. This is why Parshuram appears in both the Ramayana and Mahabharata, even though they occur in different yugas. You can’t explain this with the cold logic of science, and trying to do so only mutilates the very traditions you seek to defend.

This issue has been brilliantly dissected by S. N. Balgangadhara in his work  “The Heathen in His Blindness”, where he exposes how applying these foreign frameworks to our traditions does nothing but erode their essence.

S.N. Balagangadhara, argues that growing up as an Indian involves learning to treat our stories and myths differently from Western historical claims. The truth of our stories, whether from the Ramayana or Mahabharata, is not tied to their empirical veracity. Indian traditions allow for truths that transcend historical fact, focusing instead on cultural, moral, and spiritual values. However, when we introduce these stories into the curriculum without altering the Western historiographical methods that prioritise empirical evidence, we distort their meaning. They become secondary, symbolic narratives rather than sources of deep philosophical insight.

The problem is that our political theories, economic systems, sociological frameworks, and even philosophical concepts are still largely borrowed from Western thought. The so-called decolonisation effort, while replacing Western figures with Indian ones in textbooks, has done little to address the Western intellectual frameworks that continue to dominate Indian academia. Our examinations of Hinduism, Buddhism, or Indian metaphysics still rely on Western categories like “ontology,” “epistemology,” and “ethics.” We continue to analyze Indian thought through the lenses of “realism,” “nominalism,” and “theologies,” borrowing terminologies and frameworks from the West. In doing so, we reduce Indian intellectual traditions to mere content that fits into a Western template, thereby losing their essence. Those who advocate for these changes often fail to recognize that intellectual decolonisation is not about content, but about process. As long as we continue to operate within the Western intellectual tradition, even when discussing Indian ideas, we will remain intellectually colonised.

Decolonization is not about swapping out names and events in textbooks; it is about developing a new way of thinking. It requires an intellectual transformation that goes beyond the curriculum and permeates the way we approach knowledge itself. The syllabus may change, but what about the methods of teaching? Are we training our teachers to approach these new subjects with an Indian mindset? Are we changing the way we evaluate students, moving away from rote memorization and towards critical thinking rooted in indigenous intellectual traditions?

Let me give you a real-life example of this problem. Sure, you can add the Ramayana to the syllabus, but what’s the point when the method of interpretation does more harm to our culture than ignorance ever could? Because the system has already conditioned them to accept these skewed interpretations without a second thought.

However, this is not surprising, given the absolute failure of Hindu parenting and the absence of any dharmic framework in our upbringing. This is precisely how the so-called “pedagogical structure” warps young minds, guiding them, step by step, into a specific ideology that undermines our cultural and spiritual values. It’s not about education anymore; it’s about indoctrination, its about interpretation, it’s about the lens and we’re letting it happen.

More importantly, what about the way students are parented, the culture of debate and discussion, and the methods of examination? If these remain unchanged, we cannot expect to build a truly Indian intellectual tradition. Intellectual decolonisation demands a complete overhaul of the systems that shape how we think, not just what we think. If we continue to evaluate students based on Western methods of assessment—emphasising memorization, standardisation, and empirical accuracy—then we have done nothing more than replace Western content with Indian content, all while maintaining the same intellectual foundation.

Changing the syllabus without changing the structures that underpin Indian education is a gross mistake in the context of decolonisation. We cannot create a great superstructure on a weak base. The current intellectual abilities of both students and teachers, shaped by decades of Western-dominated education, cannot suddenly be transformed by introducing a new syllabus. What is required is a shift in how we think about education at a fundamental level—how we engage with ideas, how we foster creativity and inquiry, and how we interpret knowledge.

Under colonial rule, the British aggressively imposed their worldview, scrutinising our stories, epics, and puranas with an arrogance that belittled our cultural heritage. They challenged our narratives, deriding them as mere fanciful tales while elevating their so-called ‘truths.’ Our intellectuals, caught in this colonial crossfire, faced a grim choice: either deny the authenticity of their own traditions or bend them to fit the Western historiographical mold. Instead of critically examining the colonial mindset, they fell prey to the myth of Western superiority, embracing a view of Indian history that dismissed our narratives as incompetent exaggerations. This surrender to colonial ideologies didn’t just distort our past; it created a lasting rift between the living pulse of our culture and the sterile academic frameworks imposed from outside.

Fast forward to today, and we witness the Sangh Parivar emerging as a reactionary force, conflating our vibrant stories with rigid historical truths, all while brandishing a veneer of nationalism. This group has confused fervent nationalism with historical accuracy, denigrating our Itihasas, Puranas, the Ramayana to a literal status that borders on absurdity. Rather than responsibly engaging with their critiques, they simply regurgitate Western narratives, betraying a profound ignorance of both Indian culture and Western scholarship. The irony is staggering: while purporting to ‘save’ Indian culture, they risk obliterating its very essence by forcing it into a box of their own making. In this chaos between colonial legacies and misguided sense of Itihasa, we must reclaim our narratives with clarity and conviction, lest we allow ideologues to redefine our history into a caricature of its true brilliance.

Supporters of the NCERT changes might argue that revising the syllabus is at least a first step toward a broader intellectual revolution. By introducing Indian philosophies and histories into the classroom, they believe we can begin to shift the intellectual culture over time. They might claim that while the initial changes may seem superficial, they will create a ripple effect that eventually transforms the way teachers teach and students learn.

However, this argument underestimates the depth of the intellectual colonisation that has taken place. Incremental change alone is not enough. As long as we are operating within a Western framework, these new ideas will continue to be understood and evaluated through Western lenses. What is needed is not incremental change, but a radical shift—a transformation in how we engage with knowledge at its core.

As long as we continue to teach, learn, and evaluate knowledge within a Western framework, the inclusion of Indian thought will be little more than window dressing. To truly decolonise Indian education, we must rethink not only what we teach, but how we think about knowledge itself. Changing the syllabus may be a start, but without a transformation in pedagogy, examination, and intellectual frameworks, it will fail to achieve the goal of true intellectual decolonisation.