Prime Minister's Conference Room, South Block, New Delhi
8 March 1948, 3:47 PM.
The cabinet room carried the weight of history in its very architecture. High ceilings designed to intimidate colonial subjects now sheltered the architects of independence. The scent of polished teak mingled with the faint trace of sandalwood incense from the small shrine in the corner, a concession to tradition that Anirban had quietly permitted. Afternoon light slanted through tall windows, casting geometric patterns across the long mahogany table where India's leadership had gathered.
The news had traveled ahead via encrypted diplomatic cables, but the physical presence of the man who had achieved the impossible transformed anticipation into reality. Anirban Sen walked into the room with the steady gait of someone who had just crossed an ocean and multiple time zones, yet whose exhaustion was subsumed beneath the electric energy of accomplished objectives. In his hands, he carried a small velvet-wrapped box that seemed to hold more than its physical dimensions suggested.
Seated around the table were the core architects of the new India. Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel occupied his customary position, dressed in immaculate white khadi, his severe expression softened slightly by curiosity about what Anirban had brought back from America. Dr. B.R. Ambedkar sat with his characteristic upright posture, legal documents arranged with precision before him, his sharp eyes already assessing the implications of whatever was about to unfold. R.K. Shanmukham Chetty, the Finance Minister, had spread budget projections across his section of the table with the perpetual wariness of someone who knew that every grand vision eventually demanded accounting. Dr. Saraswati Sinha maintained her composed presence, notebooks filled with preliminary frameworks for education reform resting before her. Rajkumari Amrit Kaur represented the Health Ministry with her aristocratic bearing tempered by genuine social conscience. Dr. Rajendra Prasad, soon to be President, observed with the quiet authority of someone who had earned respect through decades of service rather than demanding it through position.
Behind them, standing at respectful distances near the walls, were the senior bureaucrats whose administrative genius would transform policy into reality. The Secretary of Education took notes with meticulous care. The Home Secretary maintained the watchful expression of someone responsible for internal security. The Finance Secretary sat beside Chetty, ready to translate political vision into fiscal reality. And R.N. Dubey, Anirban's Principal Secretary who also served as chief of the Directorate of External Security and Intelligence, stood near the door with the alertness of someone whose responsibilities extended beyond the visible.
"Gentlemen, Madam," Anirban began, his voice carrying the quiet confidence of someone returning from triumph, "the permanent seat at the United Nations Security Council is secured. India now sits alongside the victorious powers of the recent war, recognized as a force that must be consulted in matters of global peace and security."
A ripple of satisfaction moved through the room. This achievement had required weeks of diplomatic maneuvering in New York and Geneva, carefully navigating between American ambitions and Soviet suspicions, between British reluctance to see their former colony elevated and French concerns about colonial precedent. .
That Anirban had succeeded spoke to both his strategic acumen and his willingness to make promises and extract concessions that would shape India's foreign policy for years to come.
"But I did not return empty-handed from the West," Anirban continued, his tone shifting to something more intimate, more weighted with significance beyond diplomacy.
He placed the velvet-wrapped box at the center of the table with deliberate ceremony, allowing the moment to build. The room fell silent, attention focusing on this small object that somehow commanded the space. He opened it slowly, the revelation unfolding like the opening of a story that had been waiting to be told.
Inside, nestled against dark velvet, sat a canary-yellow diamond shaped like a perfect pear, its facets catching the afternoon light and throwing fragments of golden radiance across the table and walls. The stone seemed to glow with an inner fire, as if holding within itself the compressed history of centuries, the crystallized memory of kingdoms and dynasties, the physical manifestation of heritage that had been separated from its home.
"The Moon of Baroda," Anirban said softly, watching their faces as recognition dawned and wonder displaced their usual careful political expressions.
The diamond was legendary in certain circles. Twenty-four point zero four carats of flawless fancy yellow diamond, it had belonged to the Gaekwad dynasty of Baroda for generations before disappearing into private Western collections during the chaotic period when Indian princes were selling assets to maintain their lifestyles under colonial pressure. It had passed through auction houses in London and Paris, through the hands of wealthy American collectors who valued it as an exotic curiosity without understanding what it represented.
Saraswati said "So you already started the Hunt? Hah..."
Patel leaned forward slightly, his experienced eyes assessing not just the diamond's beauty but the implications of its repatriation. His voice carried approval mixed with calculation when he spoke. "You are establishing precedent. One diamond returns, and suddenly the return of others becomes thinkable rather than impossible."
"Precisely, Sardarji," Anirban confirmed, his expression suggesting he had thought through exactly these implications. "This stone is designated DCI-1, the first acquisition. There will be others. Over the coming months and years, we will systematically locate and repatriate cultural artifacts that were stolen outright, sold under duress during famines or political instability, or otherwise removed from India during periods when we lacked the power to protect our heritage."
He paused, letting that vision settle into their consciousness.
" Well Saraswati it's not Hunt it's reclaiming what is ours .But .."Anirban added "The Koh-i-Noor remains beyond our immediate reach. It sits in the British Crown Jewels, and they will not part with it willingly, not yet. The political cost of demanding its return exceeds our current leverage. But there are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of other pieces scattered across European museums, private American collections, auction houses in Switzerland and London, the storage rooms of families who acquired them during the Raj and have forgotten their origins."
He closed the box gently, the gesture marking a transition from symbol to substance, from the particular to the systematic.
"Manuscripts that document our mathematical and astronomical achievements, providing evidence of scientific traditions that predate European claims to discovery. Sculptures that represent our artistic traditions in their full sophistication, demonstrating aesthetic philosophies that need no Western validation. Paintings, jewelry, religious artifacts, architectural fragments removed from temple complexes—pieces of our civilization that were taken when we were too weak to defend them. They are coming home."
His voice took on a harder edge, the tone of someone who had thought deeply about methods and was willing to employ whatever proved necessary.
"Some will return through purchase when we can afford it, when sellers can be convinced that Indian buyers will pay fair market value. Some will return through diplomatic pressure when we have leverage, when we can make continued possession uncomfortable or politically costly for current holders. And some will return through methods that will remain undiscussed in official meetings but which Dubey-ji and his organization are already implementing with considerable effectiveness."
Dubey, standing near the door with his habitual alertness, allowed himself the slightest nod of acknowledgment. His Directorate of External Security and Intelligence had proven remarkably effective at cultivating assets in European art markets and auction houses, at identifying pressure points that could be exploited without overt confrontation, at making certain artifacts simply too complicated or embarrassing for Western institutions to retain. A carefully leaked provenance showing theft during a famine. A hint to journalists about uncomfortable colonial connections. Strategic complications in export licensing. The methods varied, but the results accumulated.
"The Archaeological Survey of India has already been instructed to prepare facilities and protocols for receiving these artifacts, So before it got ready Those will stay In PMO" Anirban continued. "Dr. Ambedkar, your legal team has been invaluable in establishing the legislative framework we will need. The Cultural Property Preservation Act is nearly complete, is it not?"
Ambedkar inclined his head with the precision that characterized all his work. "The draft legislation is in final review, Prime Minister. We have studied the international conventions on cultural heritage, examined the legal frameworks employed by other nations recovering dispersed patrimony, and adapted these precedents to our constitutional structure. Once passed by Parliament, we will have clear legal authority to designate returned items as national treasures, preventing their re-export regardless of private claims or commercial interests. We will establish unambiguous government custody over repatriated artifacts, protected by law from future dispersal."
"Excellent work," Anirban said with genuine appreciation. "But I want everyone in this room to understand something fundamental about how we will handle these returning treasures."
He walked to the blackboard that dominated one wall of the conference room, his movements carrying the unconscious habits of his professorial past. He picked up chalk and began writing, the familiar gesture helping him organize complex thoughts into communicable form.
"We will not rush to display these items immediately upon their return to Indian soil," he said, writing as he spoke to reinforce the point. "We will catalogue them meticulously using the most rigorous scholarly methods available. We will preserve and restore them using the best conservation techniques that modern science can provide. We will study them and document their provenance and historical significance. We will photograph and record them thoroughly. But public display will wait."
