By Suresh Unnithan
As a journalist who has spent over four decades chasing stories from the heart of our democracy, much of it in the bustling press galleries of Parliament in Delhi, I carry memories that now feel like relics from a bygone era. Though my roots are in Kollam, Kerala, Delhi became my second home—reporting proceedings, interviewing the high and mighty in politics and business, capturing the electric atmosphere when the nation hung on every word spoken in the Lok Sabha and Rajya Sabha. Those were days when Parliament was truly the temple of democracy, alive with intellectual vigour, wit, and respect, even amid fierce disagreements.
I remember vividly the anticipation in the air when Atal Bihari Vajpayee rose to speak. His words, laced with poetry and profound insight, could silence the House. In 1996, during the confidence motion that led to his brief 13-day government, Vajpayee’s resignation speech touched every soul: “Governments come and go, but the nation endures,” he said with grace, earning applause from across the aisles. Even in opposition, his critiques were sharp yet dignified—never descending into personal vilification. Pramod Mahajan brought razor-sharp logic and humour; George Fernandes thundered with passion for the downtrodden; Indrajit Gupta, the communist stalwart, spoke with unflinching principle; and Somnath Chatterjee presided with impeccable fairness as Speaker. Going further back, Jawaharlal Nehru’s erudite addresses inspired a young nation, blending vision with eloquence. Leaders like Kamalapati Tripathi commanded respect with their commanding oratory, rooted in ideology and decorum. Journalists, businessmen, opposition, and treasury benches—all eagerly awaited these discourses. Debates shaped policy, educated the public, and upheld the sanctity of our institutions.
Today, as a senior citizen reflecting from afar, my heart aches at how far we have fallen. The discourse has depleted to levels that would have been unthinkable in those days. What was once a forum for constructive deliberation has too often become an arena for personal attacks and point-scoring. The Leader of Opposition targets the Prime Minister with barbs, and the response comes in kind, dredging up the predecessors of the opposition leader. Healthy debate has given way to acrimony, where substance yields to slogans and disruptions.
Recently, during a session in the Lok Sabha I watched live from my drawing room with dismay as proceedings were disrupted over remarks by BJP MP Nishikant Dubey. Citing certain books, he made strong comments about former Prime Ministers Jawaharlal Nehru and Indira Gandhi, using words that many deemed unparliamentary and derogatory—accusations of personal failings that went beyond policy critique. The House erupted in chaos, with opposition members protesting vehemently, leading to adjournments and complaints to the Speaker. What pained me most was not just the content, but the cheers from some supporters on the treasury benches. It felt like a betrayal of the decorum that once defined our Parliament—a far cry from the days when even bitter rivals like Vajpayee and his opponents exchanged ideas with mutual respect.
Similar sentiments arise when observing younger leaders like Tejasvi Surya, a promising voice from the ruling side. His speeches are energetic and pointed, often exposing hypocrisies in the opposition’s record, as seen in recent attacks on Congress narratives. Yet, the style—aggressive and unrelenting—sometimes veers into territory that prioritises confrontation over persuasion. In an era craving inspiration, one wonders if the fire of youth could be channelled more like Vajpayee’s poetic restraint, winning hearts rather than merely rallying bases.
This deterioration is not anecdotal; it is reflected in stark statistics. Recent sessions have seen alarmingly low productivity—disruptions eating into precious time, with Question Hour often sacrificed and bills passed with minimal discussion. Speakers, including Om Birla, have repeatedly expressed concern over falling standards of debate, dialogue, and decorum. Parliamentary committees, once vital for detailed scrutiny, are sidelined as the House rushes through agendas amid noise. Experts and observers warn of a shrinking deliberative role, where executive dominance overshadows legislative oversight. In the past, Parliament sat for longer durations, fostering thorough debates that built consensus. Today, frequent adjournments and walkouts leave the public—the true sovereigns—deprived of the accountability they deserve.
Why does this touch me so deeply? Because Parliament is not just a building; it is the soul of our democracy, mirroring the aspirations of 1.4 billion people. As someone who reported on its proceedings for decades, I feel a profound sense of loss. Those legendary leaders, irrespective of party, contributed to nation-building with dignity. Nehru laid foundations for modern India amid eloquent exchanges; Vajpayee bridged divides with his statesmanship; Tripathi and others upheld ideological purity without malice. They reminded us that politics is a noble calling—service to the people, not settling scores.
The public, too, feels this void. In tea stalls across Kollam and villages nationwide, conversations lament how leaders neglect the real issues—jobs, farmers’ woes, education—drowning them in partisan mud-slinging. We, the voters, elect them with hope, funding their privileges through our taxes. Yet, when the House descends into chaos, it is our dreams that are disrupted.
My eyes well up thinking of what we have lost, but hope endures. India’s resilient spirit has revived institutions before. Perhaps a new generation will rediscover the eloquence of Vajpayee, the vision of Nehru, the integrity of those giants. Let us, the people, demand better—not through anger, but by reminding our representatives that Parliament belongs to us. On that day, when decorum returns and debates elevate rather than degrade, the echoes of true statesmanship will ring again. Until then, this old journalist prays for the revival of the Parliament we once cherished—a beacon of unity, wisdom, and grace for generations to come.