When leaders live like maharajas

 In a democracy, leaders are supposed to reflect the people they represent. Yet in India, the visual contrast between ordinary citizens and their political representatives is jarring. On one side are millions struggling to stretch their meagre incomes amid soaring prices; on the other, a political class parading in expensive designer clothes, tailored coats, flamboyant half-jackets, and luxury accessories. The message is unmistakable: while the people tighten their belts, their leaders loosen theirs in ostentation.

The contrast with Mahatma Gandhi is profound. Gandhi deliberately wore a loincloth and a cotton shawl, not merely as a personal choice but as a statement of solidarity with the poorest of the poor. His simplicity was his power. People trusted him because he lived their hardships. Even within his own party, many leaders dressed like princes, but Gandhi’s voice carried moral weight precisely because he embodied sacrifice.

George Fernandes, socialist and later Defence Minister, carried that torch into modern India. He lived in modest clothes, often only a cotton kurta and pyjama, and refused comforts his countrymen could not afford. “Do all my countrymen wear costly clothes and live like maharajas? I will not have what my people do not have,” he said. His simplicity was not cosmetic—it was conviction. Even at the height of power, George never sought to appear above the people.

How different today’s leaders look! Expensive designer jackets, silk kurta-pajamas, gold ornaments, and public displays of wealth have become routine. Many politicians appear more like models on a fashion ramp than public servants. The irony is striking: leaders who ask citizens to sacrifice, to bear the brunt of inflation, to pay higher taxes, themselves live in palatial bungalows, travel in cavalcades of luxury cars, and revel in taxpayer-funded privileges. The symbolism is corrosive. It tells citizens that politics is not about service but self-enrichment.

Yes, one may argue that clothes alone do not make a leader. But symbols matter in public life. Simplicity communicates empathy; ostentation signals arrogance. When Mamata Banerjee appears in her white plain cotton sari or when Siddaramaih  projects himself in simple kurta-Dhoti with a cotton shawl around, they consciously invoke the message of accessibility and humility. Whether they live up to it in practice is another question. But the symbolism matters. By contrast, leaders who flaunt costly wardrobes and indulgent lifestyles openly mock the very people whose votes put them in power.

This is not only about aesthetics. It is about corruption and accountability. The hunger for extravagance fuels the misuse of public money. Unlimited wants push leaders towards limitless greed. By contrast, when wants are limited, as Gandhi and George showed, integrity becomes possible. Frugality is not just an economic choice—it is a political ethic.

India’s political class needs to rediscover this ethic. People will trust their leaders again when they stop living like maharajas and start living like representatives. In a nation where millions still struggle for two meals a day, ostentation is not just insensitive—it is immoral.