He wrote a date on the board in large numerals: 1965
The number hung in the air, demanding explanation. Rajendra Prasad, with his gentle voice that carried authority earned through decades rather than asserted through force, asked the question that others were thinking.
"Prime Minister, why such an extended delay? I understand the need for proper conservation and study, but seventeen years seems extraordinarily long. Surely these artifacts would inspire national pride immediately, would demonstrate to our citizens the richness and sophistication of our cultural heritage, would provide tangible proof that Indian civilization achieved greatness long before Western contact?"
It was a fair question, rooted in the natural impulse to use cultural achievement as balm for the wounds of colonial subjugation. Anirban had anticipated it and had thought deeply about how to explain the psychology he was trying to avoid.
"They would inspire pride, Rajendra-ji," Anirban agreed, his voice carrying both respect for the question and certainty about his answer. "But they would also create a narrative we cannot afford to reinforce at this moment in our history. If we display them immediately while children are starving in refugee camps, while our cities struggle with basic sanitation, while our industrial base remains primitive compared to Western nations, while we lack the infrastructure that other independent nations take for granted, these artifacts become symbols of past glory that implicitly suggest present decline.."
He turned to face the room, his expression intense with the weight of this psychological analysis.
"They become evidence that we were once great, which carries the terrible and unspoken implication that we are no longer great. They become crutches for insecurity rather than foundations for confidence. Visitors to a museum displaying magnificent Chola bronzes or Gupta-era sculptures would leave thinking 'Look what we once were' rather than 'Look what we are becoming.' The artifacts would inadvertently reinforce the colonial narrative that Indian civilization peaked in some distant golden age and has been in decline ever since, needing Western intervention to regain lost glory."
The room absorbed this uncomfortable truth. Saraswati was nodding slowly, her academic training allowing her to see the psychological dynamics Anirban was describing.
"But by 1965," Anirban continued, his voice taking on the quality of someone painting a vision of the possible, "if we execute our plans properly across multiple domains, India will have established significant industrial capacity. We will have steel mills and machine tool factories and chemical plants demonstrating that we can manufacture complex goods rather than merely consuming Western products. We will have achieved dramatic literacy gains through the education reforms Saraswati is implementing, proving that Indian minds are as capable as any when given proper opportunity. We will have demonstrated through our governance, our economic growth, our cultural production, that we are not merely heirs to an ancient civilization but active builders of a modern one."
He gestured at the date on the blackboard.
"Then these artifacts become something fundamentally different. They become evidence of continuity rather than contrast. They prove that our current achievements are not breaks from tradition, not desperate attempts to catch up with the West by abandoning our heritage, but rather the natural evolution of civilizational capabilities that have always existed. They become sources of confident pride rather than compensatory nostalgia. They demonstrate that the same culture that produced these masterpieces centuries ago is still vital, still creative, still achieving excellence in new forms appropriate to new circumstances."
The logic was characteristically Anirban, thinking several moves ahead, understanding that the same object could carry entirely different meanings depending on the context of its presentation. It reflected his doubled consciousness, his memories from another life of how symbols could be weaponized in culture wars, how heritage could be deployed either to inspire or to paralyze..
Amrit Kaur raised a practical concern, her aristocratic bearing combined with genuine pragmatism. "Prime Minister, where do these artifacts reside during this seventeen-year period? We cannot simply store them in government warehouses like surplus grain. They require specific environmental conditions, security, scholarly access for legitimate research purposes."
"They will be housed in secure, climate-controlled facilities we are constructing," Anirban replied, appreciating the question's practicality. "The Indian Museum in Calcutta will be significantly expanded to include state-of-the-art conservation laboratories and storage vaults. We are planning purpose-built conservation centers in Delhi and possibly other locations, designed specifically for artifact preservation using the most advanced techniques available internationally. These facilities will be accessible to qualified scholars, but not to the general public. Researchers will be able to study the artifacts, publish findings, build the scholarly literature that will eventually contextualize public display."
He returned to the blackboard and began creating an organizational structure, boxes and connecting lines emerging under his chalk.
"Which brings me to the substantive institutional reforms we must implement immediately to handle this work properly," he said, his tone shifting from explanation to announcement. "We are creating a new Department of Culture, to be housed within the Ministry of Education, Science, and Technology under Saraswati's overall authority."
He wrote the organizational hierarchy:
MINISTRY OF EDUCATION, SCIENCE, AND TECHNOLOGY
↓
DEPARTMENT OF CULTURE
"This is not merely administrative reorganization for its own sake," Anirban continued, his voice carrying conviction about the importance of this structural change. "It represents a fundamental reconceptualization of how we approach our cultural heritage and its relationship to our educational mission. Currently, the Archaeological Survey of India operates as a semi-independent entity with unclear mandate, insufficient resources, and no coherent strategic direction. The Indian Museum functions essentially as a colonial relic, cataloging artifacts according to British taxonomies and interpretations, preserving their ways of understanding our heritage rather than developing our own frameworks."
Saraswati leaned forward, her scholarly instincts fully engaged with the possibilities this reorganization presented. Her voice carried the enthusiasm of someone who had been thinking about these exact problems.
"The current institutional structure reflects colonial priorities, Prime Minister. The ASI was created to map and catalogue Indian heritage for British understanding and control, not to serve Indian educational or cultural needs. The Indian Museum in Calcutta was designed to impress British officials and visiting dignitaries with exotic curiosities, not to help Indians understand their own civilization. We need systemic reform that realigns these institutions with independent India's priorities."
"Your duty, Saraswati," Anirban said, looking directly at her with the intensity that signaled he was assigning a mission rather than merely delegating tasks, "will be comprehensive categorization, restoration, and preparation. We are not looters accumulating trophies for display. We are not colonial administrators organizing curiosities for metropolitan consumption. We are custodians preserving civilization itself, scholars documenting heritage for future generations, educators preparing materials that will shape how Indians understand themselves."
He enumerated the responsibilities, his professorial instincts surfacing in the systematic breakdown of complex tasks.
"Every artifact that returns to Indian soil will be properly studied using rigorous scholarly methods. You will establish protocols for documentation that meet international academic standards while also serving our specific educational and cultural objectives. You will oversee conservation using the best available techniques, which means we will need to train Indian conservators or recruit international expertise where necessary. You will prepare these artifacts for eventual public presentation in ways that maximize their educational value rather than merely displaying them aesthetically."
He paused, then added the institutional dimension.
"You will build the capacity to do all of this properly, which means creating training programs for conservators, establishing research fellowships for scholars who can study and contextualize artifacts, constructing proper storage and laboratory facilities, developing the full institutional infrastructure that serious cultural stewardship requires. This is not a small undertaking, Saraswati. This is building the foundation for how India will understand and present its own heritage for generations to come."
She met his gaze with matching intensity, the weight of the responsibility settling visibly onto her shoulders but her posture remaining erect, accepting the burden. "I understand, Prime Minister. The Department of Culture will develop comprehensive standards and protocols. We will build institutions that future generations can rely upon rather than structures that serve only immediate political needs."
Anirban turned back to the blackboard and began adding budget allocation categories, numbers emerging in neat columns.
"The funding mechanism," he announced, his voice taking on the careful precision that indicated he was about to present something that would provoke strong reactions, "will allocate zero point eight percent of the Consolidated Fund of India to the Department of Culture annually."
He paused to let that percentage register, then continued before objections could form.
"Of that zero point eight percent, approximately zero point six percent will be distributed among the Archaeological Survey of India, the Indian Museum, and other national museums we will establish."
Chetty's head snapped up sharply, his Finance Minister's instincts immediately alarmed. His voice carried genuine confusion rather than political challenge when he spoke.
"Sir, other national museums? You are proposing to establish multiple new museum institutions beyond the existing Indian Museum in Calcutta? How many museums are we discussing? Where would they be located? What would be their specific mandates and collections?"
