It has become common practice to label certain topics as off-limits, especially in places meant for friendly gatherings. The dinner table, once a cherished space for sharing ideas, is now often governed by an unspoken rule against discussing “controversial” issues—especially politics. But as a society that prides itself on free thought and intellectual strength, can we really afford to accept this self-imposed silence? Is this not a betrayal of the very principles that make a society truly civilized?
The refrain, “Can we not discuss politics at the dinner table?” is not merely a plea for decorum; it is a symptom of a deeper malaise—a collective cowardice that seeks to evade the uncomfortable realities of our time. Politics, far from being a peripheral concern, is the very architecture of our social existence. It shapes the laws that govern us, the values we uphold, and the destiny of our civilization. To relegate it to the margins of discourse, to treat it as an unwelcome guest at our tables, is to abdicate our responsibility as thinking beings.
The Illusion of Neutrality
There are those who argue that the exclusion of politics from personal interactions fosters harmony, preserving relationships from the strain of disagreement. This is a delusion born of intellectual laziness. Harmony purchased at the cost of truth is no harmony at all; it is a brittle façade, liable to shatter at the slightest provocation. The refusal to engage with political ideas does not eliminate conflict; it merely postpones it, allowing grievances to fester in silence until they erupt in forms far more destructive than a heated dinner-table debate.
Moreover, the claim to neutrality is itself a political act. By choosing silence, one implicitly endorses the status quo, lending tacit support to the dominant ideologies of the day, however unjust or oppressive they may be. In the context of Indian society, where the legacy of colonial subjugation, the distortions of pseudo-secularism, and the erosion of dharmic values continue to cast long shadows, this silence is not innocent. It is complicity in the perpetuation of a system that thrives on the apathy of the educated and the acquiescence of the virtuous.
The Dinner Table as a Microcosm of Civilization
The dinner table is not merely a place for nourishment of the body; it is a microcosm of civilization itself, a space where families, the foundational units of society, gather to affirm their shared values and confront their differences. In ancient India, the concept of samvāda—dialogue rooted in mutual respect and the pursuit of truth—was central to intellectual and spiritual life. The Upanishads, the Mahabharata, and the debates of the shastrarthas bear witness to a tradition that celebrated rigorous discourse, even on the most contentious issues. To banish politics from the dinner table is to sever ourselves from this noble lineage, reducing a sacred space to a sterile zone of trivialities.
It is worth recalling that the great crises of history—whether the decline of dharmic civilization under foreign invasions or the distortions imposed by colonial rule—were often preceded by a failure of discourse. When societies cease to engage with the ideas that shape their destiny, they surrender to entropy, allowing external forces to dictate their fate. The dinner table, as a site of familial and communal dialogue, is a bulwark against such decay. To cleanse it of politics is to disarm ourselves in the face of existential challenges.
The Fear of Offense and the Tyranny of Comfort
At the heart of the aversion to political discussion lies a fear of offense, a desire to cocoon ourselves in the illusion of perpetual comfort. This fear is the product of a society that has elevated subjective feelings above objective truth, a society that mistakes politeness for virtue. But truth, by its very nature, is not always comfortable. It demands confrontation, not only with others but with ourselves—our prejudices, our ignorance, and our complicity in the ills of the world. To shield ourselves from this confrontation is to embrace a life of intellectual cowardice, unworthy of the legacy of our rishis and thinkers who faced the most profound questions with unflinching courage.
In the Indian context, this fear of offense is particularly insidious. Decades of ideological subversion have conditioned us to view certain truths—about the desecration of our temples, the erasure of our civilizational memory, or the hypocrisy of our political elites—as too dangerous to utter. The dinner table, once a space where such truths could be confronted in the safety of familial bonds, is now policed by the same taboos that stifle public discourse. We are told to avoid “divisive” topics, but who decides what is divisive? More often than not, it is those who benefit from the perpetuation of falsehoods, those who fear the awakening of a society long lulled into complacency.
The Duty of the Educated
It is the educated, the so-called custodians of culture, who bear the greatest responsibility for this state of affairs. By retreating into silence, by prioritizing personal comfort over collective awakening, they betray the very purpose of education. In the Indian tradition, knowledge was never an end in itself; it was a means to uphold dharma, to serve society, and to challenge adharma in all its forms. The dinner table, as a gathering of the educated, is thus not merely a private space but a battleground of ideas, where the future of our civilization is shaped one conversation at a time.
Let us not forget that the great reformers of our past—whether Adi Shankaracharya, Swami Vivekananda, or Lokmanya Tilak—did not shy away from confronting the uncomfortable truths of their time. They spoke, they debated, they challenged, often at great personal cost. If we, in our relative comfort, cannot muster the courage to discuss politics at the dinner table, how can we claim to be heirs to their legacy?
A Call to Reclaim Discourse
The time has come to reject the tyranny of silence, to reclaim the dinner table as a space for samvāda, not suppression. Let us speak of politics—not as a game of partisan loyalties, but as a quest for truth, justice, and the preservation of our civilizational ethos. Let us speak with courage, but also with humility, recognizing that disagreement is not enmity, and that the clash of ideas is the crucible in which understanding is forged.
To those who still plead, “Can we not discuss politics at the dinner table?” I say: No, we cannot afford not to. For in our silence, we surrender not only our voices but our very souls, consigning ourselves to a future shaped not by our convictions but by our cowardice. Let the dinner table once again become a beacon of intellectual vitality, a space where the flame of truth burns brightly, undimmed by the shadows of fear or complacency.
Personally, I rather prefer to calmly eat my food than discussing matters. But if I had to, I would not discriminate between the choice of topics.
