Power is one of the oldest human aspirations. It can be used to protect, to create opportunities, to uphold justice and to serve society. In a healthy democracy, power derives legitimacy from institutions and is exercised within the framework of law. Yet, across India today, one increasingly encounters another form of power—not constitutional, not moral but symbolic. It is displayed rather than exercised, borrowed rather than earned and often valued more for the recognition it commands than for the responsibility it carries.

Travel across any part of the country and the symbols are difficult to miss. Vehicles carrying political party flags, oversized “Press”, “Advocate” or “Government” boards, caste identifiers, unofficial VIP insignia, security escorts, photographs with influential leaders prominently displayed on social media, name-dropping in everyday conversations and the familiar phrase, “Do you know who I am?” These are not merely isolated expressions of vanity. They reveal something deeper about the way power is perceived and pursued in contemporary India.

The question, therefore, is not why politicians seek power. That is the nature of politics. The more relevant question is why ordinary citizens, with no public office or constitutional authority are so eager to associate themselves with visible symbols of power. The answer may lie in the fact that, in today’s India, power has increasingly become a form of social currency.

Money can buy comfort. Education can open opportunities. Professional excellence can earn respect. But proximity to power often delivers something far more immediate—it delivers recognition. A person who otherwise enjoys no special standing in society suddenly acquires importance simply because he is perceived to have access to political authority, bureaucratic influence, financial clout or community leadership. Doors appear to open more easily. People become more deferential. Rules seem more negotiable. In such an environment, power is valued not merely for what it can do but for what it signals.

This has created what may be called the theatre of power. Much of what we witness in everyday life is not the exercise of real authority but its performance. The objective is not necessarily to influence decisions but to create an impression of influence. The political flag on a vehicle, the caste sticker on the rear windshield, the convoy of SUVs, the unnecessary security personnel, the loud assertion of connections, the display of titles and designations—each carries the same unspoken message: I am not an ordinary citizen. Treat me differently.

Ironically, the effectiveness of this performance depends not on the individual displaying power but on society’s willingness to acknowledge it. The performance succeeds because the audience believes it. This leads to a more fundamental question. Why is borrowed power often considered more valuable than earned respect?

Human beings naturally seek identity, dignity and recognition. In mature societies, these increasingly flow from education, competence, innovation, public service and professional accomplishment. In India, however, a significant section of society continues to derive recognition less from individual achievement and more from collective identity—through caste, community, political affiliation, family lineage or proximity to influential individuals. Borrowed power becomes a substitute for earned credibility.

It is important to understand how this social mindset has evolved. India’s democracy is extraordinarily diverse. Representation of different regions, communities and social groups is both legitimate and necessary. Yet over several decades, electoral politics has also become deeply intertwined with caste and community arithmetic. Political mobilization often begins with demographic calculations before it reaches questions of governance. Communities understandably seek representation because representation promises participation and dignity.

The unintended consequence, however, is that many citizens begin to experience politics primarily through the prism of collective identity rather than individual citizenship. Recognition is sought not by expanding one’s own capabilities but by strengthening one’s proximity to an influential group or power center. The individual gradually becomes a representative of a social bloc before becoming an autonomous citizen. This has profound social consequences.

When identity is primarily derived from group affiliation, influence itself becomes a scarce resource to be captured and displayed. The competition is no longer merely for opportunity; it is for visibility, access and symbolic authority. The display of caste and community identities in public spaces, therefore, is often less about cultural pride than about signalling social relevance in an intensely competitive political environment.

The tragedy is that this cycle ultimately limits the very communities it seeks to empower. When recognition depends excessively on collective bargaining, individual talent, enterprise and creativity often receive less attention than they deserve. Instead of encouraging every citizen to build an identity through education, innovation, entrepreneurship or public service, society begins rewarding proximity to power. Over time, ambition itself changes direction—from creating value to acquiring influence. This is visible far beyond politics. Corporate lobbying, local pressure groups, institutional patronage, social organizations and even neighbourhood associations often reflect similar patterns. The language may differ but the underlying aspiration remains the same—to be seen as influential.

Yet there is a crucial distinction that deserves greater public attention. Power and empowerment are not the same. Power is often exercised over others. India’s long-term democratic success will depend less on how power is distributed and more on how opportunity is expanded. A society truly progresses when young people aspire to become scientists rather than power brokers, entrepreneurs rather than intermediaries, innovators rather than influence seekers and public servants rather than patrons dispensing favours.

This transformation cannot be achieved by governments alone. Political parties must gradually shift public discourse from identity arithmetic towards opportunity creation. Educational institutions must nurture confidence rooted in competence rather than affiliation. Civil society, the media and community leaders must celebrate merit, integrity and public service with the same enthusiasm with which influence is often celebrated today. Most importantly, citizens themselves must begin to recognize that lasting dignity comes not from borrowed power but from personal achievement and ethical conduct.

The true purpose of power in a democracy is not to create privileged circles of influence or new hierarchies of entitlement. Its purpose is to protect the weak, uphold justice and expand opportunity so that every citizen can participate with dignity. The day social recognition begins to flow more naturally from merit than from proximity to power, India would have crossed one of the most important milestones in its democratic journey. For the strength of a democracy is measured not by how many people can display power but by how few feel the need to borrow it.

(The writer is a national award-winning senior journalist and founder Newzstreet Media)

Read the first part here

Is India losing its social conscience?

If You Like This Story, Support NYOOOZ

NYOOOZ SUPPORTER

₹ 10 - ₹ 1000

NYOOOZ FRIEND

₹ 2000 - ₹ 5000

Your support to NYOOOZ will help us to continue create and publish news for and from smaller cities, which also need equal voice as much as citizens living in bigger cities have through mainstream media organizations.