The budget implications were clearly racing through Chetty's mind, capital costs multiplying in his calculations, operational expenses compounding over years.
Anirban's response was delivered with the calm certainty of someone who had thought through these questions thoroughly and reached conclusions he would not be dissuaded from.
"Yes, Chetty-ji, other national museums. We are a civilization with documented history extending five thousand years and archaeological evidence suggesting continuous cultural development far beyond that timeframe. We encompass the Indus Valley urban civilization, the Vedic period with its sophisticated philosophical and literary traditions, the Mauryan Empire that unified the subcontinent politically, the Gupta golden age of classical culture, the Chola maritime empire, the Vijayanagara synthesis, the Mughal cultural flowering, and countless regional dynasties and local traditions that contributed to the extraordinary diversity of Indian civilization."
He gestured at the map of India hanging on the wall, his hand sweeping across the vast subcontinent.
"One museum in Calcutta, organized according to British colonial frameworks and housed in a building designed to serve imperial priorities, is manifestly inadequate to represent this heritage properly. It cannot possibly do justice to Tamil temple architecture, Bengali literary traditions, Rajasthani painting schools, Assamese cultural practices, Kerala's mathematical achievements, Kashmir's philosophical schools, and dozens of other regional traditions that deserve serious scholarly attention and public presentation."
He began listing on the blackboard, creating a preliminary catalogue of planned institutions:
INDIAN NATIONAL MUSEUM SYSTEM
Indian Museum, Calcutta (expanded and reorganized) National Museum, New Delhi (new construction) Regional Cultural Museums (locations to be determined based on specific heritage concentrations)
"Each major region of India has unique cultural traditions that deserve proper presentation in context," Anirban explained, his tone carrying the conviction of someone arguing for civilizational recognition rather than merely museum expansion. "A museum in Delhi cannot adequately represent the full complexity of Tamil cultural achievement in literature, sculpture, architecture, and philosophy. A facility in Calcutta cannot properly present Rajasthani miniature painting traditions or Gujarati textile arts in their regional context. We need regional institutions that can present local traditions in their full depth and complexity while also connecting them to the broader narrative of Indian civilization as a whole."
Saraswati, who had been making rapid notes as he spoke, looked up with sudden intensity, her eyes bright with an idea that clearly demanded immediate articulation. "Prime Minister, may I offer a suggestion regarding these new museums we are planning?"
Her tone carried the particular quality of someone who had just seen a possibility that connected multiple concerns elegantly, the scholarly excitement of a solution presenting itself.
"Please," Anirban invited, setting down the chalk and giving her his full attention in a gesture that signaled he valued her input genuinely rather than merely tolerating interruption.
She stood, moving to the blackboard to stand beside him, her presence commanding attention through the force of conviction rather than through asserting formal authority. Her voice carried passionate precision when she spoke, each word carefully chosen to articulate a vision that had clearly been forming as she listened.
"If we are planning to construct new museum buildings from foundation level rather than merely adapting existing colonial structures, we must ensure that the architecture itself embodies the principles we are trying to advance. The museum structure should not be some generic modern box built according to international architectural fashion, nor should it be a nostalgic pastiche that merely imitates historical forms without understanding their underlying principles."
She turned to face the room, her expression intense with the vision she was articulating.
"The architecture should present living history. It should express the cultural heritage of its specific region in its very pillars, in its bricks, in its spatial organization and decorative vocabulary. A visitor should learn something fundamental about the culture being presented simply by experiencing the building itself, before they ever examine a single artifact inside."
She moved back to the blackboard and began sketching rough architectural concepts, her hand moving with the confidence of someone who had studied these traditions seriously.
"Imagine a museum dedicated to South Indian cultural heritage. Its architecture should incorporate principles from Dravidian temple design without literally building a temple or creating a religious structure. Draw on those spatial hierarchies, those systems of proportion, those decorative traditions that define South Indian architectural aesthetics. Use gopuram-inspired entrance sequences that create progressive spatial experiences. Employ the courtyard organizations that characterize traditional South Indian institutional architecture. Reference the sculptural programs that animate temple surfaces, but adapted to contemporary materials and construction methods."
Her voice grew more animated as the vision developed.
"A visitor walking through that building would understand something profound about South Indian spatial thinking, about how that culture organizes experience and creates meaningful architecture, before they ever read an exhibit label or study an artifact. The building itself becomes pedagogical, teaching through direct physical experience rather than merely through verbal explanation."
Amrit Kaur was nodding enthusiastically, her own background in education and social reform allowing her to see the pedagogical power of what Saraswati was describing. "The building becomes part of the education rather than merely a container for educational content. The architecture itself makes an argument about the sophistication and continuing vitality of Indian cultural traditions. I agree entirely with this approach, Dr. Sinha."
Patel added his endorsement, his voice carrying the weight of someone who understood cultural politics deeply. "We have spent too long accepting the assumption that modernity necessarily means copying Western architectural forms, that progress requires abandoning our own spatial and aesthetic traditions. If we are truly confident in the value and sophistication of our heritage, we should be able to create contemporary architecture that honors historical principles without resorting to nostalgic imitation or museum-piece reproduction."
His eyes gleamed with something that might have been satisfaction at the cultural confidence this represented.
"This approach demonstrates actual cultural maturity rather than insecurity. Insecure cultures either slavishly imitate foreign models or defensively retreat into literal reproduction of the past. Confident cultures understand their traditions deeply enough to evolve them, to create contemporary expressions that honor historical principles while serving current needs. I strongly support Saraswati's vision for these museums."
But even as this consensus formed around architectural philosophy, Chetty's face had gone progressively paler, his expression shifting from concerned to genuinely alarmed. His hands gripped his budget projections with visible tension, his knuckles whitening as the fiscal implications of what was being proposed registered fully.
"Prime Minister," he said, his voice strained with barely controlled panic, "please understand what you are describing from a budgetary perspective. Purpose-designed architecture that incorporates sophisticated regional traditions requires specialized architectural expertise, traditional craftsmanship combined with modern engineering, extended design and construction timelines. Regional museums distributed across the country means multiple facilities, each requiring land acquisition, construction, staffing, operational budgets. Conservation laboratories and climate-controlled storage facilities represent significant capital expenditure plus ongoing operational costs."
He looked down at his projections, then back up at Anirban with something approaching desperation.
"We are discussing capital expenditure that could easily run into hundreds of crores of rupees over the next ten to fifteen years, plus recurring annual operational costs that will grow as these institutions mature and expand their activities. This is before we even consider the costs of acquiring and repatriating artifacts, the scholarly programs you mentioned, the training initiatives for conservators and curators. The total budgetary implications are staggering, Prime Minister. Simply staggering."
The room waited for Anirban's response, the tension between grand cultural vision and stark fiscal reality hanging in the air like humidity before a storm. This was the moment where many ambitious proposals collapsed, where practical constraints forced retreat from aspirational goals.
But Anirban's expression remained calm, his voice carrying patience rather than irritation when he responded to Chetty's concerns.
"We have time, Chetty-ji," he said gently, as if explaining something obvious that had been temporarily forgotten in the panic of immediate calculations. "We are not proposing to construct all of these institutions simultaneously next year. We are not planning to build ten museums in parallel starting immediately."
He walked over to Chetty's position at the table and placed a reassuring hand on the Finance Minister's shoulder.
"We will phase the development over ten to fifteen years, perhaps longer, beginning with the most critical facilities and expanding as resources permit and as specific regional needs become clear. The Indian Museum expansion and the National Museum in Delhi will be first priorities, established within the next five years. Regional museums will follow as funding becomes available and as we identify specific collections and mandates that justify new institutions.".
His tone shifted slightly, becoming firmer, indicating that while he understood fiscal concerns he would not accept them as absolute veto over cultural priorities.
"But yes, Chetty-ji, we will build them. This is non-negotiable. The timeline is flexible, the specific locations can be debated, the precise architectural programs can evolve. But the fundamental commitment to creating a proper national museum infrastructure is not subject to budget cuts or deferral to some indefinite future. This is foundational national infrastructure as important as roads or dams or schools, and we will find the resources to build it properly."
