The heart of India’s Parliament is, ironically, the “Lower House”, or the Lok Sabha, where 543 members, directly elected by voters represent the will of the people. It is elected during quinquennial, rumbustious national elections. Since China, another populous country, does not follow classic democratic principles, like universal franchise and representation rights, India’s elections have always been the largest democratic spectacle globally, with 970 million eligible voters in 2024 and a voter turnout of 65.8 per cent, marginally lower than the 67.4 per cent turnout in the previous general election in 2019. The “Upper House” of our bicameral Parliament, the Rajya Sabha, is smaller but permanent. Each member has a six-year term with one-third retiring every two years. The President of India nominates 12 members to represent non-political perspectives — one such is Sudha Murthy, Rishi Sunak’s mother-in-law, for her philanthropic work. Members of state Assemblies indirectly elect 238 members. They represent the political preferences of the state legislatures which elected them – a useful device for widespread early buy-in for Central legislation, particularly if the Constitution is to be amended, for which the Rajya Sabha’s approval is compulsory. Its semi-permanent status brings partial stability to voting patterns in Parliament, unlike the Lok Sabha, which can be swept by the winds of change, radically altering the structure of political power, every five years. On four occasions, over the past three decades, dramatic transformations swept the Lok Sabha. In 1999 the BJP alliance under Atal Behari Vajpayee swept the polls for the first time. In 2004, the Indian National Congress-led alliance regained power under Manmohan Singh. In 2014, Prime Minister’s Narendra Modi’s BJP triumphed. Ten years later, in 2024, it waned, managing only a minority of seats, albeit more than any other party, forcing it to cement alliances to form the government. It remains unclear what might have convinced the President of India in her speech to a joint sitting of Parliament on June 27 to assert that for the first time in six decades a stable government with a clear majority was elected consecutively for the third term. Curiously, this view disregards India’s stellar record of nearly a quarter century of stable governments (albeit led by different parties) completing their scheduled terms, since 1999. But it illustrates the recent deeply adversarial trend in national politics, where precision in expression is often held prisoner to convenient rhetoric. The 18th Lok Sabha reflects significant churn: 52 per cent of MPs have no prior parliamentary experience, including 43 per cent of BJP MPs and 60 per cent of Congress MPs (the two biggest parties). Another 21 per cent are into their second term as MPs with the 17th Lok Sabha (2019 to 2024) as their only on-the-job experience. Add to that another 14 per cent in their third term, like Prime Minister Modi. This means that for 87 per cent of Lok Sabha members, extreme political acrimony between the major party blocs is the norm they have experienced. Members who enjoyed the pre-Modi era — when political rivalry existed within collegial limits — constitute just 13 per cent of the House — with many in marginal roles. Consider also, that for three-fourths of the Lok Sabha members, the unprecedented enshrining in the new Parliament building of a “Sengol”, a golden staff presented by a Hindu sect as a blessing, has become the norm. This adornment now ritually precedes the President of India as a symbol of religious legitimacy, an “innovation” contrary to the earlier all-party consensus, that Parliament has no need for religious symbols of approval, since its sole guiding light is the Constitution. There is a context to the adoption of secular principles in electoral and representative practices. The Constituent Assembly (1947-1950) had considered the adoption of communal electorates — where people vote for a leader from their own community, defined on the basis of religion of caste. That this option was rejected shows the expansive worldview then adopted. Opting for universal franchise and mixed constituencies, aligned with the hope that all voters and candidates seeking votes, would subsume their individual social identities (religion or caste) under their national identity as an Indian. In return, the State would treat all Indians the same, irrespective of religion or caste, other than targeted measures for positive discrimination benefiting marginalised communities. This forward-looking principle is what has, plausibly, been the glue to our democracy, in sharp contrast to our neighbourhood, where religion as a basis for citizenship, failed to nurture democracy or well-being. At 75, India can credibly claim to have a tested model of democratic representation with customised features to progressively reduce inequality — both social and economic. However, it is unclear whether it is sufficiently resilient to withstand the recent model of triumphant majoritarianism. Admittedly, some of this is a politically savvy reaction to the mindless rhetoric of secularism, which earlier masked the continuation of minority pocket boroughs. Ironically, while these helped the leaders, they failed to fast forward the welfare of minorities. Muslims in India today have a larger overlap with the poor and the lower middle class than at Independence in 1947. Muslim women have fallen behind Indian women of other denominations, constrained by recently imported Middle Eastern, Islamic cultural norms, which have replaced home-grown liberal, cultural practices. Jammu and Kashmir has been efficiently subdued but not won over yet. Aggressive “Khalistan” supporters undermine the amicable, societal bond between Hindus and Sikhs. Christianity is the least at odds with resurgent Hinduism, that demands Indianisation of foreign religions. Church prayers are in local languages. India’s coziness with the Western alliance drives a tolerant approach to the practice of Christianity — a bit like the US plays to its Semitic lobby whilst tolerating Israel’s transgressions. But mere tolerance is far from respectful acceptance. Lower castes — mindful of Babasaheb Ambedkar’s conviction, that traditional Hinduism has no equitable space for Dalits, are unlikely to revel in a revival of ritual-heavy prescriptive Hinduism. This totals to at least one-third of Indians, destabilised by domestic identity politics. This was not what the Constituent Assembly hoped to achieve, through the secular, moral path of liberal democracy, in sharp contrast to the rest of British India, which became the Islamic Republic of Pakistan but split in 1971 due to irreconcilable regional and cultural differences with Bangladesh. India can become great once again, if it chooses to become the global lodestar of social amity and common purpose in a world divided by hate and self-interest. We owe no less to our children.
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