Dear Amma,
What is happening to this world? Why is everybody turning against us? What, after all, is our crime? Learning from you, and imbibing your values, I sought to excel in providing luxury, opulence, aesthetic excellence and every kind of comfort to our valued customers. It was a matter of pride for us that our rulers were openly extravagant in their tastes and had no shortage of money.
You will recall, Amma, that we uncomplainingly catered to two different sets of patrons. The first wanted us to be available for display. They were proud of how we looked, the expense that had been lavished on us, the beauty we exuded, and the strength we projected. This display gave them a sense of power and pride in which they reveled, and it also served the tactical purpose of overawing the praja and ensuring their deference. Chakravartins, sultans and maharajas loved to do this, and later, the British were past masters at this game.
The second lot were secretive. They wanted our sumptuous magnificence, but without others knowing about it. Their wealth was not for display, and strangely, the degree to which they could hide it, ensured their safety and security. In a way, I think, both you and I were happier with this kind. We were not disturbed by too many visitors, nor festooned and adorned all the time, but looked after with great love and care, with none of our needs of repair and maintenance ignored.
How happy I feel, Amma, when I think of the number of people who got employment because of us. I still remember the abject poverty of those who built us. They lived in jhuggis without any basic facilities, desperately in need of a job, although some were very skilled karigars. After construction an army of servants and staff earned their living off us: guards, cooks, khidmatgars, gardeners, cleaners, syces, drivers — a whole world of menials — some of whom served for generations. After all, it took ten years, with thousands working every day, for the Lal Quila to be built in Delhi (1639-48). And, 17 long years (1912-29) to build the Rashtrapati Bhavan.
So why have these very patrons, who love our luxuries, turned today against us? The words ���sheesh mahal’ and ‘raj mahal’ have become abuses to attack political opponents as if those who live in them are criminals. The sad thing, Amma, is the hypocrisy: Those who abuse us, love us too. You know, Amma, that the homes of our rulers, the politically powerful of all hues, are no less magnificent than those of the past. They cannot serve the people without these luxuries, but they vilify those who have the same weakness.
Our really serious opponent — whom we otherwise respected — was Mahatma Gandhi. He genuinely believed that in a democracy, where such a vast number of the people were so hopelessly poor and deprived, you and I have no place. His emphasis on simplicity and austerity, especially in the life-styles of the democratically elected new rulers, was not an act of posturing. It was the consequence of a deep ideological conviction regarding the end-purposes of politics, and of those who are part of it. In his view, the rich and the powerful were expected to restrain their wants, and live simply, so that they could better represent �� and understand — the needs of the deprived and work to address them.
For a while, Amma, he posed a real threat to our existence. He lived in ashrams and slums, with just the bare necessities, but with the dignity of a king, and even when he stayed with the rich, he changed their life-styles not compromise his own value system. But fortunately, his threat was short-lived. He died soon after Independence, and our rulers went back to the age-old established Indian tradition of aishwarya or resplendence that is the inalienable concomitant of power. We were back in business. The President of the Republic moved to the largest Raj Mahal, the Rashtrapati Bhavan; other palaces of the past were occupied by prime ministers, governors, chief ministers, ministers and so on; and new ones were built over time, including most recently lavish residences for the vice-president of India, the Prime Minister, and the chief minister of Delhi.
Why then, suddenly, are we now being vilified? I think the real issue is that a new entity called the ‘aam aadmi��� — the ordinary citizen �� has become more powerful, and the politically powerful are feeling compelled to convey that they live like him or her. They want to hide their love for vilasata with a veil of khadi. Sometimes I feel, Amma, that you and I should invest in large shrouds of khadi that can cover us both, and hide the lifestyles of those who enjoy us in seclusion and decry us in public. But the truth — and the danger — is that citizens know the truth: Public sab jaanti hai. They know that the finger that accuses can be pointed back; they know that all the calumny showered on us during election time is just politics; they know that in today’s luxurious hammams, now called bathrooms, sab nange hain.
How does one explain to today’s politicians that those who live in sheesh mahals themselves should not throw stones on the raj mahals of others? Na jaane kya toot jaaye agar koi patthar wapas maar de: Who knows what will break if someone throws a stone back?
Perhaps, because of this fear, we may yet survive. Ultimately, in this game, both the accuser and the accused are equally complicit. Both of them want us, but don’t want to admit it publicly. And neither is going to give up the way they have got used to living only because of the ‘aam aadmi’. After all, who wants to still live like the ‘aam aadmi’ even after coming to power?
These are trying times, but elections will come and go, and since our leaders will remain unchanged, I think our demand shall continue, albeit in more garish and tasteless ways.
Do let me know what you think, Amma.
Your loving daughter.