He walked back to the blackboard, his movement giving him a moment to organize his next argument.
"Our cultural heritage is not a luxury expenditure to be cut when budgets are tight, to be treated as decorative frosting on the cake of material development. It is foundational infrastructure that shapes national identity, educational effectiveness, and cultural confidence. A nation that does not know its past, that does not preserve and properly understand its cultural continuity, is a nation vulnerable to having its identity defined by others, its self-conception shaped by foreign narratives and external judgments."
His voice took on harder edges, the intensity of someone who had seen in another life what happened when nations lost control of their own stories.
"We saw exactly what happened when British historians wrote our history for us. Suddenly we became a land of superstition and backwardness that needed Western enlightenment. Suddenly our mathematical achievements were attributed to Arabs or Greeks through tortured and evidence-free transmission theories. Suddenly our philosophical traditions were dismissed as mystical nonsense unworthy of serious study. Suddenly our political traditions were characterized as despotic and anarchic, requiring British order and law to civilize chaos."
He paused, letting the accumulated resentment of these colonial narratives register.
"We will not allow those narratives to persist or to be replaced by new versions that serve other foreign interests. We will develop our own scholarly understanding of our heritage, create our own frameworks for interpretation, build our own institutions for preservation and presentation. And yes, this will be expensive. But the cost of not doing it properly would be far higher, measured not in rupees but in civilizational self-respect and national coherence."
He allowed a slight smile, acknowledging that fiscal concerns deserved practical responses as well as philosophical justifications.
"And frankly, Chetty-ji, you will find that cultural institutions properly managed can generate revenue as well as consume it. Museums charge admission fees, which can be structured to make them accessible to ordinary Indians while generating significant income from wealthy patrons and foreign tourists. They license reproductions of artifacts for educational or commercial use. They attract international tourism that supports local economies far beyond museum walls. They create employment for skilled professionals in conservation, curation, education, and administration."
He returned to his seat, his voice becoming more conversational.
"Properly managed, these institutions will not be pure cost centers draining the treasury indefinitely. They will be investments that generate returns, both tangible economic returns and intangible but equally valuable returns in cultural confidence and educational effectiveness."
The tension in Chetty's posture eased slightly, though his expression still carried the wariness of someone who would need to defend these allocations to skeptical parliamentary committees and budget review boards.
Anirban looked around the table, his gaze moving deliberately from face to face, ensuring everyone present understood the full scope and significance of what was being proposed.
"Let us formalize this initiative with a proper institutional name," he announced, turning back to the blackboard. "The Indian Museum in Calcutta after its expansion and reorganization, the planned National Museum in Delhi, and the regional cultural museums we will establish over the coming years will collectively operate as the Indian National Museum System."
He wrote the name in capital letters:
INDIAN NATIONAL MUSEUM SYSTEM
"This designation establishes them as a coordinated network rather than isolated institutions pursuing independent agendas," he explained, his professorial instincts surfacing in the systematic exposition. "It allows them to share resources efficiently, avoiding unnecessary duplication while maintaining appropriate regional specialization. They can coordinate traveling exhibitions that circulate important artifacts among facilities, allowing broader public access. They can develop common professional standards for conservation, curation, and education, ensuring consistent quality across the network.
They can share specialized expertise, so that a conservation specialist based in Delhi can advise on specific technical problems in Calcutta or regional facilities."
He added connecting lines between the boxes on his diagram, visually representing the network relationships.
"Most importantly, they can present a unified vision of Indian cultural heritage that acknowledges regional diversity while also demonstrating civilizational continuity and coherence. Visitors to the Tamil cultural museum will understand how South Indian traditions connect to broader patterns visible in Rajasthani or Bengali contexts, how regional specificity and trans-regional themes coexist rather than compete."
Around the table, heads nodded in understanding and agreement. Even Chetty seemed somewhat mollified by the promise of coordinated efficiency and potential revenue generation, though his expression still carried the perpetual concern of someone who would need to find the actual rupees to fund these visions.
Anirban drew a deep breath, preparing to present the complete budget allocation framework that had been building through this discussion. This was the moment where abstract principles would meet concrete fiscal commitments, where vision would either gain budgetary foundation or collapse into aspirational rhetoric.
"So let me now present the complete cultural funding allocation framework," he said, his voice carrying the careful precision that indicated he was about to commit significant resources and expected support rather than merely floating trial balloons.
He turned to the blackboard and began writing budget percentages in clear numerals, creating a formal allocation structure:
CONSOLIDATED FUND ALLOCATIONS:
Department of Culture: 0.8% ASI, Indian National Museum System, Other Cultural Institutions: 0.6%
"Zero point eight percent of the Consolidated Fund of India will be allocated to the Department of Culture annually," he announced, the number now written in permanent chalk rather than existing only in discussion. "This represents approximately the amount that serious cultural stewardship requires if we are to build proper institutional capacity rather than merely maintaining minimal operations."
He tapped the 0.6% figure.
"Of this zero point eight percent total, zero point six percent will be distributed among the Archaeological Survey of India for its field operations and research activities, the Indian National Museum System for its conservation and exhibition programs, and other cultural institutions we establish to serve specific preservation or educational needs. This zero point six percent provides the stable funding base these institutions require for long-term planning rather than forcing them into annual budget battles where cultural priorities compete disadvantageously against more immediately pressing needs."
He paused, allowing these numbers to settle into consciousness, then added the next component.
"Zero point two percent of the Consolidated Fund will be allocated to the Prasar Bharati Corporation, which I will discuss in detail momentarily."
He wrote this allocation clearly:
PRASAR BHARATI CORPORATION: 0.2%
"And an additional zero point two percent will support the Sports Authority of India."
He added this third allocation:
SPORTS AUTHORITY OF INDIA: 0.2%
The moment the Sports Authority allocation appeared on the board, Dr. Ambedkar's eyebrows rose sharply, his legal and analytical mind immediately noting the discrepancy with existing policy. His voice carried genuine puzzlement when he spoke, the tone of someone who needed clarification rather than offering challenge.
"Prime Minister, the Sports Authority of India is already operating with a zero point zero five percent allocation from the Consolidated Fund under the enabling legislation we passed last year. That allocation was determined after careful consideration of the SAI's mandate and operational requirements. Why are you now proposing to quadruple its budget? Has the mandate changed significantly? Have operational costs exceeded our projections by such dramatic margins?"
Chetty was looking at Anirban with the same question clearly visible in his expression, his Finance Minister's instincts immediately alarmed by the casual mention of such a substantial budget increase for an institution that already had statutory funding. His hand moved to his projections, beginning calculations of what this increase would mean for overall budget balance.
Anirban had anticipated this reaction and had prepared his justification carefully, knowing that sports spending was often seen as frivolous compared to education or health or infrastructure..
"Several interconnected reasons, Dr. Ambedkar," he replied, his voice calm but carrying conviction about the necessity of this increase. "First, and most simply, the current allocation of zero point zero five percent is barely sufficient for basic operations at the level we initially envisioned. The SAI should not have to come begging to the Finance Ministry every time it needs to expand a training facility, hire additional coaches, or invest in equipment upgrades. Institutional dignity and operational efficiency both require stable, adequate funding that allows multi-year planning."
He began ticking additional points off on his fingers, the systematic enumeration reflecting his characteristic approach to complex justifications.
"Second, we are planning to launch professional sports leagues beginning next year. Football will be first, followed by Cricket, Hockey and athletics. These leagues will require significant investment in infrastructure, in promotion and marketing to build audiences, in administrative capacity to organize competitions properly. The goal is to create commercially viable enterprises that can eventually become self-sustaining through ticket sales, sponsorships, and media rights. But the initial investment required to establish professional leagues at a quality level that attracts public interest is substantial."
He continued before objections could form.
