New Delhi: Alongside the abolition of their Privy Purses in 1971, India’s 560-odd princely states also lost several symbolic privileges that had endured after their integration into the Union of States following Independence 24 years earlier.

One little-known, eccentric perk, amongst several agreed under the Instrument of Accession in 1947 signed by the princes, was the continuation of distinctive vehicle number plates bearing, their erstwhile respective states’ full name – or its abbreviated form – capped by its royal emblem or coat-of-arms.

In regal hauteur, the number plates of some Rolls-Royces, Bentleys, Cadillacs, or similarly flamboyant cars belonging to rajas, maharajahs and nawabs, bore only initials – for instance J for Jaipur, B for Baroda, G for Gwalior – followed by a single or double digit denoting the vehicle's place in their remuda of cars.

Flamboyant images of a durbar-on-wheels

For onlookers and passers-by, these hand-crafted plates induced flamboyant images of a durbar-on-wheels, while for the imaginative, they evoked scenes of majestic palaces, gilded thrones, and the booming echo of gun salutes.

But collectively, for all bystanders, nearly a quarter century after the royals signed the Instrument of Accession, relinquishing their crowns and spectres, these esoteric number plates at the front and rear ends of their array of automobiles were not merely vehicle identifiers, but lingering emblems of their owners’ grand past.

And, in keeping with such eminence, these royal vehicles enjoyed informal immunity on roads – akin to analogous diplomatic privilege – and were rarely, if ever, challaned for traffic violations. Local police across the country displayed deference to all ‘royal’ cars, and many online accounts from that period note that, at times, traffic was even halted – much as it now is for politicians and VIP convoys – to allow princely vehicles to pass.

Police hardly ever intervened directly, if one such car was ever involved in an accident; typically, no FIR (First Information Report) would be filed, and the incident resolved quietly between palace officials and local authorities. In the event of someone being injured or property being damaged, the palace would, in most cases, privately compensate the aggrieved party to bypass legal entanglement, at times with police assistance.

However, with the abolition of privy purses and derecognition of rulers via the 26th Amendment initiated by Prime Minister Indira Gandhi in 1970-71, the royals lost their legal privileges and titles. These included the right to fly their respective flags atop their residences and on their cars, entitlement to hereditary gun salutes and precedence at all official ceremonies to which they had been invited.

Of these 560-odd rulers, between 100 and 120 were classified as ‘Salute States’ or princely domains, whose rulers had been accorded gun salutes of between 21 and nine guns by the British colonial administration, as formal recognition of their rank, prestige and local stature.

The highest, 21-gun salute, was reserved for rulers like the Nizam of Hyderabad and the Maharajas of Baroda, Gwalior, Jammu and Kashmir and Mysore, presented during official visits, ceremonial occasions, and significant events, both on land and at sea, by British military units.

Alongside this, the 26th Amendment mandated that all vehicles formerly bearing royal plates be re-registered under standard Road Transport Authority rules, adopting the same number plates as ordinary citizens.

Former royals and their drivers became subject to the same legal frameworks as the general populace, including the Motor Vehicles Act, and were liable to be fined or even jailed for traffic violations. Insurance claims and civil compensation rules also applied to them uniformly, marking a significant shift in the status and treatment of former princely families and aligning them with the broader democratic ethos of the nation.

Facing a fait accompli, most former royals acquiesced to relinquishing their personalised car number plates. While some initially resisted, retaining their plates for brief periods, they were ultimately compelled to comply with the new regulations. Nonetheless, in a subtle act of defiance, a handful continued to display their old plates illegally for a while, albeit within the confines of their private estates as a means to preserve a semblance of their former status, merely to feel good.

Following the 1971 abolition of privy purses and princely privileges, India's feudal hierarchy was formally dismantled, ostensibly to promote egalitarian governance. Yet, paradoxically, the entrenched culture of unquestioned deference and obedience characteristic of princely India persisted; and in recent years, this legacy has been eagerly embraced by the country's new royalty – its politicians – who have successfully and doggedly repurposed authority and privilege to suit their needs.

VIP culture has not diminished

The royal takht, it seems, may have given way to the ballot box, yet the distance between ruler and ruled has persisted, shaped less by law and reform than, like earlier by privilege.

And, while ironically, the princely order has long faded, its feudal patterns of privilege and influence had seamlessly migrated sideways to politicians, who have become adept at keeping old habits alive on roads too in their imported and super-charged SUVs.

For them, the ‘lal-batti’ culture, though legally banned, continues in practice, disrupting traffic and daily life for tens of thousands of people, to accommodate their political visits. Revelations in a recent survey highlighting the persistence of VIP-read royal-culture in India, conducted by LocalCircles, an online platform that aggregates citizen feedback on various public issues, were instructive.

Some 64% of over 45,000 responders LocalCircles polled in 362 districts across India last November disclosed that  VIP culture had not diminished over the past three years, while 91% observed such behaviour on roads, tolls, airports, and trains.

The survey also divulged that ministers and senior politicians traversed their respective regions in endless motorcades that halted traffic, flaunted intimidating security details, and claimed ceremonial precedence, once reserved for royalty.

Additionally, the LocalCircles’ survey showed that 83% of its respondents reported encountering VIP culture in government offices, and 25% experienced it during hospital visits. Citizens also noted issues like encroachment on public property, noise pollution, and misuse of influence for personal gain by officials exhibiting VIP or ‘royal’ behaviour

In the end, removing royals and their privileged number plates didn’t eliminate India’s culture of hierarchical privilege-it simply reshaped it by giving it a modern wardrobe and digitised vehicle registrations.

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