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Polo, like many other events, is bringing about the resurgence of the almost forgotten royals. A chance, writes INDIA TODAY's Principal Correspondent Anshul Avijit, to say Maharaja again with an unctuous post-modernist gusto.

If you want to go ex-royal spotting, try the awning stand of a winter afternoon polo match at Delhi's Jaipur Polo ground. The front row, actually, has got a sofa instead of the aluminium chairs and upholstery instead of polymer-loom grid work. After the match that fields at least one handsome, high-handicap Argentinean or British player, the ex-royal, in a voile sari or a bandgala (and Ray Ban sunglasses; unless they're 21-gun salute kinds who can still afford Cartier), will hand over the trophy to the winning team. The trophy, like the tournament, will probably be named after the ex-royal's father or grandfather, the bona fide, privy-pursed royal. The original royal who probably built a grand Buckingham-look alike palace that has now been converted into a hotel for wowed tourists.

They're there because they badly want to be spotted. Maybe to be read about in the next day's papers. Nowadays they always manage to get there.

Polo, in no mean way, has brought about the resurgence of the almost forgotten royals. A chance to say Maharaja again with an unctuous post-modernist gusto. A chance to remember and rejoice their pre-existent trademarks ¦ tiger hunting, their patronage of the arts (so what if it was mostly of Belgian Crystal and Venetian glass), their obsessive Anglophilia, their lavish parties, their employment generation incentives (even if it benefited only Rolls Royce workers in England). A chance to get giddy over swords and safas and (now slightly ashy) sherwanis. For the past few polo seasons, every year, lineage proud ex-royals have been flaunting their forefathers names as if it were a priceless antique, temporarily damaged in the 1970s, but now almost restored to its former distinction. The Scindias, a couple of weeks back, had their Jiwaji Rao Cup, Bhawani Singh of Jaipur had Swai Man Singh Cup, Gaj Singh of Jodhpur had a Umaid Singh Cup, the Kashmir exs had the Hari Singh Cup, even the fledgling Pataudi clan, without a single gun salute, managed a Pataudi Cup. And Vikramaditya of Kashmir, apart from being a polo player himself, has his own polo team as does Gaj Singh of Jodhpur. The papers lap it up.

So why are today's post-privy purse depressives suddenly feeding on a stop-gap amphetamine called Page 3? Is it because post-liberalisation tourism needs some extrinsic emblems of attention ¦ exotic commodities that can be packaged and sold, so much so that an (ex) royal handshake becomes a souvenir. Souvenirs are needed because most ex-royals have now converted their palaces and resorts into hotels, either managed by themselves or by a leading five-star chain. Notably among these are Gaj Singh and his rakish Art Deco residence, the Umaid Bhawan palace in Jodhpur and Arvind Singh Mewar's 17th century Lake Palace in Udaipur, the first palace to become a hotel in 1963. What's better than a Page 3 Maharaja (or his son) for a tour guide?

A change from the maharajaphobic reign of Indira Gandhi when the napping Gayatri Devi of Jaipur got jailed for possessing few pennies in forex in her dressing table drawer. Or most cruelly when with one legislative swipe in 1971 (the 26th Amendment of the Constitution) the former independent rulers of sovereign states lost all their princely purses privileges and the grand right to wear titles like Maharaja, Maharana, Maharawal, Maharawat or Nizam. (Mrs Gandhi at that time is supposed to have sarcastically said: We may be depriving the princes of luxury but we're giving them the opportunity to be men). After the amendment many ex-maharajas went into serious depression, and Bhagat Singh of Mewar (Arvind Singh Dad, the man behind the hotel), became so obsessed with continuing the Maharana institution that he founded the Maharana Mewar Institution Trust so that in this small way, the imperial prefixes would remain secure. But as it turns out, he needn't have worried.

The new, upstart, post-socialism Page 3 hacks persist on being belatedly reverential, giving Maharaja the elixir it needed. So Maharaja Gaj Singh's birthday party in Jodhpur last month, where select Press was invited, becomes yet another reason to perpetuate the kingly legend ¦ and beckon the world/tourist.
(His polo-playing son by logical extension is called Yuvraj Shivraj Singh.) Fashion designer Ritu Kumar's book, The Royal Costumes of India, takes portraits of all major north Indian royal family descendants, referring to them by their extended would-have-been titles. Kumar justifies her usage saying that the titles used are those that the public of their riyasat address them as, or how they are usually addressed in polite circles. Needless to add, Kumar's book gave a major fillip to the ex-royals' comeback bid. And in television, Siddhartha Basu, compering the finals of Mastermind India on the BBC, also suddenly called Gaj Singh, the chief guest, Maharaja, further activating the trend.

There's more. Shyam Benegal's much-touted period-piece Zubeida, with Karishma Kapoor and Manoj Bajpai, is the real life story of a celluloid actress who marries Hanuvant Singh, the then Maharaja of Jodhpur (Gaj Singh Dad), who subsequently dies in an air crash. Social bee Manya Patil especially organised a high-power premier for the film in Delhi for which she invited Zubeida's daughter, 28-year-old Jayanandani.

It's likely that the royal comeback bid would continue for a while ... with a number of sponsors (mostly liquor brands) lending their names to polo tournaments. And journos will continue to write about them because they've got an increasing number of soft pages to fill. The ex-royals themselves justify their importance in a bizarre way, like Gaj Singh said at the book launch of Jyoti Jafa's Really, Your Highness (itself a royal eulogy): My forefathers were totally committed to the cause of the people of his state. Ha.

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