India’s political leaders must be stopped from making a mockery of the military salute. That thought occurred to me as I watched the solemn grandeur of Sunday’s Remembrance Day at the Cenotaph in London’s Whitehall. It brought home to me again how much of republican India’s ritual is inherited from the British and what a tremendous hash we often make of it.
Take the Cenotaph itself. It’s the architectural original of India Gate in Delhi and the war memorial in Kolkata’s Maidan. India Gate is fine with its eternal flame, but some ignorant PWD engineer’s imagination has been allowed to run riot in Kolkata. At one time, the authorities used to complain that the rifles were constantly being stolen from the two statues of soldiers standing guard. The metal was valuable and the thefts continued until cement rifles were installed.
But is that any reason for painting the Cenotaph a hideous yellow and outlining the brickwork in dark brown? The monument was built to a standard design throughout what was then the British Empire. It was plain and dignified for it was a memorial to idealism and human sacrifice. By imposing our own horrible aesthetics on it we might give the structure a desi look but that won’t change its origin and inspiration.
“Development” and “beautification” are two horrible words in contemporary India’s vocabulary. They usually stand for imposing bad taste on what is best left alone. The obvious example that comes to mind is of the natural fountains gushing down the hillside on the winding Himalayan road to Gangtok. When the Border Roads Organisation or some such group is given a free rein, it circles the area where the water falls with upturned bricks painted a dead white. Sometimes, a flower pot or two is placed around those upturned white bricks. Next, they will put down bunches of artificial flowers! That is how they do up their own homes. That is their notion of beauty. It’s no less than the rape of nature.
The British ceremony at the Cenotaph, led by Queen Elizabeth II, the Duke of Edinburgh and other members of the royal family and with the Prime Minister and Cabinet following, was outstanding for its simple dignity. We do the same things but we manage to convert them into a free-for-all tamasha. The Queen advanced up to the Cenotaph steps, laid down her wreath, backed a few paces, and bowed her head. Swathed in black, the three (or were there five?) poppies on her breast the only colour to offset her mourning, she was absolutely alone in the multitude.
Officious (tellingly, a word that has no exact equivalent in any Indian language!) sons, daughter, daughters-in-laws and grandchildren did not surround her solicitously. Senior ministers, desperately anxious to be caught by the TV cameras and feature in news channels and the press, did not rush forward with a helping hand. Self-important civil servants did not bustle ahead in hopes of catching the royal eye. Newspaper reporters and cameramen did not crowd round Her Majesty, obscuring the public’s view of an event of solemn majesty. The spectators stood in respectful hushed silence between the barrier, making no attempt to flaunt their devotion or their loyalty by breaking bounds. The Army and the police stayed where they were.
I have seen the Queen salute smartly when dressed in scarlet military uniform and cap and on horseback. She is colonel of some regiments apart from being the supreme commander. But on this occasion she was in civilian black. She did not salute. Not even when she walked through double rows of saluting military personnel. She knows the ritual and what is proper.
Sadly, our leaders don’t. Pratibha Patil may be a good woman and may have been an ideal President of India but she could also cut a comic figure when she tried to emulate military gestures. Her ADCs (aide-de-camp) should have stopped her. The first time I was startled to see a woman saluting it was Sarojini Naidu as governor of Uttar Pradesh. She held herself upright but I knew it was all wrong. It will be all wrong, too, if Pranab Mukherjee does it. Being a man makes no difference. A civilian stands still and upright in response to a military salute.
A gesture of respect should not be reduced to comedy. I think of a famous painting of Napoleon’s disastrous retreat from Moscow and dying French soldiers somehow raising themselves in the snow to lift their hands in salute for the last time as the Emperor’s sledge passed by. Such a noble gesture should not be mocked.
Saluting or its eyes right equivalent are for trained people. The untrained do it clumsily. Yet they insist on raising a flabby or skinny right arm, bending it at the elbow, and holding the palm somehow to the head. It looks ridiculous. British ceremonial becomes a tamasha.
One other instance has been pointed out to me. We love placing our national heroes on horseback when immortalising them in stone. There’s Shivaji in Mumbai and Jatin Das, “Bagha Jatin”, in Kolkata. Friends in the defence forces tell me there are protocols about who is entitled to an equestrian statue as well as about positioning the horse’s feet. Apparently, Indian sculptors are innocent of such niceties.
The classic case is of the larger-than-life statue of Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose in the centre of Kolkata. It’s his Delhi Chalo pose but faces south to Kanyakumari. Netaji’s greatcoat dangles casually from one shoulder as if he is relaxing at a party. And he swings forward the same foot and leg, which no marcher (or even walker) ever did.

The writer is a senior journalist, columnist and author