n India, the Hindu right-wing has mastered the art of converting cultural symbolism into sociopolitical war-fare; transforming what were once festivals of light, colour and devotion into spectacles of intimidation.
In an environment built on the otherisation of Muslims, many prominent Hindu festivals have become annual performances of dominance, where the language of faith has been seamlessly replaced by the rhetoric of hate.
This transformation, cultivated through years of ideological labour, has turned the religion of the Indian majority into a theatre of resentment.
This year’s Diwali season revealed the global reach of this hate-fuelled imagination. Across Indian social media, countless right-wing handles celebrated not the festival itself, but a grotesque metaphor comparing Diwali fireworks to the bombings in Gaza.
The narrative was simple and cruel, drawing a parallel between the bombs lighting up Gaza’s skies and the celebratory fireworks in Delhi. The normalisation of such imagery is not accidental: it stems from a deep ideological alliance between Hindutva and Zionism, movements built on exclusion based on superiority, occupation, and the demonisation of Muslims.
Indian public figures have joined this descent into moral darkness. Filmmaker Ram Gopal Varma, once celebrated for his cinematic audacity, posted on X (formerly Twitter): “In India only one day is Diwali and in Gaza, every day is Diwali.”
The statement, shared widely, encapsulated the depravity of a political culture where mass slaughter becomes the punchline for a festival greeting. Across the internet, similar messages echoed, treating Gaza’s destruction as something to be mocked; its tragedy a spectacle to be celebrated.
Islamophobic alignment
It is no coincidence that such language emerges from a country where Islamophobia has been algorithmically manufactured into public opinion. A disproportionate amount of global Islamophobic content originates from Indian networks, coordinated through armies of online trolls and propaganda pages that fuse religious pride with political venom.
The invocation of Gaza by Indian right-wing voices also reveals a deeper psychological function. The Hindu nationalist sees in Gaza not just a distant war zone, but a mirror for his own imagined victory over the Muslim “invader”.
The alignment with Israel’s militarised nationalism is ideological: both Hindutva and Zionism narrate themselves as besieged civilisations fighting for survival’ both justify their violence as self-defence, and both portray Muslims as an existential enemy.
Thus, when Indian accounts equate Diwali’s light with Gaza on fire, they are not merely being tasteless – they are reaffirming a transnational solidarity of supremacy.
The communalisation of festivals has now become so entrenched that violence or tensions are almost expected. During Holi, mosques are covered with tarpaulins to prevent them from being splashed with colour – a quiet acknowledgment of how far the country has drifted from its own professed harmony.
Ram Navami processions routinely descend into riots, as armed men on motorcycles raise slogans designed to provoke, often targeting Muslim localities with impunity.
Particularly insidious is how social media has extended these rituals into the digital realm. The festival no longer ends on the street; it continues on screens, via hashtags and WhatsApp groups. Diwali memes mocking Gaza, Holi videos of Muslim women being assaulted, and Ram Navami reels celebrating street violence – these are the new cultural productions of a society intoxicated by hate.
To participate in this virtual violence is to assert loyalty to the Hindu nation. To reject it is to risk being branded as anti-national, pro-Muslim or worse.
Collective punishment
This cultural project serves a political function. It transforms collective piety into collective punishment. It binds millions into a shared fantasy of dominance, where religion justifies cruelty, and empathy is redefined as betrayal.
It ensures that Muslims – whether in India, Gaza or elsewhere – are eternally cast as the enemy, undeserving of grief or solidarity. When Diwali fireworks are compared to genocidal bombings, it is not just an act of cruelty, but an ideological declaration: our joy is inseparable from your destruction.
In such an environment, festivals cease to be about celebration. They become cyclical reaffirmations of supremacy, where violence – symbolic or real – is sanctified as devotion.
The moral corrosion runs deep. Every year, as the diyas are lit and the skies explode in colour, the air carries not just the smoke of fireworks, but the stench of bigotry in a nation that mistakes hatred for heritage.
The tragedy of contemporary India lies not merely in its politics, but in its psyche – a psyche that has learned to find pleasure in pain, light in destructive fire, and meaning in cruelty.
When a society celebrates bombings as divine spectacle, when its festivals echo with slogans of hate, and when its artists mock the dead, it signals something far more profound than political decay. It reveals a civilisational sickness – one where the sanctity of faith has been replaced by the thrill of power.
Muslims in India have long shown deep solidarity with Palestinians in Gaza, seeing in their suffering not only a shared faith, but a reflection of their own marginalisation. This empathy, grounded in moral consciousness rather than mere religiosity, unsettles the Hindu right wing. To mentally harass Indian Muslims, Gaza is turned into a symbol of mockery.
Such cruelty serves a purpose: to ridicule both the victims abroad, and those who grieve for them at home. In turning Gaza’s destruction into a metaphor for celebration, the Hindu right has weaponised faith to provoke India’s Muslims, turning their solidarity and compassion into instruments for public derision and assault.
