It is a parable that has seeped into public consciousness: a vain emperor hires a tailor who dupes him by promising to stitch him the finest suit cut from an invisible fabric, visible only to the "intellectually superior". The emperor's ministers cannot see the cloth themselves, but pretend that they can for fear of appearing stupid. The emperor follows suit. The townfolk also play along. It takes an innocent child in the crowd, too young to understand the importance of keeping up pretences, to announce the obvious: the emperor is wearing nothing at all!
Titled The Emperor's New Clothes and written by Hans Christian Andersen, this tale was first published with The Little Mermaid in 1837 as the third and final instalment of Andersen's Fairy Tales Told for Children. We know that the strength of parables, especially those that live on for centuries, is that they tell indubitable truths about the human condition. But what is Anderson's delightful tale really wagging a finger at? The emperor's vanity and gullibility or the hypocrisy of his subjects? Or is it saying that the truth is always revealed and that in the end, you can only fool some of the people some of the time?
Any observer of body language can see that post the watershed victory of the Aam Aadmi Party in the Delhi assembly polls, Prime Minister Narendra Modi's public demeanour has undergone a significant change. Gone is the swashbuckling machismo, along with the flamboyant attire and the grandstanding statements.
After the Kejriwal sweep, Modi appears a man chastened. He has taken to wearing sober clothes, the famous "power walk" has been toned down, and even his radio chats reveal a vulnerable, more tentative side, as was evident in his recent address to the nation's young, about his poor handwriting and his mediocre school career.
All this could well be the outer manifestation of the self doubt and bruising that follow a public drubbing. Or, this could be the result of some astute advice from the prime minister's clever spin doctors.
It is no coincidence that in speech after speech, Modi's bête noire, Kejriwal, has cautioned his cadre against arrogance. "Arrogance is what led to the failure of many governments," he has often said in his public addresses. If there's anything that he knows, Kejriwal, with his finger on the pulse of the people, knows that Indians particularly detest overconfidence. Our icons - be they in sport, like Sachin Tendulkar, in films, like Rajinikanth and Amitabh Bachchan, in the arts, like A R Rahman, or in business, like Ratan Tata - have been the epitome of humility. Call it tameez or the ancient Indian belief in understating one's wealth or talents, but the one thing that gets our goat is someone who swaggers and who displays imperiousness, conceit and pride.
Our myths and folklore are replete with stories of such people who inevitably face their comeuppance. In fact, if the Indian attitude to public personalities is anything to go by, then you can be sure that, running against all popular belief and theory, everyone loves a loser. Here, a bit of modesty, vulnerability, loss and mistakes can go a long way.
In fact, in India an emperor who swaggers, gloats, shows off and blows his own trumpet, giving his people the impression that he is on an unstoppable juggernaut, can be brought to a halt not by a child proclaiming he "has no clothes", but by anyone who only says: "He has one suit less."
Titled The Emperor's New Clothes and written by Hans Christian Andersen, this tale was first published with The Little Mermaid in 1837 as the third and final instalment of Andersen's Fairy Tales Told for Children. We know that the strength of parables, especially those that live on for centuries, is that they tell indubitable truths about the human condition. But what is Anderson's delightful tale really wagging a finger at? The emperor's vanity and gullibility or the hypocrisy of his subjects? Or is it saying that the truth is always revealed and that in the end, you can only fool some of the people some of the time?
Any observer of body language can see that post the watershed victory of the Aam Aadmi Party in the Delhi assembly polls, Prime Minister Narendra Modi's public demeanour has undergone a significant change. Gone is the swashbuckling machismo, along with the flamboyant attire and the grandstanding statements.
After the Kejriwal sweep, Modi appears a man chastened. He has taken to wearing sober clothes, the famous "power walk" has been toned down, and even his radio chats reveal a vulnerable, more tentative side, as was evident in his recent address to the nation's young, about his poor handwriting and his mediocre school career.
All this could well be the outer manifestation of the self doubt and bruising that follow a public drubbing. Or, this could be the result of some astute advice from the prime minister's clever spin doctors.
It is no coincidence that in speech after speech, Modi's bête noire, Kejriwal, has cautioned his cadre against arrogance. "Arrogance is what led to the failure of many governments," he has often said in his public addresses. If there's anything that he knows, Kejriwal, with his finger on the pulse of the people, knows that Indians particularly detest overconfidence. Our icons - be they in sport, like Sachin Tendulkar, in films, like Rajinikanth and Amitabh Bachchan, in the arts, like A R Rahman, or in business, like Ratan Tata - have been the epitome of humility. Call it tameez or the ancient Indian belief in understating one's wealth or talents, but the one thing that gets our goat is someone who swaggers and who displays imperiousness, conceit and pride.
Our myths and folklore are replete with stories of such people who inevitably face their comeuppance. In fact, if the Indian attitude to public personalities is anything to go by, then you can be sure that, running against all popular belief and theory, everyone loves a loser. Here, a bit of modesty, vulnerability, loss and mistakes can go a long way.
In fact, in India an emperor who swaggers, gloats, shows off and blows his own trumpet, giving his people the impression that he is on an unstoppable juggernaut, can be brought to a halt not by a child proclaiming he "has no clothes", but by anyone who only says: "He has one suit less."
Malavika Sangghvi is a Mumbai-based writer malavikasmumbai@gmail.com