At a glance, the pretext for Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s controversial decision to replace the country’s old Parliament building seems straightforward. Designed by British architects Sir Edwin Lutyens and Herbert Baker in 1927, this relic of the British Empire could no longer keep up with the demands of the time: the seating was cramped, infrastructure and amenities crumbling, and its colonial vintage did not align with a strong and self-confident India on the rise. 

However, the circular building is also the site of much history—Jawaharlal Nehru delivered his “Tryst with Destiny” speech from its podium on the eve of independence, and the country’s democratic Constitution was adopted in its chamber, as was every law that governs the Indian state. More importantly, to Modi’s critics, the six-year, US$1.7 billion precinct-wide redevelopment project of the Central Vista (a popular destination that includes the Parliament building, offices of the country’s Executive, and the Indira Gandhi National Centre for the Arts) is not just a wasteful extravagance, but undemocratic and authoritarian. Initiated when the country— specifically its poor—was reeling from the impact of the Covid-19 pandemic, the development was undertaken without proper consultation, transparency or public participation.  

All this is happening in the context of an extreme consolidation of political power by Modi’s ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) across all layers of Indian society. The ruling party controls 303 of the 543 seats in the directly elected lower house of the Parliament (Lok Sabha), enabling it to independently pass legislation without requiring support from even its alliance partners, let alone the Opposition. In the Upper house (Rajya Sabha), the BJP is shy of a simple majority, but can muster the requisite numbers through alliance partners and routine politics. 

While critics often downplay the BJP’s popular support by pointing out that it got only 37% of the vote, this is somewhat misleading—the party’s vote share was more than 50% in the states that it won. At the same time, the same people decry the Prime Minister’s tight grip on almost absolute power within the BJP. Indeed, the concentration of power in party leadership is typical across all political parties in India. Prime Minister Modi revels in this reality, declaring during election rallies that supporters needn’t remember who the candidate is, because every vote for the Lotus (the BJP symbol) is a vote to strengthen him personally. 

This consolidation of power has also taken place in the Executive, resulting in the institutions tasked with ensuring a system of checks and balances on executive excess increasingly being perceived as acting at the behest of the Executive branch of government. For example, the Prime Minister’s Office has been strengthened by its successful introduction of a new and robust digital architecture that enables it to directly transfer benefits to beneficiaries, eliminating intermediaries in a manner that has checked certain kinds of corruption but also restrains local functionaries from political arbitrage. Furthermore, the fusion of the organised political power of the ruling party and Hindu majoritarianism further blurs the lines between the State and large sections of society, putting the entire Opposition on the back foot. 

Such is the backdrop for the Central Vista redevelopment project and the debates around it.

Questions about the new Parliament—its commission, design and symbolism, costs, environmental impact, and the multiple controversies related to its construction and inauguration—have dominated debate, but still fail to sufficiently address the project’s significance within the country’s new reality. That is, the way it points to the bigger issue of ongoing power shifts in India.

The new Parliament building and the wider precinct it is part of will cater and allow access to only a few thousand individuals in a country of 1.4 billion people. Contrast this with the Ayodha Ram Mandir (Temple), whose inauguration is set to occur before the 2024 national elections. Located on the site of a demolished Muslim mosque, the controversial temple’s construction is the culmination of a decades-long polarising nationwide campaign. On completion, it is meant to be a site of pride for the country’s Hindu community, welcoming 75,000 pilgrims daily. 

The issue of pivotal importance to Indian democracy is not Parliament-the-building, but rather the institution’s evolving role in the country’s political processes. Modi, a shrewd politician, understands this and convened a special session to mark the inauguration of the new Parliament in May 2023. Three things were notable in that session. First, as an unscheduled “special session”, it surprised everyone outside of a small cohort within the government. Second, the agenda was kept under wraps, generating consternation and wild speculation amongst the political class, media and allied groups. Third, this secrecy amplified apprehension that India might well be in a new era in which controversial laws could be passed by surprise without attempting to forge a bipartisan consensus.

The unease is not without merit. A review of the legislative business of India’s Parliament reveals many bills passed with little to no discussion or reference to parliamentary committees for review. This top-down diktat results from a two-decade-old anti-defection law, which disqualifies elected representatives from taking their seat in parliament should they vote against their party leadership. Coupled with the consolidation of power in the ruling party, Parliament has effectively lost its ability to force even factional contests, and is now seen mainly as a site to execute the will of the Prime Minister’s Office. 

Despite these ominous tones vis-a-vis Indian democracy, the special session to inaugurate the new Parliament building was a watershed moment in the women’s movement. Twenty-seven years after its introduction, the Women’s Reservation Bill, designed to reserve one-third of seats for women in the Lok Sabha (Lower house) and State Assemblies, became law through a near-unanimous vote during that special session. The fact that the ruling party had the majority to push the Bill through forced sections of the Opposition to back it despite multiple objections (some genuine). No one wants to be on the wrong side of history.

However, if passage of the Women’s Reservation Bill portended an auspicious beginning to the new Parliament, that glow was marred by the shocking anti-Muslim slurs made by a ruling-party MP on the floor of the house. Deemed too disgraceful to be ignored or condoned, the remarks were deleted from the official record, and “regret” was officially expressed. Yet, no punitive action was taken against the MP—either by the ruling party or the Speaker, also a BJP member.

What does this have to do with the new Parliament building’s architecture? In a nutshell, everything. Cliche as it might read, it is true that India is a big and complex country with so many fault lines that no question can elicit consensus across all of its divides. Simultaneously, India is home to democratic and anti-democratic impulses. The first session of the new Parliament showcased both the democratic and anti-democratic impulses of the Indian State. How these contradictions are reconciled will determine how citizens will view the new Parliament in posterity.

Architecture’s permanence bestows it with a power apart from that of any state or political party. Its tangible physicality can exert power over popular consciousness in ways that governance—amorphous and mediated as it is—cannot. Significant architectural initiatives at the scale of the new precinct inevitably acquire political overtones because they can be a powerful tool for political ideology and the exercise of power. When the building in question is the foremost symbol of Indian democracy— its Parliament—the purpose of this exercise of power acquires greater salience. 

Walking across Delhi, the seat of the Indian government, one is constantly confronted by imposing remnants of the Mughal empire. To mark Independence Day each year, India’s Prime Minister delivers a speech from the ramparts of the Red Fort commissioned by the Mughal emperor Shah Jahan. The former seat of the Mughal empire now serves as a national podium for the democratically elected head of State. Buildings have longevity and structure, but their meanings are fluid, often mirroring the changing mores of society. 

The idea of India is under active contest, and so is the meaning of the new Parliament. 

Ruchi Gupta is the Executive Director of the Future of India Foundation, which tracks India’s transformation at the intersection of the demographic dividend, political economy and rapid technological change. Gupta’s collected columns are available at rgupta.substack.com