The Narendra Modi government seems to have perfected the art of courting controversy, even if the resultant rows bring it widespread condemnation. The deportation of Francesca Orsini, a London-based scholar known for her contribution to Hindi and South Asian literature, proves this.

Had she been allowed entry into India, her stay, lectures, etc., would have been noticed only by a small group of scholars and intellectuals; by denying entry, despite her holding a valid tourist visa, the government has unnecessarily invited criticism, showing not just the ruling establishment but the entire country in a bad light.

By denying her entry, the authorities have not only amplified the issue but also invited global condemnation for what appears to be an arbitrary and intolerant act. It is a textbook case of overreach—where insecurity masquerades as nationalism, and the fear of dissent trumps the spirit of open inquiry.

This episode also fits a troubling pattern. Over the last few years, India has seen a series of similar incidents involving academics, journalists, and activists who were either denied visas or deported without clear explanations. Each such act chips away at India’s credibility as a democratic society that values freedom of thought and expression.

It also alienates the global community of scholars who, for decades, have engaged with India not out of political motives but from genuine intellectual curiosity and admiration for its civilisational richness. When the world’s largest democracy begins to treat scholars as potential threats, it betrays a lack of confidence in its own cultural foundations. The government might argue that it reserves the right to deny entry to any foreign national, and legally it does. But the question here is not of legality—it is of wisdom, maturity, and vision. Great nations are not made by silencing voices or restricting academic exchange; they are built by engaging with differing perspectives, even uncomfortable ones.

If India aspires to be a ‘Vishwaguru,’ a teacher to the world, it cannot afford to appear fearful of those who study and interpret its languages, histories, and literatures. True cultural confidence lies in openness, not exclusion.

Moreover, the deportation sends a disheartening message to India’s own academic community. Universities and scholars thrive on exchange—on dialogue with counterparts abroad, on exposure to different methods and interpretations. When the government curtails such interaction, it isolates Indian academia and discourages intellectual vibrancy. It also reinforces the growing sense that India’s current establishment prefers control over conversation, and conformity over creativity.

In the long run, such actions do more harm than good. They create an atmosphere of distrust, deter foreign scholars from engaging with India, and undermine the country’s soft power—one of its most potent assets.

India’s rich literary and linguistic traditions have always drawn admiration worldwide; they need ambassadors, not gatekeepers. Deporting Orsini sends precisely the opposite message: that the state would rather police thought than promote understanding.

If the government truly seeks to enhance India’s global standing, it must learn to distinguish between genuine threats and criticism—even if the criticism is tendentious. The deportation of a scholar who studies Hindi literature poses no danger to the nation; on the contrary, her work helps the world appreciate India’s intellectual and cultural wealth. By denying her entry, the government has not protected the country’s interests; it has diminished them.