India: The world’s biggest democracy. To most political scientists, India’s transformation from a movement of peaceful protest against British colonial forces to a 600-million-strong electoral body is beyond astounding. Even more shocking, however, is that critical aspects of India’s modern democratic order were shaped under dictatorship. Between 1975 and 1977, Indians inhabited a country where free speech was curtailed, due process was abolished, and elections were suspended; in essence, representative democracy was over. During this period, then-Prime Minister Indira Gandhi introduced the 42nd Amendment, known today as the 1976 “Mini-Constitution.” The document’s sweeping provisions eliminated judicial review, redefined the nation as a “socialist secular democratic republic,” and froze the census-based apportionment of seats.
To understand why this anti-democratic measure was introduced, extended, and never rescinded over the past half-century, look no further than another one of Gandhi’s legacies: Sterilization. Gandhi appointed her son, the groomed heir to the ruling Congress Party, to lead a campaign to reduce India’s total fertility rate (TFR). He set up thousands of “sterilization camps” for men and women nationwide. Village leaders were given quotas and financial incentives to reduce their TFRs, leading to numerous reports of forced sterilization as leaders sought to line their own pockets at the expense of impoverished or marginalized groups.
In order to assuage concerns that controlling their fertility rates would weaken states’ representative power, the population-based reapportionment of seats was halted for 25 years and then extended for 25 more; thus, states that fared better at controlling their population would not lose political relevance. In essence, it is precisely because of, not despite, the 130 percent population growth nationwide and extensive variation in state populations that India’s national representative allocation has remained fixed. And by all metrics, in the last 50 years, India’s commitment to reducing its fertility rates has proven successful: In the southern state of Kerala, the TFR fell from 4.0 to 1.5, while the northern state of Uttar Pradesh saw a drop from 6.5 to 2.4.
In 2026, however, Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s government will begin the process of reapportioning India’s seats. On paper, with 31 out of 36 states reaching their fertility targets of 2.1 births per woman, India is long overdue for a redistribution of seats to match current national demographic distributions—a Keralan minister represents 1.75 million individuals, while a Bihari member represents 3.35 million. It is clear that the poorer northern states of Rajasthan, Uttar Pradesh, Bihar, and Madhya Pradesh (known as BIMARU) suffer from a lack of representation, while wealthier, more educated southern states like Kerala, Tamil Nadu, and Karnataka hold outsized power federally.
This redistribution will undeniably bring about more equal representation on a per capita basis. But it comes at a cost: It will exacerbate the stark divide between North and South India. Southern states foster religious ecumenicism and speak Dravidian languages, compared to the Hindu-first, Hindi-speaking regions of the North. Economically, too, the South is increasingly pulling away; two states in particular—Karnataka and Tamil Nadu—are poised to be the next big tech centers of the world, contributing far more in tax revenue than they receive in federal spending. The starkest difference is politically: In 2019, Modi’s coalition won just 30 out of 129 seats in the major southern states. Compare this to the BIMARU states (which constitute 36.4 percent of the population), where the coalition won 155 out of 174 seats.
As the more developed southern states have had modest population growth, the populations of the BIMARU states have exploded, so when delimitation is enacted, southern states stand to suffer immensely. When redistribution occurs, the South will lose 18.6 percent of its representation in the all-powerful Lok Sabha, the lower house of the Parliament of India. Meanwhile, BIMARU states will be rewarded for failing to meet population control targets with a 19.5 percent promotion in representation. This 29 percent difference in representation shift will do little to alleviate the aforementioned divides between North and South.
India is not ready to shrink the already minute political power allocated to the southern states that propel its economic growth. Doing so will only inflame regional tensions among groups splintered on religious, economic, and ethnic grounds. However, Modi has made it clear that weakening India’s pluralism is his goal; since coming to power, he has sought to promote a unified India at the expense of non-Hindu minorities and southern autonomy. His party recently introduced a national Goods and Services Tax, limiting states’ abilities to collect and spend their own revenue. This impacts southern states—none of which are governed by a Modi-affiliated party—the most. Modi’s government has also proposed renaming India to its Hindi name, “Bharat,” appeasing Hindu nationalists but sidelining the non-Hindi speaking South. Though constitutionally mandated and cleverly marketed, delimitation is yet another weapon being used by Modi to erode the federalism required to run a nation of 1.42 billion, disenfranchising Southerners in favor of the “Northern Hindu heartland.”
Delimitation is necessary for reducing the MP-to-voter ratio, yet it need not imply the significant loss in political power and regional strife it accompanies at present. If India is committed to developing into the superpower of Modi’s vision, it must devolve power to its states—that is the only way to save a fracturing nation. A federal government even more centralized by Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) ministers from the North will be ill-equipped to promote growth in the urban South. Another possible fix would be reforming the Rajya Sabha, India’s upper chamber. Originally designed to be a US Senate-esque bulwark against a populist majority, its diluted power has rendered it all but useless. If delimitation is to occur, either the Rajya Sabha must have its power restored, or states should have more power to spend revenue as they please, finally “align[ing] political incentives with economic growth.”
Democracy is about more than just majoritarian representation—it requires buy-in from its minorities. Instead of rewarding the South for economic productivity, Modi’s delimitation plan barrels ahead with an anti-cosmopolitan vision of India as a Hindu, Hindi-speaking state. The homogeneity promulgated by delimitation seeks to conceal the differences that define India, risking instability and division. Modi’s BJP party has done nothing to address these concerns, risking further marginalization of minority groups as Hindu-first voices are elevated. The electoral equality brought on by delimitation stands to restore BJP supermajorities, in turn undoing the electoral equity needed for a democracy’s survival.
Indira Gandhi’s legacy is marred by corruption and fierce authoritarianism, but in this case, history might just favor her. Modi, though, will never let India forget its “dark days” under dictatorial Gandhi rule—recently declaring June 25 Samvidhaan Hatya Diwas, or “Constitutional Death Day.” But in undoing 50 years of (mal)apportionment without concessions for Southerners or non-Hindus, Modi will leave behind his own dark legacy. His hypocrisy shines through: If Modi was as pro-democracy as his delimitation efforts or “Death Day” declaration might make him seem, he would not have done away with democracy in Muslim-majority Jammu and Kashmir, using the same farce of an “emergency” that Gandhi used decades prior.
Without any devolution of power back to the states or any efforts to strengthen countermajoritarian institutions at a federal level, as one prominent southern figure told the Economist, delimitation “is the beginning of the end of India as a country…In my children’s lifetime this will not be one country any more.”