"Third, the expanded SAI budget provides capacity to conduct quality control over sports equipment and facilities throughout the country. Currently, our athletes often train with substandard equipment because there is no systematic oversight of what schools and local clubs purchase. This undermines athletic development at grassroots level, creating deficiencies that cannot be remedied even with excellent coaching at elite levels. The SAI needs resources and mandate to establish equipment standards and certification processes."
His voice took on particular intensity for the next point.
"Fourth, and perhaps most importantly, we are in the process of recruiting international coaches to train our athletes in preparation for future Olympic Games and other international competitions. I have already created a preliminary list of coaches we should target for recruitment, individuals from countries with strong athletic traditions who possess the expertise we currently lack domestically and who are willing to come to India if offered appropriate compensation and working conditions."
He pulled a document from his folder, the list he had mentioned, clearly already quite developed beyond preliminary stage.
"We will begin the recruitment process within the coming months, certainly before May of this year. The expanded SAI budget allows us to offer compensation packages competitive with what these coaches could earn in Europe or America, rather than forcing us to settle for whoever we can afford with inadequate funding. Excellence in coaching requires appropriate investment in coach salaries and working conditions."
He paused, then added almost as an afterthought, his tone suggesting this was a minor detail though the room's reaction would prove otherwise.
"And I have already placed orders for cinematography equipment while I was in America. The SAI will need capacity to film training sessions and competitions for detailed analysis and improvement, similar to what advanced sporting nations have been doing for years. Visual analysis of technique, the ability to study movements in slow motion, comparative analysis of our athletes against international competitors—these tools are becoming essential to high-level athletic development and ..."
"Ahhhhh," Chetty said, a sound that began as acknowledgment but rose into something between exasperation and disbelief, carrying overtones of a Finance Minister confronting yet another unexpected expenditure that had apparently already been committed without formal budget approval.
Patel, who had been listening to this explanation with his characteristic combination of strategic assessment and tactical questioning, asked the question that had clearly been forming in his mind as Anirban revealed these already-implemented commitments. His voice carried both curiosity and something that might have been amused exasperation.
"Anirban, how exactly did you acquire the funds to purchase cinematography equipment in America? Such specialized technical equipment cannot have been inexpensive, particularly equipment of the quality necessary for detailed athletic analysis and film making And I was not aware that any government allocation had been made for such a purchase, nor that such an expenditure had been submitted through normal budget approval processes."
Anirban looked momentarily like someone who had hoped this particular question might not arise immediately, or at least might be delayed until a more convenient moment in the discussion. For a brief instant, his habitual confidence gave way to something resembling the expression of a student caught by a perceptive teacher in an action that was defensible but perhaps not entirely orthodox.
The room waited, the silence taking on quality of collective curiosity mixed with growing amusement at the Prime Minister's evident discomfort.
"Well, Sardarji," Anirban finally said, recovering his composure though a faint color had risen in his cheeks, "I used personal funds that I have been accumulating and carefully investing since my teenage years. Money saved from various sources over the years, invested prudently in securities and properties that generated returns, and reserved for purposes that seemed important to national development but might not receive immediate government approval through normal budgetary processes."
He met Patel's gaze directly, his voice taking on a slightly defensive edge.
"The equipment was clearly needed if we are serious about developing world-class athletic programs. I could acquire it more quickly and with less bureaucratic complication using personal funds than through official channels that would have required budget submissions, committee approvals, tender processes, and months or years of procedural delays. So I simply purchased what was needed and arranged for its shipment to India. The equipment will be donated to the Sports Authority and will serve national purposes regardless of the funding source."
The room sat in momentary stunned silence, processing this casual revelation. Here was the Prime Minister of India, the leader of a government struggling with massive financial constraints across multiple sectors, casually revealing that he had been using substantial personal wealth to advance national objectives that he deemed important.
Around the table, expressions ranged from astonishment to admiration to something that might have been concern about the precedent being set. The senior bureaucrats standing against the walls exchanged glances that suggested they were witnessing something highly irregular but were uncertain whether to be impressed or alarmed.
Finally, someone spoke. It might have been Rajendra Prasad, or perhaps Amrit Kaur, or possibly even one of the secretaries. The voice was quiet but carried clearly through the silence, articulating what everyone was thinking.
"Madman."
The word hung in the air for a moment, then was echoed around the table in murmurs of agreement, the tone carrying affection and exasperation in equal measure.
"Madman," Ambedkar repeated, shaking his head but unable to suppress a smile.
"Complete madman," Chetty added, though his voice carried reluctant admiration rather than criticism.
"Utterly mad," Saraswati confirmed, her expression suggesting she approved entirely of this particular form of madness.
Patel's expression was unreadable for a long moment, hovering somewhere between exasperation and grudging admiration, between concern about precedent and appreciation for commitment. Finally, he spoke, his voice carrying the dry tone that indicated he was simultaneously criticizing and praising.
"You are a most unusual Prime Minister, Anirban. Most politicians seek office specifically to enrich themselves, to use governmental position for personal financial advantage. You seem to be systematically impoverishing yourself to enrich the nation, spending your own money on public purposes. It is admirable and deeply problematic simultaneously."
"The distinction between personal and national interest matters less than the outcome," Anirban replied simply, his voice carrying conviction that he genuinely saw no particular virtue in what he had done. "The equipment was needed for national athletic development. I had the resources to acquire it quickly. The bureaucratic process would have delayed acquisition by months or years while our athletes continued training without proper analytical tools. So I purchased it. The logic seems straightforward."
Ambedkar was shaking his head, but with amusement rather than disapproval, his legal mind engaging with the precedent implications. "I should note for the record that while individually admirable, this practice sets an unsustainable precedent for governance. Future Prime Ministers should not be expected to fund government initiatives from personal resources. We must ensure that the budgetary systems we are establishing provide adequate resources for legitimate national priorities without requiring leaders to supplement from private wealth."
"Agreed entirely," Anirban acknowledged without defensiveness. "Which is precisely why we are establishing these statutory funding mechanisms through Consolidated Fund allocations. This use of personal funds was a temporary expedient during a transitional period when our budgetary systems are still being established and normal processes move too slowly for urgent needs. Once we have proper statutory allocations functioning, such personal supplementation should become unnecessary."
Chetty had been doing rapid calculations on the papers before him during this exchange, his expression suggesting someone wrestling with numbers that refused to behave according to orthodox fiscal principles. His hand moved across the budget projections, adjusting figures, calculating percentages, projecting revenue requirements.
Finally, he looked up, his voice carrying the strained patience of someone about to articulate uncomfortable fiscal reality to people who seemed determined to ignore it.
"Prime Minister, colleagues, please understand what we are committing to when we sum these allocations. Zero point six percent for cultural institutions. Zero point two percent for Prasar Bharati, whatever that proves to be in detail. Zero point two percent for the Sports Authority. We are discussing one full percent of the Consolidated Fund allocated to what many members of Parliament and many citizens will characterize as non-essential services."
He gestured at his projections with something approaching despair.
"At a time when we face ongoing food shortages in several regions requiring continued grain imports and distribution subsidies. When infrastructure deficits constrain economic growth across multiple sectors. When refugee rehabilitation from Partition remains incomplete with millions still in camps requiring basic services. When industrial development requires massive capital investment in steel mills, machine tool factories, chemical plants. When the education and health budgets that Dr. Sinha and Rajkumariji are requesting already strain our revenue projections."
He looked around the table, his expression carrying genuine concern rather than political opposition.
"The political opposition to allocating one full percent of government revenue to culture, broadcasting, and sports will be substantial and not entirely unreasonable. How do we justify this when children are hungry, when diseases are spreading, when economic development is constrained by lack of capital?"
It was the fundamental challenge that faced every ambitious social vision when confronted with resource constraints and competing needs. The room waited for Anirban's response, the tension between grand aspirations and stark limitations hanging heavy in the air.
But before Anirban could respond, others began speaking, their voices carrying conviction that these allocations represented not luxury but necessity.
