Some years ago, I had the privilege—or perhaps the irony—of being accommodated in a guest house inside the Rashtrapati Bhavan compound. Yes, the President’s house. It was just one of those rare opportunities that came my way.
I woke up the next morning to the sight of peacocks strolling past my window as if they had full Z+ security clearance. There was dew on the well-manicured lawns, and I half expected Lord Mountbatten to emerge from behind the hedges for a morning stroll. The breakfast that followed was served by immaculately dressed waiters—so crisp and clean, I almost apologised for wrinkling the air around them.
But what struck me the most were the bathrooms. Yes, the bathrooms. Gilded fittings. Hot water flowing smoother than Parliament sessions. And the sheer size—each one bigger than a Mumbai 2BHK! I nearly got lost trying to find the flush.
And all this lavishness, for whom?
For ceremonial figures. Yes, you heard right—ceremonial. The Rashtrapati Bhavan, and its mini-cousins, the Raj Bhavans in every state, are colonial relics meant for rulers who actually ruled. The British didn’t just govern India, they did it with a throne and a rod.
Their homes needed to match their delusions of grandeur.
But here we are, three-quarters of a century later, still gifting the same opulence to posts that are meant to do nothing more than sign on dotted lines and smile politely at flag hoistings.
And therein lies the problem.
Give someone a palace and suddenly, they start believing they’re meant to rule.
They stroll through teak corridors, glide past oil paintings, and somewhere between the chandelier and the chef’s soufflé, they forget they’re supposed to be symbolic. They begin to imagine themselves as CEOs of the state, not realising they’re barely on the board.
And that’s when the overreach begins.
One fine morning, a governor thinks he’s a parallel chief minister. Another day, the President forgets he or she is not the Prime Minister. They reject bills, summon CMs, and generally cause as much friction as possible—all while perched on antique chairs worth more than an MLA’s constituency fund.
So maybe, just maybe, we need to bring the living quarters in line with the job description. Modest 2BHKs in the suburbs. Let the governor live next to a retired bank manager and the President, a smaller accommodation than the Prime Minister.
It might just help them remember that in a democracy, power flows up from the people, not down from the domes of grand buildings.
And think of the savings! No more millions spent on polishing marble floors or trimming lawns big enough to land a chopper. That money could go to schools, hospitals, or even better—public toilets that don’t smell like colonial hangovers.
Let’s make democracy modest again. Starting with its palaces which are giving a wrong message to it’s occupants….!
The Author conducts an online, eight session Writers and Speakers Course. If you’d like to join, do send a thumbs-up to WhatsApp number 9892572883 or send a message to bobsbanter@gmail.com
