During the past three decades or so a large number of works on various aspects of Indian history, written by authors who are not based in institutions of higher learning, have been enormously successful. This would indicate that there is a large audience for books on historical themes, and that there is generally a great deal of interest in serious history. Many of these books are well written, and the authors are familiar with the relevant research in the area on which they have chosen to write, synthesising this research for the non-specialist reader in accessible language. They have played an important role in disseminating cutting-edge research which, but for these authors, would remain confined to specialised journals and monographs. Romila Thapar and Namit AroraSpeaking of History: Conversations about India’s Past and PresentPenguin, 2025.At the same time there has been a tendency to denigrate the writings of ‘professional’ historians who have produced the original research on which many of these ‘popular’ histories are based. ‘Professional’ historians, it is alleged, do no write in a manner that is comprehensible to the layperson, and it is because they have not done their job well that ‘WhatsApp’ history has taken over. In other words, had ‘professional’ historians kept the non-specialist readers in mind, communal or distorted versions of India’s past would not have become as influential as they have currently, and that works of popular history are trying to rectify the situation. Historians are chided for being obscure, dull and boring.The disdain for the scholarship of academic historians on the part of a few authors of popular histories who are not necessarily aligned with rightwing or communal ideological positions, might to some extent be an expression of a sense of despair over the ascendancy of ‘WhatsApp’ history in the last few years. Yet, blaming academic historians, especially those committed to secular and democratic values, serves little purpose except for reinforcing the present contempt in official circles for the contribution of a large number of Indian (and a number non-Indian) historians to an understanding of India’s past. The animosity in official circles towards established ‘mainstream’ historians is related to a political project that has been long in the making. Romila Thapar, one of India’s foremost ‘mainstream’ historians, points out in her conversations with Namit Arora in Speaking of History that, ‘A communal vision requires a communally oriented history, a lesson so well taught by colonial writers…. Hindutva ideologues … have absorbed this lesson well and have invested in large-scale organised promotion of a particular version of history that supports the Hindutva ideology and their political project, and this is what we call “WhatsApp history” and suchlike. The political imprint of this is obvious and insistent (p.99). The problem is certainly not incomprehensibility. One might mention that Thapar’s Pelican History of India volume I (1966) can be read with ease by an informed layperson with an adequate knowledge of the language and some basic common sense, which made it a bestseller. She was thirty-five when the book was published. A substantially revised edition was published in 2002 and is still a bestseller.In Speaking of History, Thapar and Arora discuss a wide range of issues pertaining to history and history-writing, and talk about the perils of being a historian at a time when there is a fierce onslaught on the discipline. Arora, a scientist by training, is the author of Indians: A Brief History of a Civilization (2024). He gave up his tech career in Silicon Valley finding it ‘intellectually and spiritually vacant’, applying himself subsequently to a serious study of history and other social sciences. He participates in the conversation as an erudite and curious non-specialist with his own insights and reflections.Also read: Why Is History So Controversial in Today’s India? Romila Thapar and Namit Arora Explain This makes for an engaging and lively discussion – as when he refers to the Yamnaya people of the Pontic Steppe who ‘were among the first speakers of a proto-Indo-European language from which descends Vedic Sanskrit’, ancestors of Sintashta horse-riders, ‘the direct ancestors of the Indo-Aryans’ who introduced horses in the subcontinent (p.113); or when he forcefully argues that there was a ‘“conservative turn” and an intellectual decline in elite Indian culture from the end of the first millennium CE’ partly due to upper caste dominance (p.176), conceding that a more nuanced understanding of these centuries has emerged with more attention being paid to research on regions and regional variations. One wonders when the latest researches on the Yamnaya, their migrations and links with the peopling of the Indian subcontinent will find some space in our school textbooks.What is not appreciated by those who lap up fabricated accounts of history is that like other disciplines history too requires rigorous training. Scholars spend decades consulting