earnest. Congress ministries started governing in Bombay, Madras, UP, Bihar, Central Provinces, Orissa, Assam and North West Frontier Province, while a League government ran Sind and, propped up by third parties, started to govern Bengal. There was only one real coalition: in Punjab. Here, the League was kept in abeyance, waiting at the door of power, and the Unionists, led by Khizr Tiwana, joined up with Congress and the Panthic Sikhs. Soon the corridors of power in the regional capital cities buzzed with politicians and their supporters. ‘The change which came over the Secretariat was almost unbelievable,’ wrote an Oxford-educated civil servant of the old guard, Rajeshwar Dayal, who was rather perturbed by the new order and by the change in his secretariat. ‘The orderly and silent corridors with officers and staff moving silently about their business were transformed into babels of noise.’ 11 For others, this was the beginning of the transition to democracy and marked the start of real popular participation in political institutions.
As Indian politicians and their staff took over the offices of British officials, moving in crates of papers and sometimes surreptitiously taking down pictures of the King-Emperor and the Union Jack, the power of the imperial state broke down. All eyes were naturally fixed on Delhi. Talk on the streets and in the press was about the main negotiations, and focused on when and how power would be passed at the centre. Yet the drawn-out, painful process of decolonisation in South Asia was already well under way. Provincial governments were already setting the agenda. Their coming to power in early 1946 drew the sting out of anti-British sentiment in India. Politicians made the difficult transition from opposition to government. ‘The new government came in a rather belligerent mood determined to stretch the constitution to the limit and beyond, and to show the remaining British officials their place in the new order of things,’ remembered Rajeshwar Dayal. 12 Struggles still endured in Delhi's political heartland over central powers, yet in the provinces the imperial endgame was over. The problem was that Leaguers and Congressmen remained fundamentally unreconciled and nobody could see how their differences might be patched up. While some blithely wished these differences away, others hardened their opposition.
The new ministries were inaugurated with a fanfare. The ministers had to swear their allegiance to the King-Emperor but many whispered hoarsely as they did so. People clambered up to see the first day of the new assemblies, packed viewing galleries, and press and photographers were out in force. For those who were on the losing side, however, the feeling grew that these politicians in power could act with impunity and that they were not representative of
all
Indians. Dress became important. Congressmen sat on the benches in white homespun dhotis, worn with sandals and Gandhi caps – the same outfit still worn by many Indian politicians today. Jinnah's fur cap was becoming a style icon and Muslims wore kurta pyjamas with a cap or fez while Sikhs retained their distinctive turbans. This exuberant new order alienated those who felt on the wrong side of it or left out from its culture and symbolism. Mohammad Mujeeb later remembered the hubbub when he had watched the United Provinces assembly from a viewing gallery for the first time a decade earlier:
It was, I believe, the inaugural session. There were crowds of people in the visitors' galleries and the hall, but hardly a face that was known to me. I was simple-minded enough to ask a man standing next to me where the chief minister was, and I got in reply a reproachful look and the remark, ‘Can't you see he is sitting there?’ I felt extremely uncomfortable. I could not spot anyone dressed like me, the language spoken around me was not the Urdu which I thought was the language of Lucknow … I left the assembly building with a
As Indian politicians and their staff took over the offices of British officials, moving in crates of papers and sometimes surreptitiously taking down pictures of the King-Emperor and the Union Jack, the power of the imperial state broke down. All eyes were naturally fixed on Delhi. Talk on the streets and in the press was about the main negotiations, and focused on when and how power would be passed at the centre. Yet the drawn-out, painful process of decolonisation in South Asia was already well under way. Provincial governments were already setting the agenda. Their coming to power in early 1946 drew the sting out of anti-British sentiment in India. Politicians made the difficult transition from opposition to government. ‘The new government came in a rather belligerent mood determined to stretch the constitution to the limit and beyond, and to show the remaining British officials their place in the new order of things,’ remembered Rajeshwar Dayal. 12 Struggles still endured in Delhi's political heartland over central powers, yet in the provinces the imperial endgame was over. The problem was that Leaguers and Congressmen remained fundamentally unreconciled and nobody could see how their differences might be patched up. While some blithely wished these differences away, others hardened their opposition.
The new ministries were inaugurated with a fanfare. The ministers had to swear their allegiance to the King-Emperor but many whispered hoarsely as they did so. People clambered up to see the first day of the new assemblies, packed viewing galleries, and press and photographers were out in force. For those who were on the losing side, however, the feeling grew that these politicians in power could act with impunity and that they were not representative of
all
Indians. Dress became important. Congressmen sat on the benches in white homespun dhotis, worn with sandals and Gandhi caps – the same outfit still worn by many Indian politicians today. Jinnah's fur cap was becoming a style icon and Muslims wore kurta pyjamas with a cap or fez while Sikhs retained their distinctive turbans. This exuberant new order alienated those who felt on the wrong side of it or left out from its culture and symbolism. Mohammad Mujeeb later remembered the hubbub when he had watched the United Provinces assembly from a viewing gallery for the first time a decade earlier:
It was, I believe, the inaugural session. There were crowds of people in the visitors' galleries and the hall, but hardly a face that was known to me. I was simple-minded enough to ask a man standing next to me where the chief minister was, and I got in reply a reproachful look and the remark, ‘Can't you see he is sitting there?’ I felt extremely uncomfortable. I could not spot anyone dressed like me, the language spoken around me was not the Urdu which I thought was the language of Lucknow … I left the assembly building with a
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