As India prepares to mark the seventy-sixth anniversary of its Constitution’s adoption on November 26, 2025, the nation finds itself at a crossroads—one where the meaning, resilience, and future of its foundational document are being hotly debated, both in the halls of academia and on the streets. The past few years have brought the Constitution out of textbooks and courtrooms and into the public square, with citizens, students, and marginalized groups invoking its spirit in unprecedented ways.
In the winter months of 2019 and 2020, New Delhi became the epicenter of a remarkable protest movement against the Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA), a law many viewed as discriminatory. According to reporting from Scroll.in, one of the most striking images from these protests was the collective, performative reading of the Preamble of the Constitution of India. This act, simple yet profound, was not just about reciting words—it was a declaration of belonging and a powerful assertion of rights. As the protesters, many of them students and members of marginalized communities, read aloud, they were, in essence, constituting themselves as “We, the People of India.”
The tactic quickly spread. On January 28, 2020, Dalit and Muslim activists Devidas Jayant and Shakaib Akhtar read the Preamble at a Republic Day event in Kandhla town, Shamli district. Just a week earlier, a massive steel map of India had been installed at the Shaheen Bagh protest site in Delhi, emblazoned with the message, “We the people of India reject #CAA_NRC_NPR.” In Akola, thousands joined a candle march against the CAA, NRC, and NPR, again reading the Preamble as an act of unity. These scenes, widely reported and shared on social media, demonstrated how the Constitution had become a rallying point for those asserting their place in the Indian nation.
But the protests were not just about the CAA. As Scroll.in notes, student struggles against fee hikes and broader concerns about democratic dissent merged with the anti-CAA movement. The result was a powerful affirmation of a constitutional culture—one rooted not in narrow identity or primordial belonging, but in the shared values enshrined in the Constitution itself. Yet, this assertion of constitutional rights was met with swift backlash. Students and teachers who protested were branded “anti-national” by the Bharatiya Janata Party and its allies, and soon found themselves targeted by state agencies. The pattern was not new; students at Delhi’s Jawaharlal Nehru University had previously been singled out for defending basic constitutional principles, such as the rights of the accused. More recently, the Tata Institute for Social Sciences in Mumbai saw similar targeting of its students.
This surge in constitutional consciousness has not gone unnoticed by scholars and civil society. According to The Sentinel Assam, the seventy-sixth anniversary of the Constitution is being marked by a wave of new scholarship. Works like Rohit De and Ornit Shani’s Assembling India’s Constitution: A New Democratic History (2024–25) and Gautam Bhatia’s The Indian Constitution: A Conversation with Power (2025) underscore that the Constitution is not a static, elite project, but a living document shaped by continuous dialogue between the people and the framers. Shani’s earlier research revealed that India prepared its electoral rolls even before becoming a republic, ensuring universal adult suffrage from the outset. De’s work highlighted how marginalized groups—sex workers, butchers, traders—invoked constitutional rights in courts, helping transform the law into a lived reality.
The Constitution’s durability, then, lies in its adaptability and its grounding in popular participation. Over seventy-five years, it has withstood immense pressures. Democratic continuity, the rule of law, and institutional stability have been maintained, even as other postcolonial nations faltered. The Basic Structure Doctrine, born from the landmark Kesavananda Bharati judgment of 1973, has served as the invisible backbone of Indian democracy, protecting core values such as judicial review, secularism, and federalism from political encroachment.
Yet, the Constitution’s story is not one of unalloyed triumph. The Preamble’s promise of “justice—social, economic and political” remains, for many, an unfulfilled dream. Economic inequality has grown, caste discrimination persists, and gender parity is far from realized. As Granville Austin, author of The Indian Constitution: Cornerstone of a Nation, warned, constitutions do not work by themselves—they depend on those who operate them. The persistence of poverty, violence against marginalized communities, and gaps in public health and education point to failures of implementation rather than design.
Federalism, a cornerstone of the Constitution, has often been tested. Article 356, intended as a last resort, has been used repeatedly to dismiss state governments for political reasons. The introduction of the Goods and Services Tax (GST) centralized fiscal power, leaving states more dependent on central allocations. The relationship between the Centre and the states, as The Sentinel Assam observes, has at times become adversarial rather than cooperative.
The judiciary, once the proudest pillar of the Republic, has also faced scrutiny. While the 2015 invalidation of the National Judicial Appointments Commission reaffirmed judicial autonomy, concerns linger about opaque appointments and selective activism. The expansion of Article 21—from a narrow guarantee of life and liberty to a foundation for rights to livelihood, education, privacy, and a clean environment—shows the judiciary’s capacity for dynamism, but also highlights the burden placed on courts to realize constitutional ideals.
Perhaps the most urgent challenge is the erosion of secularism and pluralism. The CAA, which privileges certain religious communities, has been widely criticized as incompatible with constitutional equality. According to Scroll.in, the unrest in places like Manipur and the alienation felt by minorities underscore the need for renewed commitment to constitutional morality—a concept Ambedkar described as essential for democracy to be more than just a form of government.
Amendments have kept the Constitution responsive to changing times. The 73rd and 74th Amendments brought governance to the grassroots, while the 103rd introduced reservation for economically weaker sections. The 42nd Amendment of 1976, often called the “mini-constitution,” redefined the Preamble and strengthened the Centre, while the 44th restored liberties lost during the Emergency. Over 106 amendments in seventy-five years—far more than the U.S. Constitution in two centuries—demonstrate the living character of India’s constitutional order. But this flexibility carries risks: amendments driven by fleeting political interests can dilute the document’s sanctity.
Looking ahead, India’s constitutional culture faces new frontiers. The digital age brings challenges of data protection, surveillance, and algorithmic governance. The Supreme Court’s recognition of privacy as a fundamental right in the 2017 Puttaswamy case was a landmark, but without a robust data protection law, citizens remain vulnerable. The future, scholars argue, will demand “digital constitutionalism”—applying constitutional values to cyberspace and the knowledge economy.
For all its imperfections, the Indian Constitution has been remarkably successful in holding together a continent-sized democracy. Its failures, as The Sentinel Assam puts it, are less about the document itself and more about those tasked with upholding it. The way forward, many agree, lies in strengthening independent institutions, deepening federal cooperation, ensuring transparency, and protecting the rights of minorities. Civic education must instill constitutional literacy so that “We the People” is not just a phrase, but a living reality.
As India approaches its constitutional centenary in 2050, the journey remains unfinished. The Constitution’s future will depend on whether citizens, leaders, and institutions can rise above narrow interests to fulfill its founding promise—a just, inclusive, and humane republic for all.