Saraswati spoke first, her voice intense. "Chetty-ji, with respect, you are framing this incorrectly. These allocations are not competing with education and health. They are complementary to them, force multipliers that make our other investments more effective, I think you already knew how the fashion magazines of West portraying the Suit, the dress, the watch, the every item that The Prime Minister wore in this state Visit are spreading there the civilians and fashion designers of there are now discussing the things regarding the fabric , the material everything as per the reports so now .."
She leaned forward, her academic training evident in the systematic argument she constructed.
"Consider what we are trying to achieve in education. I am building schools, training teachers, developing curriculum designed to create scientifically literate, critically thinking citizens. Excellent. Absolutely necessary. But what happens when those students return home to families whose only information sources present Western civilization as superior, Indian culture as backward, foreign products as inherently better than domestic alternatives?"
Her voice grew more passionate.
"Those students are receiving one message at school and a contradictory message everywhere else in their lives. The educational investment is being partially undermined by the cultural environment. But if we also invest in broadcasting that presents Indian achievements with pride, in cultural institutions that demonstrate civilizational sophistication, in sports programs that show Indians competing successfully at the highest levels, then the educational investment is reinforced rather than contradicted. The two investments multiply each other's effectiveness rather than competing for resources."
Amrit Kaur added her support, her experience in health ministry providing additional perspective. "The same logic applies to public health, Chetty-ji. Medical facilities and trained doctors are essential, but health outcomes also depend on cultural practices around hygiene, nutrition, disease prevention. Broadcasting can reach millions of people simultaneously with public health messaging in ways that individual health workers cannot match. Cultural programs can shift social norms around practices that spread disease. The health budget becomes more effective when supported by complementary cultural initiatives."
Patel spoke with the weight of his strategic vision, his voice carrying authority earned through decades of political struggle and administrative achievement.
"And consider national integration, which is my primary responsibility in managing the princely states merger and maintaining internal cohesion. We are trying to build unified national consciousness among populations that speak different languages, practice different religions, maintain different cultural traditions. What creates that shared identity?"
He paused for emphasis.
"Shared stories. Shared symbols. Shared experiences of collective achievement. Broadcasting that reaches across regional boundaries. Sports competitions where Indians from different states compete as national teams. Cultural institutions that present regional diversity as enriching rather than dividing. These are not luxuries, Chetty-ji. These are the social infrastructure that makes political unity sustainable beyond mere governmental administration."
His voice took on harder edges.
"We can build roads and dams and factories, but without shared identity and cultural confidence, regional separatism will tear apart whatever material progress we achieve. The one percent we are allocating to culture, broadcasting, and sports is the glue that holds together everything else we are trying to build."
Rajendra Prasad added his gentle but firm voice to this growing consensus. "And we must think about what kind of nation we are trying to create, not merely what material conditions we are trying to achieve. Are we building a nation of people who know only how to work, who can feed themselves but have no sense of meaning or identity or civilizational purpose? Or are we building a complete society where material sufficiency supports human flourishing in all its dimensions?"
He looked directly at Chetty with compassion but also conviction.
"Culture, sports, artistic achievement, historical knowledge—these are not decorative additions to be pursued only after we achieve material prosperity. They are essential components of human dignity and social cohesion that must be developed alongside material progress."
Anirban allowed these voices to make his argument for him, understanding that support from multiple perspectives would be more persuasive than his own reiteration. But he added his own conclusion, his voice carrying the intensity of someone drawing on knowledge from two lifetimes of studying how nations succeeded and failed.
"Chetty-ji, let me ask you to consider one additional perspective. What is the purpose of economic development? Why do we want India to become prosperous in material terms?"
Chetty looked somewhat puzzled by what seemed like a philosophical diversion from practical budget discussion. "So that our people can live with dignity, with sufficient food and shelter and opportunity for advancement."
"Exactly," Anirban confirmed. "But dignity requires more than material sufficiency. It requires cultural confidence. It requires the ability to tell our own stories rather than having them told for us by others who serve their own interests. It requires seeing our own people achieve excellence in domains that matter globally, whether those domains are scientific research or athletic competition or artistic creation."
"Exactly," Anirban confirmed. "But dignity requires more than material sufficiency. It requires cultural confidence. It requires the ability to tell our own stories rather than having them told for us by others. It requires physical vitality and the pride that comes from athletic achievement. If we create material prosperity while remaining culturally colonized, mentally subjugated, physically inferior to other nations, we have failed."
He turned back to face the room.
"These allocations are investments in the psychological and cultural infrastructure that makes material development sustainable. They are down payments on a future where Indians do not instinctively defer to Western judgments, where we do not assume that anything foreign is automatically superior to anything domestic, where we have the confidence that comes from knowing our heritage and seeing it properly valued."
The argument seemed to land with particular force on Saraswati, whose entire education reform program rested on similar assumptions about the relationship between cultural confidence and material achievement.
"Furthermore," Anirban continued, "these allocations will generate returns that justify the investment. Cultural tourism becomes a revenue source. Broadcasting infrastructure supports commercial activity. Athletic achievement enhances national prestige and can attract foreign interest. We are not simply spending money—we are building assets."
He returned to his seat, sensing that the philosophical justification had been sufficient and it was time to move to operational details.
"Now," he said, "let me address the component that some of you may find most controversial. The Prasar Bharati Corporation and its role in fighting the cultural invasion I observed while abroad."
He paused, ensuring he had their complete attention.
"While I was in America and Europe, I encountered something that should alarm all of us. It is not a military invasion or an economic threat in the conventional sense. It is more subtle and potentially more dangerous—the systematic shaping of global consciousness through media and entertainment."
He pulled out the magazines and newspapers he had brought back—Time Magazine, Life, the New York Times, various European publications—and spread them across the table.
"Look at these carefully. Study how they portray the world. America is presented as modern, dynamic, prosperous, the land of freedom and opportunity. Europe is cultured, sophisticated, the bearer of enlightened civilization. And the rest of us—Asia, Africa, Latin America—we are portrayed as backward, superstitious, chaotic, corrupt. We are the problems to be solved, the children needing education, the darkness awaiting Western illumination."
He tapped one magazine cover showing an Indian street scene that had been carefully photographed to emphasize poverty, disorder, and exotic otherness.
"This is not accidental journalism. This is the work of institutions like the BBC, like Hollywood film studios, like a dozen American broadcasting corporations and publishing houses. They are creating a global narrative architecture where Western values appear universal, where Western aesthetics set the standard of beauty, where Western political systems seem like the only legitimate forms of governance."
Saraswati leaned forward, her scholarly background providing immediate context. "Soft power. The concept is just beginning to be articulated in academic circles—the ability to shape preferences and perceptions rather than having to coerce through military or economic might."
"Precisely," Anirban confirmed. "And we have essentially no defense against it. All India Radio exists, yes, but it functions primarily as a technical service broadcasting news and basic programming. It is not a strategic instrument for shaping narratives. We produce nothing that can compete with American films or British documentaries. We have no mechanism to tell our own stories to the world, or even to tell them properly to ourselves. We are allowing others to define who we are, to write the story of India in words and images that serve their interests rather than reflecting our reality."
He moved to the blackboard again, writing in large letters:
PRASAR BHARATI CORPORATION.
"To counter this cultural invasion," he declared, "I propose the establishment of the Prasar Bharati Corporation—a public broadcasting entity that will serve as India's voice both domestically and internationally. It will be modeled organizationally on the BBC, but it will be fundamentally Indian in purpose and content."
"The BBC?" Patel asked, his tone suggesting he recognized both the ambition and the potential complications of such a comparison. "You are proposing we create an Indian equivalent to Britain's premier broadcasting institution?"
"Not an equivalent," Anirban clarified. "A competitor. And eventually, a superior alternative. The BBC succeeded through a specific organizational structure and set of operating principles that we can adapt to our circumstances. But we will not simply imitate—we will improve upon their model."
He began outlining the structure on the blackboard, drawing boxes and connecting lines to show organizational relationships.