archival sources, studying inscriptions (and learning the languages and scripts of these inscriptions), examining art objects, excavating archaeological sites, and poring over manuscripts before they can put forth some tentative arguments. There are specialised peer-reviewed journals that provide the forum for putting forth these interpretations and discussing them.The archaeological site of Harappa, of the Indus Valley civilisation. Photo: Sara jilani/Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA 3.0. It can often take several years before a scholarly consensus or even strongly-stated divergent scholarly positions can emerge. The debates around a particular issue are vital for the growth of the discipline. Further, it is a mistake to suggest that communal assertions about India’s past are alternative ‘interpretations’. These are merely assertions, which ignore the protocols of the discipline. These assertions are increasingly being made in a language that is intimidating and intended to stifle debate. Speaking of the historical method Thapar emphasises that ‘one cannot stop with just one source of evidence. Researching a subject means exploring and understanding many kinds of sources that may exist’ (p.14). Her own research on narratives about Sultan Mahmud’s raid on Somanatha in 1025/26 showed that exclusive reliance on Persian-language sources which seek to extol the sultan’s prowess and religious zeal are inadequate for interpreting the incident. Colonial administrators of the nineteenth century who wrote historical works on India greatly magnified the incident and distorted its history, depicting it as an especially traumatic moment marking the beginning of eight hundred years of slavery which ended with British rule. The potential this narrative had for causing a religious rift was a bonus for colonial rulers. Colonial historiography on Mahmud was and is useful for divisive agendas. On the other hand, Thapar’s detailed examination of several relevant contemporary sources, including Sanskrit inscriptions, in her Somanatha revealed complete silence about the incident. This complicates the story for the historian. Thus, ‘it is in grappling with such complex questions that the historical method becomes absolutely indispensable’ (p.29). Whereas scholars have moved beyond what was written about the incident nearly two hundred years ago, communal propagandists continue to peddle outdated versions thereby further propagating them and rendering the conclusions of recent historical research fallacious.Also read: Breaking up History is ‘Absurd’, Says Romila Thapar at Kerala Lit Fest 2026When state power is used to promote make-believe histories it becomes difficult for historians to have their say. History is after all indispensable for the nation-state. Whereas nations as we know them are products of the modern era, they need to validate themselves by stressing on their antiquity. Contestations over history become political contestations over what constitutes the shared past of those who inhabit the nation’s territory. The dominant trend in the anti-colonial struggle defined the Indian nation in inclusive terms by highlighting syncretism, diversity, and the multi-religious, multi-lingual, multi-ethnic character of the nation. This understanding is enshrined in the constitution. On the other hand, there were those who kept away from the freedom struggle and consistently tried to undermine this understanding. The falsification of history is integral to the project for imposing an idea of India that is non-inclusive. Thapar sees herself as an ‘old-fashioned nationalist’ for whom a nation cannot be based on a singular identity (‘religion, ethnicity, language or suchlike’). She firmly believes that ‘the future of the world lies in nation states that are governed by citizens who have rights and that the governing has to be essentially democratic and secular’ (228-9).A large part of the conversation focuses on absences and gaps in writings on Indian history. These have resulted in a lopsided understanding of the country’s past. The obsession with elites (mainly upper castes) of the Ganga–Jamuna Doab has led to the neglect of the south, the north-east, women, lower castes, Dalits, Adivasis, and forest-dwellers – in fact, histories of the majority of the people. A glaring example is the sterile debate over the Aryans and the origins of the Harappan civilisation, questions that are not relevant for Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh or Telangana, or the north-eastern states. Going beyond north India, and using a variety of sources that help in writing about the lives of marginalised and oppressed people is the way forward. More research on these themes would enrich our knowledge of history. More importantly, as Arora states in the Introduction, ‘history must remain open to a diverse community of scholars – diverse in social background and thought – who are committed to pursuing fresh evidence and sound reasoning’.Amar Farooqui is a professor of history at the University of Delhi.