Shivang Satya Gupta
In the years since the abrogation of Article 370 and Article 35A, India has taken bold strides toward actualizing the dream of Ek Bharat, Shreshtha Bharat—One India, United and Indivisible. As the sixth anniversary of this historic step, which integrated Jammu and Kashmir with the rest of the country, nears, it becomes imperative to reflect on the deeper questions of unity and alienation, inclusion and exception, and whether we as a nation are ready to transcend our inherited fragments.
The nullification of Jammu and Kashmir’s special status was not merely a constitutional adjustment—it was a symbolic act of national integration. It declared to the world that the Indian republic would no longer accommodate legal constructs that treated some Indians differently from others based purely on where they were born. In that spirit, what was true for Jammu and Kashmir must now be evaluated in other corners of the country—corners where constitutional or statutory mechanisms still prevent fellow Indians from owning land.
To name a few, Sikkim, Arunachal Pradesh, Nagaland, Mizoram, Meghalaya, and even Himachal Pradesh continue to enforce restrictions that prohibit non-residents from purchasing land. These constraints are often justified in the name of protecting local customs, tribal identity, or fragile ecologies. Historically, such reasoning was not without merit. But as with all legal fictions that ossify over time, we must ask—are the conditions that justified these exclusions still valid today?
Let us be clear: cultural preservation, linguistic protection, even reservations in education and employment—these are noble aims, grounded in the very ethos of our Constitution. They empower marginalized communities to find voice and strength within the framework of a pluralistic democracy. But the restriction of land ownership is not empowerment—it is exclusion. It is not protection—it is partition by another name.
In a nation of over 140 crore people, the right to settle, work, and build a home anywhere in the country must be seen as sacred. If a Tamil teacher can enrich a school in Mizoram, why shouldn’t she be allowed to buy the land her house stands on? If a Bihari entrepreneur can create jobs in Himachal, why should his roots be grounds for rejection? Should geography determine legitimacy in the eyes of the state?
India is no longer a nascent republic struggling to hold itself together. It is a civilizational power, a space-faring democracy, a global voice of reason and reform. The idea that the mere presence of outsiders on tribal or hill land will upend centuries of identity is not only outdated—it is condescending. It presumes fragility where there is strength. It assumes that culture cannot coexist with mobility, or that tradition cannot evolve with modernity.
We must also interrogate the hypocrisy embedded within these land restrictions. In many of these same states, powerful industrial houses, hotel chains, or political heavyweights have a route charted out for them, or where not, they find ways to circumvent the law. The tribal farmer or the common villager sees no such flexibility. In effect, these laws often become barriers not to cultural erosion, but to equal citizenship. They create an India within India—one for the rich who bend the law, and another for the rest who remain outside the gate.
The Constitution, in its truest essence, is not just a legal document—it is a moral compass. It tells us that India is not a federation of identities, but a union of people. That every Indian—whether from Gurdaspur or Gangtok—has the right to belong anywhere without suspicion or prejudice. Article 19(1)(e) of the Constitution guarantees all citizens the right to reside and settle in any part of India. Why then should this fundamental right be suspended at certain altitudes or borders?
Yes, states must be allowed to safeguard their linguistic and cultural heritage. Let them promote their languages, let them reserve jobs for locals, let them design education that reflects their histories. But land—the most fundamental expression of belonging—must not be used to define insiders and outsiders. Let every Indian be able to plant a tree, build a home, or grow roots in any soil of this country.
In the 75 years since Independence, India has emerged as a beacon of unity amidst diversity. Let us not allow colonial-era regulations like the Bengal Eastern Frontier Regulation of 1873 or the selective application of tenancy laws to fray that fabric. Our unity must be lived, not just declared. And that begins with the simple but radical idea: No land should be foreign in one’s own nation.
Let us not divide India by land. Let us instead unite it by trust.