"The Prasar Bharati Corporation will operate under the Department of Broadcasting, but its structure will be unique. It will be constituted as a quasi-statutory body—government-funded but operating with editorial independence through an appointed board of directors. This independence is absolutely critical. If Prasar Bharati is seen as simply a government mouthpiece, it will have no credibility either domestically or internationally."
He wrote the first major component:
ALL INDIA RADIO (Subsidiary of PBC)
"All India Radio, with all of its current staff, transmission facilities, and physical assets, will be immediately incorporated as a subsidiary of Prasar Bharati. This is not a hostile takeover or a bureaucratic power grab. It is a reorganization that provides AIR with enhanced resources, strategic direction, and institutional support while maintaining its operational autonomy and protecting the employment rights of its current staff."
V.P. Menon, the administrative genius responsible for integrating the princely states, was already making notes with his characteristic attention to procedural detail.
"The legal framework for this transition will require careful construction," Menon observed. "All India Radio currently has employees with civil service protections, physical assets held under various government departments, broadcasting rights and frequency allocations established through international telecommunications agreements. The transfer cannot simply be decreed—it must be properly structured to avoid legal challenges and administrative disruption."
"Your team will handle those details," Anirban confirmed. "I want the transition completed within this calendar year, but it must be done properly. No employee loses their position or benefits. This is enhancement, not disruption. We are expanding their mission and providing them with better resources to fulfill it."
He continued adding to the organizational chart:
PBC SUBSIDIARIES:
All India Radio (existing, to be integrated) Doordarshan (planned television service) PBC Studios (media production and financing) PBC International (external broadcasting) Engineering & Research Division
"We will mirror the best organizational elements of the BBC," Anirban explained, "but adapted specifically for Indian realities and needs. The BBC succeeded through several structural innovations that we will implement."
He began elaborating on each component, his voice taking on the pedagogical tone that emerged when he was systematically explaining a complex system.
"First, the Home Service division. The BBC organized its domestic broadcasting to serve different regional and demographic audiences. We will do the same, but on a much larger scale given India's linguistic diversity. Prasar Bharati will produce programming in all major Indian languages—Hindi, Bengali, Tamil, Telugu, Marathi, Gujarati, and others. Regional studios will have autonomy to create content relevant to their audiences while maintaining coordination with the national structure."
He moved to the next box on his diagram.
"Second, the External Services Division. The BBC created the Empire Service, later renamed the World Service, to broadcast British perspectives globally in dozens of languages. This was not merely propaganda—though it certainly served British interests. It was professional journalism that earned credibility precisely because it maintained editorial standards even when reporting on controversial topics. PBC International will operate similarly, broadcasting Indian perspectives to Africa, Southeast Asia, the Middle East, and eventually Europe and the Americas. We will tell India's story in voices that international audiences can understand, not filtered through Western correspondents who bring their own assumptions and biases."
Saraswati was nodding with growing enthusiasm, seeing how this connected to her education reforms. "Language becomes power. If we control how our story is told, in languages that people actually speak, we shape global perceptions in our favor."
"Exactly," Anirban confirmed. "And third, the Engineering and Research Division. This may seem like a technical detail, but it is strategically crucial. The BBC invested heavily in developing its own broadcast technology—microphones, transmitters, recording equipment. They did not simply purchase American technology and become dependent on foreign suppliers. They built indigenous capability."
He emphasized this point with particular intensity.
"PBC will do the same. We will not buy American transmitters or German recording equipment when we can develop our own. This serves multiple purposes. It creates employment for Indian engineers and technicians. It ensures we are not dependent on foreign suppliers who might restrict sales or service for political reasons. And it develops technical expertise that can be applied to other sectors of the economy. The research that produces better microphones can also produce better industrial sensors. The engineering that builds transmitters can also build radar systems."
Rajendra Prasad raised a gentle but important question. "Prime Minister, this engineering and research capacity will take years to develop. In the meantime, do we simply not broadcast?"
"We use imported equipment initially," Anirban acknowledged, "but with a clear transition plan toward indigenous production. Within five years, I want at least fifty percent of our broadcast equipment to be domestically manufactured. Within ten years, eighty percent. Within twenty years, we should be exporting broadcast technology to other developing nations."
He added another box to the diagram with particular emphasis:
DOORDARSHAN (Future Television Service).
"When television technology matures and economic conditions permit—I estimate within five to seven years—we will launch Doordarshan as our national television service. The name means 'distant vision' in Sanskrit, deliberately chosen to be both technically descriptive and culturally rooted. It will also operate as a subsidiary of Prasar Bharati."
He looked around the room, ensuring they understood the scope of what he was describing.
"Television will be transformative in ways that radio cannot match. Visual storytelling has power that audio alone lacks. The BBC understands this—they are already developing television services in Britain. American networks are expanding rapidly. We cannot afford to be a generation behind in adopting this technology."
"But Prime Minister," Chetty interjected, his finance minister's caution asserting itself, "television sets are extraordinarily expensive. Even in America, they remain luxury items affordable only to wealthy families. How can we justify investing in television broadcasting when most Indian households cannot afford receivers?"
"Because adoption curves accelerate," Anirban replied. "Radio sets were expensive luxuries twenty years ago. Now they are commonplace even in middle-class households, and prices continue to fall. The same will happen with television, especially if we can develop domestic manufacturing capacity that produces affordable sets. We invest in the broadcasting infrastructure now, during the early adoption phase, so that we are ready when television becomes accessible to mass audiences."
He paused, then added, "And because television has applications beyond entertainment. Educational programming can reach students in remote areas. Agricultural extension services can demonstrate new farming techniques visually. Public health campaigns can show proper sanitation practices. The investment serves multiple policy objectives simultaneously."
He drew another box, this one labeled with particular significance:
PBC Studios
"But Prasar Bharati is not solely about news and educational programming," Anirban continued, his voice carrying a new intensity. "Those are important, certainly, but they are not sufficient to compete with Hollywood's global dominance or to capture the imagination of our own population. We need entertainment. We need music. We need cinema. We need content that Indians actually want to consume, not just content that we think they should consume."
He tapped the PBC Studios box on the blackboard.
"This subsidiary deserves special attention because it represents a different operational model entirely. PBC Studios will function as the commercial engine of our cultural sector. It will be structured similarly to what I observed in American media conglomerates, but adapted to Indian conditions and public sector imperatives."
He began listing the operational domains:
PBC STUDIOS FUNCTIONS:
Music Acquisition & Production Film Production & Financing Talent Development & Management Distribution & Rights Management Merchandise & Licensing
"Music first," Anirban explained. "The current music industry in India is primitive and fragmented. A few private companies record popular film songs and classical performances, but there is no systematic effort to preserve and promote the full range of Indian musical traditions. Folk music from different regions, classical ragas, devotional songs, emerging popular forms—most of this is not being professionally recorded or preserved.".
"PBC Studios will change that. We will not just play music on our radio broadcasts—we will own the master recordings. We will produce high-quality recordings of everything from classical Carnatic music to Punjabi folk songs to Bengali rabindra sangeet. We will manufacture and distribute records and cassettes. We will pay artists fairly for their performances while maintaining rights that allow us to disseminate their work broadly."
Saraswati interjected with a question that revealed she was already thinking through implementation details. "Who determines which music gets recorded and promoted? How do we avoid either government censorship or commercial pandering?"
"Through the same editorial independence principle that governs other PBC operations," Anirban replied. "PBC Studios will have a board that includes music scholars, professional musicians, and industry experts. They will establish criteria that balance artistic merit, cultural significance, and commercial viability. The government provides funding and strategic direction, but not day-to-day editorial control."
He moved to the next component.
"Film production and financing represents an even larger opportunity. The current Bombay film industry produces hundreds of films annually, but the production model is artisanal and inefficient. Individual producers scramble for financing from moneylenders or wealthy patrons. Stars are everything because their names are the only guarantee of audience interest. Technical quality is wildly inconsistent because there is no systematic training for cinematographers, sound engineers, or editors. Distribution is chaotic, with no reliable way to ensure that films reach rural audiences."
