At 77, Republic to Resurgence

Every January, as winter sunlight softens the edges of India’s capital and the rumble of tanks meets the quiet awe of schoolchildren lining Rajpath, the nation pauses for more than a parade. Republic Day is not merely a celebration of constitutional ceremony. It is an annual audit of the Indian state itself — of what we promised in 1950, what we delivered, and what we still owe to our people. January 26 was chosen with intent. It echoed the 1930 declaration of Purna Swaraj, when freedom was still an idea rather than a reality. Two decades later, India did not just shake off colonial rule; it chose to govern itself under a constitution written by its own sons and daughters. Dr. B. R. Ambedkar and the Constituent Assembly envisioned a republic anchored in justice, liberty, equality, and fraternity — not slogans, but obligations. Yet ideals on paper do not automatically become outcomes on the ground. For much of independent India’s first six decades, governance was defined less by ambition and more by drift. A single party’s dominance bred a political culture of entitlement rather than accountability. Poverty was not so much fought as managed. Welfare schemes multiplied, but so did leakages. The language of “pro-poor” politics often masked a system where the poor remained dependent, not empowered, and where intermediaries thrived while beneficiaries waited. Reservations, envisioned as a temporary tool to correct historic injustice, gradually hardened into a permanent political currency. Instead of being paired with aggressive investment in education, skills, and opportunity, they became an end in themselves — a way to build vote banks rather than human capital. Social justice was discussed endlessly, but social mobility remained elusive for millions. National security, too, paid a price for this lethargy. India’s soldiers guarded some of the world’s harshest frontiers with outdated equipment and chronic shortages. Defence research institutions and the space programme, now global success stories, were once starved of funds and strategic vision. The country that would one day launch satellites for the world and test advanced missile systems was, for decades, content to remain one of the world’s largest importers of arms — dependent, not decisive. Republic Day speeches spoke of sovereignty, but policy often hesitated to assert it. Border provocations were met with caution bordering on complacency. Terror attacks were mourned, condemned, and then folded into the rhythm of political routine. India’s potential was acknowledged in theory, but rarely pursued with urgency.

Then, in the last decade, something shifted. The Indian state rediscovered the language of scale and speed. Infrastructure — long trapped in files and feasibility studies — began to rise in concrete and steel. Highways stitched together markets, not just maps. Digital platforms cut out middlemen, pushing welfare benefits directly into bank accounts and shrinking the space for petty corruption. The Jan Dhan–Aadhaar–Mobile framework quietly rewired how the government engages with its poorest citizens. In defence and technology, the national mindset shifted from “import to survive” to “build to lead.” India moved from being a buyer in the global arms bazaar to an exporter of missiles, drones, and patrol vessels. The space programme, once a symbol of frugal brilliance, has become both a commercial and strategic asset, placing India among a select club of nations shaping the next frontier. On the world stage, India stopped whispering and started asserting. Whether in trade negotiations, climate forums, or security alliances, the country now projects itself not as a developing nation seeking concessions, but as a civilizational power demanding a seat at the high table. This is not to claim perfection. Poverty has not vanished, but it has been significantly reduced. Inequality still gnaws at the social fabric and is often addressed with an iron hand. Institutions no longer appear as vulnerable to political pressure, despite Opposition apprehensions. But the defining difference today is one of direction—backed by vision and commitment. The republic no longer seems content with managing decline or merely celebrating potential. It is, finally, chasing performance. Seventy-seven years after the Constitution came into force, Republic Day remains a mirror reflecting both our failures and our fierce capacity for renewal. The tricolour flying over Kartavya Path does not just honour a past struggle against colonial rule—it challenges every generation with a more uncomfortable question: are we bold enough to govern ourselves as a great nation, not just a large one? In 2026, as the jets fade into the winter sky, that question lingers in the cold air—sharper, more urgent, and impossible to ignore.