<div align="justify">Last week, there was a sudden burst of activity in my locality. Someone important was expected, and the traffic police rushed to clear vendors and vehicles off the streets. I did not stay to witness the grand arrival.<br /><br />How different from my childhood days in Delhi, when I avidly looked out for prominent personalities! The capital regularly played host to foreign dignitaries, and it was easy for me to see them. This was because I lived near that beautiful boulevard, Rajpath, which leads up Raisina Hill to the President’s residence.<br /><br />Whenever a Head of State was in the city, a motorcade would wend its way through Rajpath, bearing the distinguished personage to Rashtrapati Bhavan. A similar scenario would unfold, as he or she emerged from that majestic edifice to embark on official engagements. A siren announcing the approach of the cavalcade would send my brother and me scurrying to catch a glimpse of the VVIP.<br /><br />More than a glimpse! Over five decades ago, security was not stifling, and we could stand close to the road. The famous figures we had gone to greet would move unhurriedly in open cars, acknowledging our cheers. On formal occasions, they would travel in the horse-drawn, presidential carriage, waving to the public.<br /><br />Racing to Rajpath was not always possible, but I managed some significant sightings. In December, 1959, when I was five years old and my brother yet unborn, my father pointed out the 34th President of the USA. I have no recollection of that illustrious gentleman, but I remember mishearing his name as ‘Icing’. Even today, at the mention of Eisenhower, I envisage a cake with pink and white frosting! <br /><br />Queen Elizabeth II evokes no such sugary image. Neither, however, do I recall the regal young woman she must have been, when she came to India with her husband, three months before her 35th birthday. I retain only a hazy impression of the royal couple but distinctly recall the Queen at a ceremony in London that I attended much earlier. At ‘Trooping the Colour,’ she was resplendent in a military uniform and a bright shade of lipstick!<br /><br />Queen Elizabeth was the chief guest at our Republic Day Parade in 1961. As I watched the proceedings with my family, an onlooker remarked that the monarch was seated beside a man whom her father had imprisoned. I learnt later that the freedom fighter, who went on to become our first President, had been jailed during the Quit India Movement. <br /><br />It is unlikely that George VI was directly responsible for his incarceration, but my immature imagination ran wild. I pictured Dr Rajendra Prasad being shoved into a dark, dingy dungeon by a villain in silken robes and golden crown. At that moment, 56 years ago, a long-dead king I had never seen seemed more real than the visiting queen!<br /><br /></div>
<div align="justify">Last week, there was a sudden burst of activity in my locality. Someone important was expected, and the traffic police rushed to clear vendors and vehicles off the streets. I did not stay to witness the grand arrival.<br /><br />How different from my childhood days in Delhi, when I avidly looked out for prominent personalities! The capital regularly played host to foreign dignitaries, and it was easy for me to see them. This was because I lived near that beautiful boulevard, Rajpath, which leads up Raisina Hill to the President’s residence.<br /><br />Whenever a Head of State was in the city, a motorcade would wend its way through Rajpath, bearing the distinguished personage to Rashtrapati Bhavan. A similar scenario would unfold, as he or she emerged from that majestic edifice to embark on official engagements. A siren announcing the approach of the cavalcade would send my brother and me scurrying to catch a glimpse of the VVIP.<br /><br />More than a glimpse! Over five decades ago, security was not stifling, and we could stand close to the road. The famous figures we had gone to greet would move unhurriedly in open cars, acknowledging our cheers. On formal occasions, they would travel in the horse-drawn, presidential carriage, waving to the public.<br /><br />Racing to Rajpath was not always possible, but I managed some significant sightings. In December, 1959, when I was five years old and my brother yet unborn, my father pointed out the 34th President of the USA. I have no recollection of that illustrious gentleman, but I remember mishearing his name as ‘Icing’. Even today, at the mention of Eisenhower, I envisage a cake with pink and white frosting! <br /><br />Queen Elizabeth II evokes no such sugary image. Neither, however, do I recall the regal young woman she must have been, when she came to India with her husband, three months before her 35th birthday. I retain only a hazy impression of the royal couple but distinctly recall the Queen at a ceremony in London that I attended much earlier. At ‘Trooping the Colour,’ she was resplendent in a military uniform and a bright shade of lipstick!<br /><br />Queen Elizabeth was the chief guest at our Republic Day Parade in 1961. As I watched the proceedings with my family, an onlooker remarked that the monarch was seated beside a man whom her father had imprisoned. I learnt later that the freedom fighter, who went on to become our first President, had been jailed during the Quit India Movement. <br /><br />It is unlikely that George VI was directly responsible for his incarceration, but my immature imagination ran wild. I pictured Dr Rajendra Prasad being shoved into a dark, dingy dungeon by a villain in silken robes and golden crown. At that moment, 56 years ago, a long-dead king I had never seen seemed more real than the visiting queen!<br /><br /></div>
