When a body born out of a nationwide anti-corruption crusade turns into a caricature of itself, it’s not irony—its tragedy dressed in luxury. The Lokpal of India, meant to be the moral custodian against graft, has invited tenders to purchase seven BMW 330Li sedans, each costing over ₹60 lakh. Yes, the anti-corruption ombudsman now wants German-engineered comfort to commute between sermons on integrity. The tender notice, dated October 16, is clear: seven long-wheelbase BMWs, delivery within 30 days, no extensions. The chosen vendor must even conduct a week-long “classroom and on-road training” for drivers—at their own cost, of course. Nothing screams “service to the nation” quite like anti-corruption judges getting chauffeured in imported luxury, complete with driver training modules. Let’s rewind a bit. The Lokpal wasn’t born in a showroom—it was born in the streets. It was the outcome of Anna Hazare’s hunger strike, a people’s movement that forced the then Congress-led UPA-II government—drowning in scams—to create an independent watchdog. It was meant to be the sword of public accountability, one that would bring even the Prime Minister and Chief Ministers under scrutiny. And yet, here we are, watching retired judges—those once sworn to safeguard public morality—justify blowing up taxpayers’ money on BMWs. At a time when Prime Minister Narendra Modi himself preaches austerity, urges Indians to embrace Atmanirbhar Bharat, and shun foreign luxury, this move by the Lokpal reeks of entitlement and hypocrisy. When the man at the top travels economy-class mindset, why should a retired judge need German leather seats to feel functional? If this is the face of our anti-corruption crusaders, perhaps that one MP was right—it’s no longer a Lokpal, it’s a Jokepal. The same men who should’ve been symbols of simplicity have turned themselves into symbols of extravagance. Maybe next, they’ll need chauffeurs trained in German etiquette and offices with imported coffee machines to maintain “efficiency.”
Each BMW will cost roughly ₹60–70 lakh, meaning the total spend could hover around ₹5 crore—public money, mind you. This, at a time when government agencies are being urged to buy Indian, save resources, and set examples in fiscal discipline. Instead, our esteemed ombudsmen seem keen to set an example in tone-deaf arrogance. The outrage is justified. Even activist-lawyer Prashant Bhushan, no stranger to controversy himself, called out the move bluntly: “The institution of Lokpal has been ground to dust… now buying ₹70 lakh BMW cars for themselves.” The Congress, predictably, saw an opportunity to spin it as political hypocrisy. Their spokesperson, Shama Mohamed, quipped that this was the same body born out of the “India Against Corruption” movement—ironically, a movement that the Congress claims was propped up to bring them down. But the issue here is not partisan. It’s moral rot. It’s about the steady erosion of public institutions once meant to inspire trust. The Lokpal, by seeking luxury cars, isn’t just wasting money—it’s mocking the very spirit of why it exists. It’s proof that even those positioned as “watchdogs” are not immune to the disease of privilege. At a time when the common citizen tightens the belt to meet rising costs, those entrusted to guard honesty loosen theirs for comfort. When austerity becomes policy for the masses but luxury remains privilege for the powerful, what moral right does any institution have to preach accountability? The Lokpal’s BMW fantasy is more than an embarrassment—it’s a symbol of how noble ideals are betrayed by the vanity of those meant to uphold them. From Anna Hazare’s fasting ground to a BMW bidding round—what a fall from grace. Perhaps it’s time the Lokpal stopped riding in style—and started walking its talk.
