How Narendra Modi’s language shapes India’s global voice
Prime Minister Narendra Modi speaks in Hindi — but the world still listens in English. What does that say about India’s voice in global diplomacy?
By Sanjay Dubey
For a prime minister whose politics thrives on performance and nationalism, speaking in Hindi on the world stage is both identity and instrument. It also reflects a pragmatic reality — English is not a language in which Narendra Modi is most at ease. That should not be surprising in a country like India and, in fact, reflects the strength and inclusiveness of its democracy. But when it comes to international affairs, it might carry a cost.
When world leaders meet, what they say behind closed doors — the hints, jokes, reassurances, and quick clarifications — often matters as much as the formal communiqués that emerge later. Direct communication in a shared language is the most efficient path to trust. When someone understands both your words and the tone and non-verbal cues behind them, doubt diminishes, while comfort and credibility expand.
Narendra Modi’s public camaraderie with Donald Trump — from Houston’s “Howdy Modi” to Ahmedabad’s “Namaste Trump” — served clear political purposes for both men. These events created a spectacle of affinity. But can such orchestrated moments substitute the quieter, candid one-on-one diplomacy that happens when no one else is listening? Probably not. Optics can be manufactured; genuine, unscripted conversation between two leaders, without any intermediaries, is far harder to replicate.
In any communication, interpreters introduce friction. Nuances are filtered, jokes misfire, the rhythm of give-and-take slows. Diplomacy often advances in the interstices — the hallway chats, the phone calls, the whispered clarifications during discussions that never become public. Leaders who can pick up the phone and speak without an intermediary enjoy a kind of conversational currency. When conversation is mediated, that currency is downgraded. When we can speak to someone only for transactional reasons achieving those very aims often becomes harder.
Paradoxically, the interpretative buffer can also be deliberately useful. In a press conference where a sensitive question lands, replying in Hindi and letting an interpreter render the answer creates a protective layer of insulation. Follow-ups are less likely, and small slips or nuances can be managed. That tactical opacity has value. But when persuasion is the goal — moving a foreign audience, convincing a skeptical counterpart — intermediation dilutes impact. A carefully crafted, emotionally charged sentence from a leader like Narendra Modi invariably becomes flat prose when filtered through even the best interpreter.
There is also a psychological dimension to this. In India, English is more than a language — it is a social credential that often confers power, privilege, and influence. Narendra Modi, however, has built his authority on vernacular politics, drawing immense capital from speaking to the masses in their own tongues.
Abroad, this strength turns into a subtle dissonance. Entering rooms filled with Western leaders, diplomats, and other power brokers — where English is the natural language of rapport and informal exchange — places Modi within the very elite world he has long positioned himself against. Speaking firmly in Hindi in such settings may be an assertion of identity, but it is also a marker of distance.
This tension can produce two related behaviours. One is control: keeping interactions tightly scripted and choreographed to minimise the risk of conversational vulnerability. The other is compensation: substituting casual rapport with spectacle — the long hugs, dramatic handshakes, and public declarations of friendship.
For leaders such as Vladimir Putin, Xi Jinping, or Japan’s prime ministers, the use of interpreters is routine and not seen as a diplomatic limitation. With Western leaders, however, the expectation of speaking freely in English is far stronger. For them, English is not merely the language of the developed world. It is a shared space of humour, cultural references, and everyday expressions. It helps build informal trust and personal rapport, not just exchange information.
Some leaders connect even without perfect English because they communicate tone and intent with clarity. Ukraine’s President Volodymyr Zelenskyy is a striking example. His English may be imperfect, but his body language, directness, emotional openness, and ease with imperfection make him as effective as even the most powerful native speaker. The larger point is that perfection and fluency matter less than being understood — and than making others feel they are engaging with an equal.
Atal Bihari Vajpayee offers a more instructive Indian contrast. Like Modi, he was a Hindi orator of rare grace, but he never treated English as an adversary. When addressing Western audiences or meeting American presidents, his English — careful, measured, and occasionally poetic — conveyed both confidence and ease. He moved comfortably between two linguistic worlds without losing authenticity.
So did Late Sushma Swaraj, whose English was as mellifluous as her Hindi. Though she served as Minister of External Affairs in Modi’s first government, she was never truly deployed to her full potential on the global stage.
Contrast this with Shashi Tharoor, who, during the aftermath of Operation Sindoor, when India seemed to be losing the information battle to Pakistan, almost single-handedly articulated India’s position with remarkable clarity and eloquence, winning over global audiences through the sheer force of his language and intellect.
Vajpayee’s bilingual poise gave him a diplomatic reach Modi could have achieved had he chosen to cultivate that register. Modi’s Hindi oratory connects powerfully with his domestic audience, but on the international stage, the lack of linguistic ease can subtly tilt the scales of perception.
It is telling how Pakistan’s Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif became something of a blue-eyed boy for Donald Trump. Sharif holds only nominal authority at home, but he has an instinct for flattery — one he delivers smoothly in fluent English. The result was on display at the recent Sharm el-Sheikh peace summit, where, among some of the world’s most powerful leaders, Sharif was the only one Trump invited to speak midway through his own address. The episode underscores how charm and linguistic ease can, in the theatre of diplomacy, sometimes outweigh formal power.
Why, then, has Modi not leaned more heavily into English? One explanation is practical. Limited early exposure makes it difficult to develop the kind of effortless fluency required for quick, spontaneous exchanges under pressure. Another is political. His public persona draws strength from vernacular authenticity. Polished English could soften the image of the anti-elite outsider. And embracing the language of the former coloniser risks weakening a nationalist narrative rooted in cultural self-assertion.
When Modi proudly speaks in Hindi before global leaders, it may not be only about identity, nationalism, or lack of English proficiency. His home audience understands every word, foreign leaders don’t. That gap can be turned to advantage. He can deliver lines that sound stirring to Indians, enhancing his image as a global strongman, while the interpreter renders them in a restrained, diplomatically correct English for the world to hear.
But what empowers domestically can isolate internationally. Vajpayee demonstrated how one could carry the cadence of Hindi and the clarity of English with equal grace. Benjamin Netanyahu moves between Hebrew and English with strategic ease. Finland’s President Alexander Stubb exercises influence beyond his country’s size in part through his eloquence in English. Zelenskyy, meanwhile, uses his imperfect English to mobilise sympathy and solidarity for his war-torn nation. Each illustrates how bilingualism can become a diplomatic asset.
Major strategic deals rarely hinge on a single private call. They are the product of sustained bureaucratic effort and tough negotiation. Yet informal, trust-based exchanges — the subtle nudges that build confidence — can be invaluable. When India’s top leadership must rely on intermediaries in critical diplomatic moments, it sacrifices a small but sometimes decisive margin of soft influence — the kind that can turn a “let’s study this” into a “let’s do this now.”
This is not to say Modi has been ineffective. His Hindi oratory resonates with a billion people and signals confidence in India’s culture — and that matters. But it also narrows the space for personal diplomacy, limiting the subtle, trust-based influence that bilingual leaders often wield on the world stage.