There is an old saying – he who fights and runs away lives to fight another day. In Indian politics, the updated version appears to be – he who fights, runs away, and goes on holiday lives to tweet another day.
Rahul Gandhi, our perpetually reluctant politician, seems to treat Parliament the way the rest of us treat airport lounges – drop in when convenient, dress for comfort, and leave before the bill arrives. As Leader of the Opposition, he has many responsibilities. Setting a new standard in casual wear apparently tops the list.
The great Indian dress debate
Rahul now turns up in Parliament in Polo T-shirts and cargo trousers – the same outfit he wore during the Bharat Jodo Yatra, which his critics mischievously call the Bharat Thodo Yatra, largely because the Congress organisation seemed to become thinner wherever the yatra passed.
His trousers, many have observed, end above the ankle. This has triggered a completely unnecessary anthropological study on television panels, with some claiming the cut resembles that of certain clerics, more specifically, the controversial Dr Zakir Naik style.
Article 19(1)(a), of course, gives every citizen the right to freedom of expression. This now includes political expression through exposed ankles.
Temple or lounge
BJP spokesperson Jaiveer Shergill says Parliament is not a lounge and wants a dress code – no T-shirts, no open shirts – because Parliament is the ‘Temple of Democracy’.
This temple analogy is interesting. In many temples, there actually is a dress code. You are not allowed in with shorts, sleeveless shirts, or casual wear. So by that logic, the Polo T-shirt may indeed face theological as well as constitutional challenges.
But the larger issue is not fashion; the larger issue is seriousness. When the LoP calls every institution ‘compromised’, one is tempted to ask, does he fully understand the meaning of the word, or does he simply repeat phrases supplied by the Congress lie factory headed by Jairam Ramesh and distributed by Supriya Shrinate and Pawan Khera like party pamphlets?
Strip politics
However, clothing controversies should have ended with T-shirts and cargoes. Unfortunately, politics recently witnessed something far more dramatic – Youth Congress ‘babbar shers’ apparently thought an AI summit was an appropriate venue for a partial strip performance. They were promptly thrashed and thrown out by attendees, which was perhaps the first real physical fitness test the babbar shers had passed.
In this context, Rahul Gandhi coming to Parliament in a T-shirt showing his gym-certified biceps is perfectly acceptable – provided his party’s youth wing does not treat public events as audition venues for reality shows.
Equality in minimalism
But this raises an important equality question. If Rahul’s ultra-casual attire in Parliament is defended as a matter of personal choice, then the same principle must apply to his party’s women MPs as well – even if their choices are considered equally outrageous by the guardians of parliamentary decorum. Equality, after all, is a fundamental right. It cannot be invoked selectively.
Sartorial history of parliament
There was a time when MPs across parties wore khadi kurta-pyjamas, waistcoats, bandgalas, turbans, safas, or the famous white Gandhi cap. There was ideological division, but visual cohesion. The House was divided into treasury and opposition benches, but united in dress code.
Today, the caps remain, but they come in different colours depending on the party – a visual coalition government on the head.
We also have members who wear saffron robes, sherwanis, and fur caps that loudly advertise religious identity before they even open their mouths to speak about secularism.
Decency and democracy
The question, therefore, is simple – in a country where schoolchildren, factory workers, lawyers, soldiers, and even club members follow dress codes, is it unreasonable to expect elected representatives to dress in a manner that maintains the decorum of the House?
Western democracies, which we frequently quote in debates, have unwritten but strictly followed dress norms in their legislatures. Nobody turns up to the British Parliament in cargo shorts. The Speaker may actually faint.
In India, however, we have achieved true freedom – freedom from ideology, freedom from consistency, and now, freedom from formal clothing.
Democracy, it appears, is not just about numbers anymore. It is also about necklines, hemlines, and ankle lines.
