Lost in Translation: Hinduism’s Fragile Diaspora

Two summers ago, I was in Vrindavan, a sacred Hindu city in India with temples on every other street, festivals all around, and culture interwoven in daily life. There, I felt most connected to Hinduism. These days, when I tell someone I’m Hindu, it seems more performative than personal. Raised in a religious household with rich cultural traditions, Hinduism has always been part of my identity. I pray every night, read Hindu mythologies, and follow a mostly vegetarian diet. Yet growing up as an Indian-American, I’ve felt increasingly disconnected from the faith that has been around me all my life. In America, Hinduism is a minority faith, and proper immersion and exploration of the religion requires access, education, and community—much of which second-generation Hindus don’t have. 

Hinduism, as it’s practiced today, has failed to develop and properly encompass the millions of Hindus living outside of India. In New York, Hindu places of worship are scarce, and our religious communities are weak and hard to come by. For my family, trips to the temple require long drives and tedious planning, and become more like chores than regular devotion. Churches and synagogues, on the other hand, are embedded in neighborhoods and have programs like youth groups and Sunday school that form community and maintain religious reverence in the younger generation. 

Another major issue for Hindus abroad is the language barrier. Prayers in temples are conducted in Sanskrit, a language that most Indians, even my grandparents, don’t understand. Hindi is the common spoken language for most Hindus, although many Indians also speak a local dialect (or, in some cases, only that local dialect). Since most Hindus are less familiar with Sanskrit, these prayers become inaccessible, and this means that the few times my family makes the trip to the temple, the experience is one of confusion rather than understanding. Hinduism has largely remained static despite large changes for its practitioners, meaning most Hindus are left practicing a faith that they are expected to accept rather than fully comprehend. 

In my AP World History class, I learned about Christianity’s transition away from Latin towards a variety of languages to help people better resonate with the faith. I experienced this firsthand when I attended a choir performance at a chapel in England. Despite not being a Christian, the message was clear, translated, and understandable. There was a program with the entire service written out that was easy to follow along, and the prayers and songs to sing with the choir were conveniently bolded. 

As an Indian-American, I’m balancing my cultural roots at home while embracing and growing up in American society. For many Hindu families abroad, assimilation means that religion takes a back seat because faith seems harder to pursue and inconvenient to display. Families push aside their kurtas and saris, and although major festivals like Diwali are culturally celebrated, they aren’t deeply and religiously understood. Over time, this lack of exposure and understanding of Hindu culture leaves the faith as a vague label rather than a spiritual embarkation. 

Although Hinduism should work towards replicating the adaptability of Abrahamic religions, it has many fundamental differences that make this difficult. For example, Hinduism proposes that God is in everyone and everything, making going to the temple less important for asserting faith than it is in Abrahamic religions. It does not have a strict set of doctrines that priests must preach to; there is no governing authority, and it doesn’t expect its followers to arrive at one unified truth. Instead, the faith prioritizes philosophical exploration and believes in multiple paths and interpretations to the divine. This decentralization is one of Hinduism’s greatest strengths, and allows for deep personal inquiry and multiple truths. However, for diasporic and second-generation Hindus, the lack of a shared institutional structure, a set time and place for services, and the resulting lack of community create hardships. 

Recognizing that Hinduism is a more decentralized religion doesn’t mean that reform isn’t possible, but that it must look different. Instead of imposing a centralized temple or singular doctrine that would dilute the traditions, there must be tools like language access, community prayer times, and structured learning that encourage the exploration that Hinduism provides. Even if a Hindu priest’s job is not to tell young Hindus what to think, they can guide us to seek our own conclusion through exposing us to the scriptures, such as the Gita, and philosophies such as dharma and karma. Structured Hindu and Sanskrit education for youth, similar to Hebrew school, would provide the exposure and development that is necessary for proper integration into the faith. There should also be a greater integration of Hindi and English translation in services so that people can understand what is being said. 

Beyond education, there must be more access to greater Hindu communities through prayer and chanting groups, which foster connection and allow younger generations to engage with the religion through their own experiences. Given that Hinduism is such an open religion, these communities can be built in neighborhood spaces such as parks, living rooms, and even churches if there is no temple in the area.

Reform does not mean a betrayal of belief. A religion that fails to evolve risks becoming foreign and inaccessible. It is the ability of a faith to adapt that will make it stronger. If Hinduism fails to connect with communities abroad, then it risks becoming reduced to a symbolic label rather than a faith and philosophy. Rituals would continue to be performed out of respect for our parents, not as a connection to ourselves. Allowing young Hindus the opportunity to deeply understand their faith is an act of preservation, and would give the religion an enduring voice in our future and across generations beyond India.