Missing at Red Fort: the common Indian

Ever since I could remember, the voice of Jawaharlal Nehru always had the power to make me break out in goose pimples, especially when he said,‘‘Mere peeche teen dafa bolo — Jai Hind, Jai Hind, Jai Hind!’’ The whole nation either listened to him over the radio or went over personally to the Red Fort on Independence Day to hear him. You could feel that each one of them was proud to be an Indian.

Pictures from Independence day 2002

Nehru, followed by Lal Bahadur Shastri, Indira Gandhi and the others, used the ramparts of Red Fort to open their hearts to the people of Delhi gathered below and overflowing into Chandni Chowk and through them to the Indian masses. The people of India responded, applauded and joined in.

In the old days, they walked to Red Fort, or came by tongas, trams, buses and cycles, there were even a few cars. The fields in front of the Red Fort were filled to the brim, not by officials but by common folk. Nehru clearly enjoyed these moments, when he was face to face with the multitudes that loved him and whom he loved in turn. He would look down into the eyes of the people and talk to them as if he were speaking to them individually.

Over a period of time, things changed. The bureaucracy succeeded in transforming the most beautiful moment of Indian democracy into a strictly official, disciplined and formal affair. Gone were the people. In their stead, there were personnel from the army, police and top bureaucracy — and, of course, some poor school children. As for the prime minister himself, he is today enclosed behind a bulletproof glass wall and there is a large podium in front to hide him. There is no way people looking up from down below can see him properly. The speeches have also undergone a change. They are no longer addressed to the common people but have become a statement from official India.

Preparations for the Red Fort function start months in advance, but the occasion has altered from being a heart-warming experience to just another broadcasted speech. Consequently, the desire of the people on the street to hear what their prime minister has to say has waned. Most find the entire exercise boring and would rather get a gist of it in the news. But what strikes one the most is the undue inconvenience caused to the citizens of Delhi for months in advance, when security arrangements are put in place.

Most people then ask what is all this for anyway? Why should the prime minister come to the Red Fort, when the very purpose of the function has changed? This address is as good or as bad as having him speak before TV cameras from his desk. The only people who see him at the Red Fort are the same officials who have access to him, day in and day out. As our democracy matures, it would be wise to do away with mundane things like getting the prime minister to unfurl the Tricolour at the Red Fort. The ceremony could be staged at Race Course Road or the lawns of South Block instead.

This would save a lot of money and will be far more convenient for our babus. Or the bureaucracy can come up with a pre-recorded message to the nation, a flawless one that could be properly monitored for tone, tenor, and content. The common person may not be involved in such an arrangement, but where is the ordinary Indian anyway in this ceremony at the Red Fort?