Rashtrapati Bhavan: Optics, Acoustics, and Statics

The Rashtrapati Bhavan is not a centre of power even if it carries considerable prestige. This is evident not just in the optics, but the acoustics of any function that you may be invited to attend in its hallowed precincts. The proceedings, regrettably, are rather lacklustre. The optics suggest inattention, if not sloppiness, with the President himself slouching in his rather large chair in a rather unprepossessing manner. The sound system and acoustics are so bad that one can barely hear what he or the invited speakers say. Worse, no one really seems to care.

The building and the grounds are, no doubt, grand. Some say that the 340 rooms on four floors spread across over 200,000 square feet of space make it the largest residence in the world, bigger, indeed, than that of any other head of state.

But its history was marked by bitter wrangles between Edwin Lutyens, the architect of much of New Delhi, and Herbert Baker, his deputy. Between 1911 and 1916, several hundred acres were acquired by displacing 300 families that occupied the villages of Raisina and Malcha. Lutyens had wanted a very imposing building right on top of Raisina Hill, but was forced to move it 400 metres back, with the result that most of it is hidden as you drive up to it from India Gate. 

Going by his notes on the plans, Lutyens had contempt for Indian art and architecture. “They want me to do Hindu — ‘Hindon’t I say!’” he scribbled in one margin, and “Moghul tosh” in another. In the end, the style of the buildings and grounds is labelled Edwardian Baroque, with Indian elements restricted mostly to decorative ornamentation and motifs. The construction is almost entirely of stone, both the red sandstone of the Moghuls and the yellow, which is more predominant, with very little steel. 

All the Indian occupants of this gigantic building tried to humanise it and democratise it, making it more and more available to the people of the country. C Rajagopalachari, the last Governor General, lived in a small suite of rooms, leaving the rest of the building for visiting heads of states and dignitaries. Subsequent occupants threw open the “purdah,” now called rose gardens and some of the rooms. The present incumbent, Pranab Mukherjee, inaugurated the Rashtrapati Bhavan museum in 2014, giving visitors an idea of how it actually looks and feels like from the inside. So though it is the President’s home, it is today very much accessible to the public.

Most Rashtrapati Bhavan functions are held in the Durbar Hall, formerly called the throne room. Some colonial ceremonials persist, but shorn of their pomp and conceit. In fact, the ambience is quite egalitarian, some might say, almost homely. No wonder, because many “guests,” even for important functions, seem to be families of the staff, just placeholders so that the hall is not empty. Afterwards, everyone rushes to the refreshments, without too much decorum. The waiters, having seen hundreds of such functions devolving into a scramble of snack-seekers, actually hide sought-after tit bits, lest the real VIPs miss out on the delicacies by the time they get to the counters.

No doubt the position of the President of India is the highest in the land, therefore worthy of our utmost veneration and respect. But is it entirely unfair or surprising that we also expect from its holders some degree of animation, energy, vitality, and spark? Shouldn’t our President inspire, if not guide and lead the people? But here as well, the rule of the geriatrics prevails. Why not extend the pachattar ka kaida (retirement at seventy-five) to the presidency too, adding five years to seventy so that honourably discharged politicians are not disqualified?

The current incumbent is, no doubt, distinguished and seasoned, having occupied some of the senior most cabinet posts in Government. He is also a thinking President, well-informed, if not erudite, reasonably independent, even if not boldly innovative. Overall, he has been an able and praiseworthy President. But most of his speeches are pedestrian, predictable, even tedious. True, he isn’t the dullest occupant of the Rashtrapati Bhavan, which distinction must go to Smt Pratibha Devisingh Patil, nor as popular or charismatic as APJ Abdul Kalam. In this respect, comparisons are, as the adage goes, odious, certainly uncalled for. What, however, cannot be ignored is that the people of India would like a personage with character, gravity, and accomplishments, even if the office is mostly ceremonial. No doubt, this is true even of governors. 

After sending up such stalwarts and notables as Rajendra Prasad and Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan, the ruling Congress dispensation gradually diminished, even demeaned the highest office of the land as a reward to loyalists, some might even say, sycophants. There is, for instance, a story probably apocryphal, but immortalised by an Abu Abraham cartoon, that President Fakhruddin Ali Ahmed was made to sign Prime Minister Indira Gandhi’s Proclamation of Emergency when he was in the bathtub. Even when it comes to the highest office of the land, political patronage and loyalty matter, rather than competence or quality. 

“Statics” normally refers to that branch of physics concerned with bodies at rest. But from the commonsensical point of view, it is an adjective that simply suggests boring or uninteresting. That, unfortunately, is precisely how most Rashtrapati Bhavan functions end up being. They need much smartening up, without quite turning them into spectacles of imperial nostalgia or demonstrations of the arrogance of presidency. 

The author is a poet and professor at JNU, New Delhi