Hans Zimmer and the Polite Dismissal of the Ramayana

When producer Namit Malhotra began explaining the Ramayana to Hans Zimmer, the legendary composer cut him off:

“You don’t have to explain it to me. Something that has lasted thousands of years clearly has meaning. Let’s just do our best. It’s beyond us.”

Malhotra took this as reverence. In fact, it was erasure.

No serious Western artist would score The Ten Commandments or Schindler’s List without knowing the story. Imagine a composer saying, “Don’t explain the Illiad to me, it’s beyond me.” They’d be fired. But when it comes to Indian epics? The bar is subterranean. That’s not reverence.

That’s: I’m Western, I’m famous, I’m here for the cheque; not the history. The tragedy isn’t Zimmer’s line. It’s Malhotra’s awe. A Westerner shrugs off our most sacred text, and we call it wisdom. That’s not cultural pride. That’s civilizational confusion. It’s a pattern. Many elite Indians are fluent in the language of Islamic grievance; but tone-deaf to Western condescension.

Divide and rule still works:

• Hindus thank the British for “freeing” them from Muslim rule

• Muslims thank the British for “protecting” them from Hindu majoritarianism

Meanwhile, the West shrugs at our stories and we applaud.

Shravan Monday at the New England Temple

This Monday, I attended Shravan Puja at the New England temple. I was unprepared for how deeply it would move me; I had attended it on behalf of Dr. Lalchand, for whom Lord Shiva is her favourite Deity.

The Vedic chants echoed with the same solemnity as the Gregorian chants. But this wasn’t performance. It was something older, deeper; a Divine transmission, not a show. The Lingam was adorned with exquisitely adorned.

The Mandir radiated care. And yet I couldn’t shake the thought:

What discount does this tradition suffer because it is Indian?

Because it belongs to a civilization colonized, reframed, and underestimated? Shravan doesn’t demand recognition. It doesn’t explain itself. Unlike Hans Zimmer, Shravan doesn’t say “don’t explain it to me.” It says: “Be still. And listen.”

There’s a strange dissonance here, of grandeur that doesn’t announce itself. Of beauty that expects no acknowledgment. And I feel fortunate to have received even a fragment of the immense Blessing.

Om Namah Shivaya,