Who Does Power Really Salute in India’s Democracy?

Constables salute Inspectors, Inspectors salute DSPs, DSPs salute the DGP, the DGP salutes the Chief Minister—and finally, the Chief Minister is expected to salute the people. This is the hierarchy many of us imagined when the Constitution of India came into force in 1950, placing “We, the People” at the very top.

But fast forward to 2026—does this vision still truly hold?

At the lower levels, the hierarchy seems to function more or less as expected. Authority flows downward, and discipline is maintained. However, the final link—between those who rule and the people—appears increasingly fragile. Are citizens really the supreme authority in our democracy today? Do those who govern us genuinely represent our aspirations and reflect what people actually feel and expect? And when we sense tyranny or deep systemic failure, do we truly have the power to change the regime?

The answers vary from person to person. But to me, many of these democratic fundamentals have been compromised in the name of electoral politics.

This is not only the fault of politicians. It is also rooted in the mindset of the electorate. The Constitution allows any Indian citizen to contest elections and promises a level playing field. On paper, this sounds fair. In reality, the field is far from level—especially for new and independent entrants. While “beginner’s luck” may work in other areas, Indian politics rarely makes space for genuine beginners.

Instead, the system seems to expect aspiring politicians to first “learn the game”:

• how to navigate corruption without attracting institutional scrutiny,
• how to betray colleagues without facing accountability, and
• how to justify unethical means in the pursuit of power.

Only after learning these practices does society begin to see such individuals as “seasoned” or “mature” politicians, supposedly worthy of public trust. Until then, young reformists are dismissed as inexperienced or amateur. Ironically, the system itself ends up corrupting revolutionary intent, slowly turning potential change-makers into products of the very structure they once wanted to reform.

Moreover, electoral politics in India has largely become bipolar. The dominance of political symbols plays a major role in sustaining this two-party-style competition. Many voters choose symbols rather than candidates, often without even knowing the person they are voting for. Long-standing party legacies matter more than present-day performance, giving established parties a clear advantage over new entrants.

                                          

Even after repeatedly experiencing governance failures from conventional political forces, many voters hesitate to support a third alternative. There is a widespread fear that such a vote would be wasted. This fear, more than anything else, keeps the same political powers in place and discourages people from trying something different.

This leads to a deeply unsettling question:
Is electoral politics really allowing us to choose the government we want, or are we being forced to rotate between conventional bipolar powers?

Until this question is confronted honestly, the idea of people being the supreme authority will remain more a constitutional promise than a lived reality!