He turned to face them directly, his vision becoming concrete through articulation.
"PBC Studios will address all of these systemic failures. First, it will provide structured financing for film production—not government grants that create dependency, but actual loans at reasonable interest rates to producers who meet quality standards. We will work through commercial banks to establish film financing as a legitimate lending category, backed by PBC guarantees that reduce risk for banks."
"Second, PBC will establish a national film archive, properly preserving Indian cinema for future generations. Currently, many early Indian films are lost because no one thought to preserve them systematically. That cultural destruction ends now."
"Third, PBC Studios will invest in technical training infrastructure. We will establish film schools that teach not just direction and acting, but the technical crafts—cinematography, sound recording, editing, production design. These schools will train graduates who then find employment in PBC-supported productions, creating a virtuous cycle of rising quality."
"Fourth, we will create systematic distribution networks that ensure quality Indian films reach audiences throughout the country and eventually internationally. A well-made Tamil film should be available in Delhi with proper subtitles. A Hindi film should reach audiences in Madras. And Indian films should compete in international markets, not as exotic curiosities but as professional productions that can stand alongside anything Hollywood produces.".
The scope of what he was describing was beginning to register on faces around the table—this was not a modest government initiative but a comprehensive restructuring of India's cultural production infrastructure.
Ambedkar raised a legal concern. "Prime Minister, you are describing PBC Studios as operating in commercial markets alongside private industry. This raises significant questions about fair competition. Private film producers and music labels will argue that a government-funded competitor with access to cheap capital represents unfair advantage."
"They can argue that," Anirban acknowledged calmly, "and the answer is that PBC Studios is not designed to eliminate private industry but to elevate standards across the entire sector. When PBC Studios finances a film that demonstrates technical excellence, it creates a new benchmark. Private producers must either match that quality or explain to audiences why they are settling for less. This is competition through excellence, not through monopoly power."
He paused, then added, "And frankly, if private industry cannot compete with a government entity that has editorial independence requirements and public interest obligations, that reveals how low current standards are. PBC Studios should raise the floor, not lower the ceiling."
Chetty, who had been making increasingly frantic calculations on the papers before him.
Anirban stood and walked to the window, looking out toward the city where millions of Indians were navigating their first years of independence with mixture of hope and uncertainty.
"As Saraswati and We previously discuss that what the world think about us, why she investing in cosmetics company, why she consulting princely states to Repurpose their Estate, Because We are all doing this not to create material prosperity while remaining culturally colonized, mentally subjugated to Western judgments, psychologically convinced of our own inferiority—And If that happen we will have failed. We will have achieved economic growth without human dignity, material comfort without civilizational confidence. Our prosperity will be hollow, sustained only as long as we can maintain economic growth rates, vulnerable to collapse the moment we face economic difficulties."
He turned back to face the room.
"But if we build cultural confidence alongside material development, if we create institutions that demonstrate civilizational achievement across multiple domains, if we develop sports programs and broadcasting capabilities and cultural institutions that function at world-class levels—then our prosperity has foundation beyond mere economics. Our people will have reasons to believe in themselves and their civilization that transcend current GDP figures."
His voice softened slightly, becoming more personal.
"These allocations are investments in the psychological and cultural infrastructure that makes material development sustainable. They are down payments on a future where Indians do not instinctively defer to Western judgments about what has value, where we do not automatically assume that anything foreign is superior to anything domestic, where we have the confidence that comes from knowing our heritage and seeing it properly valued."
The room absorbed this argument in contemplative silence, the weight of competing priorities balanced against compelling vision.
Finally, Patel spoke, his voice carrying the practical assessment that would determine whether vision became policy.
"Chetty" he said, looking directly at the Finance Minister, "I understand your concerns about competing priorities and limited resources. These concerns are valid and reflect the genuine constraints we face. But let me offer a different framing of the question before us."
He gestured at the percentages written on the blackboard.
"One percent of the Consolidated Fund allocated to culture, broadcasting, and sports. In absolute terms, this will represent initially perhaps forty to fifty crore rupees annually, growing as our revenue base expands. Significant money, certainly. But compare this to what we are spending on defense, on food subsidies, on industrial development. Compare it to the total government budget."
He paused, ensuring Chetty was following the argument.
"More importantly, consider what we would be saying about our priorities if we refuse these allocations. We would be declaring that material development is all that matters, that culture and sports and shared identity are luxuries we cannot afford. We would be accepting that nation-building is purely about economic growth and infrastructure construction."
His voice took on intensity.
"But nations are not merely economies, Shanmukham. They are shared consciousnesses, collective identities, communities of meaning. Without investment in the cultural infrastructure that creates shared identity, we are building an economy but not a nation. We are creating material prosperity for a population but not dignity for a people."
He looked around the table, his gaze moving from face to face.
"I support these allocations not because I am unconcerned about fiscal constraints, but because I believe they represent foundational investment in national cohesion and civilizational confidence that will make all our other investments more effective and more sustainable."
Chetty sat in silence for a long moment, looking down at his budget projections, then up at the colleagues around the table, then at the percentages on the blackboard. His expression carried the internal struggle of someone whose professional training emphasized fiscal prudence but whose patriotic commitment recognized the force of the arguments being made.
Finally, he sighed deeply, a sound that carried both surrender and acceptance, both concern and commitment.
"One percent," he said quietly, as if testing how the number felt when spoken aloud. "If the Consolidated Fund implementation proceeds as robustly as we project, if our taxation systems generate the revenues we anticipate, if economic growth continues at current rates or accelerates as we hope..."
He paused, doing final calculations in his head.
"It might just work. The allocations will be sustainable if our economic assumptions prove accurate. But we will need to monitor carefully, to ensure that these statutory allocations do not become untouchable even if circumstances change dramatically."
Anirban nodded, accepting this qualified endorsement as sufficient for proceeding.
"Agreed, Chetty-ji. We will include provisions in the enabling legislation for periodic review of allocation percentages, allowing adjustment if economic conditions change dramatically. But the default will be continuation rather than annual reconsideration, providing the stability these institutions need for long-term planning."
He returned to the blackboard and wrote a summary:
CONSOLIDATED FUND STATUTORY ALLOCATIONS:
Culture (ASI, Museums, Institutions): 0.6%
Prasar Bharati Corporation: 0.2%
Sports Authority of India: 0.2%
TOTAL: 1.0%
"It is agreed then," Anirban concluded, his voice carrying satisfaction at reaching this consensus. "We build the vaults for our past through museums and cultural institutions. We build the towers for our future through broadcasting and communications infrastructure. We build the playing fields for our excellence through sports development. All of this constitutes the foundation of nation-building that will support everything else we attempt."
He looked around the table one final time, ensuring everyone's commitment.
"The detailed legislation will be drafted over the coming months. Dr. Ambedkar will lead the constitutional and legal framework. The Finance Ministry will develop the specific implementation mechanisms for the statutory allocations. The relevant secretaries will design the administrative structures. We will reconvene in one month to review progress and refine the proposals before presenting to the full Cabinet and eventually to Parliament."
As the meeting began breaking up, ministers gathering their papers and preparing to return to their waiting responsibilities, the atmosphere carried a mixture of excitement and trepidation. They had just committed to one of the most ambitious cultural and communications initiatives any newly independent nation had attempted, allocating resources that many would characterize as excessive to purposes that many would deem non-essential.
But they had also, whether they fully recognized it or not, just planted seeds that would fundamentally shape how Indians understood themselves and their civilization for generations to come. They had chosen to invest not merely in economic growth or military strength or bureaucratic capacity, but in the cultural confidence and shared identity that would determine whether independent India would become a genuine civilization-state or merely another postcolonial economy.
The Diamond had returned home, the first of many that would follow. And now they were building the setting worthy of it—not merely museum cases, but an entire institutional infrastructure for cultural preservation, production, and presentation that would compete globally and serve nationally.
The work continued. The vision expanded. And in rooms like this, through conversations like these, the future was being constructed one decision at a time.