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ShareYou have to hatao something if you want to give the impression that you represent the common man and are well down the progressive path leading to an egalitarian society. After all, that bulging number below the poverty line has to be kept under the carpet.
The senior Mrs Gandhi took away the titles and the privy purses of our royals in 1971, with a stroke of the pen as deadly as a guillotine. And, for decades the chastened if petulant bluebloods went into hiding -- bringing down their flags, removing the royal crests from the nameplates of their fancy cars and selling some of their legendary treasures and expensive bric-a-brac that ended up in European drawing rooms.
They also took on the prefixes of Mr, Mrs and Ms Ok, so you could not be addressed publicly as Maharaja or Maharani or Rajmata or even plain old raja and rani, even though within their own circle -- behind the purdah so to speak -- the rituals and courtly etiquette continued.
Political leaders plonked themselves on the top of the hierarchy: they were the nouveau-royalty. Many an ambitious prince sold his kingdom for a Congress I ticket (he kept his horses though) and joined the khadi brigade while Indira Gandhi was still around. The really angry ones joined the opposition. Royal families split.
But being undercover royalty didn't last too long. You can't keep the blueblood, even the chhota pegs -- down for long. Somewhere in the 1990s those titles began to pop up again. The state nameplates on cars crept back. And books on maharajas flooded the market.
I have to admit that I have some rather affected friends with delusions of grandeur. Such as this former colleague who claims kinship to the erstwhile rulers of Patiala. She wasn't just from the wrong side of the incredibly stretchable blanket of this horny lot of bluebloods but from quite another bed all together. However, the feudal airs she gave herself would make even the 21-gun salute lot embarrassed.
It is quite surreal, funny actually, to hear the khamaganis smoothly trip off the tongues of hatta-katta Punjabis in the company of the previously-titled ones. A few men started to wear emeralds as big as the Ritz in their ears and jewels around their necks and flaunted heritage shawls.
Some of the women wore the uniforms of the queens: printed chiffon saris drawn discreetly over their heads to hint at some kind of purdah. Behind their backs of course the truly blue would mock them. "They are not supposed to wear gold anklets," complained a shocked princess. Apparently, commoners don't have the right to wear them unless a Royal has presented them a pair.
Fashion designers began to design crests that simulate royal coats of arms for their callingcards. Diplomats sought entry into the "court" of the Rajputs, where Gaj Singh of Jodhpur rules in the public imagination. Opening his palaces and forts to the public he has kept himself deeply in the black. And, kept the idea of the maharajas and courtly life alive.
It is hardly surprising then that many of them flaunt their pedigree. One amongst the younger lot of politician-princes picked up enough courage to demand that those he does business with or are in his employ address him as "His Highness". His father would have shrewdly played commoner, even if in his palace, his staff could only walk backwards in his presence.
I suppose the younger Mrs Gandhi had no choice but to make sure that the royal titles went underground again. Sixteen members of this Parliament have royal lineage and four ministers at the Centre belong to erstwhile royal families. Not quite kosher in these trying times with India embarrassingly low down on the HDI (human development index) list.
