Through the drum rolls and the heralding sound of trumpets, the President of India, surrounded by a bunch of army officers in white attire, from the cavalry obviously because of the spears they carry, slow march into the massive investiture hall of the Rashtrapati Bhavan, for the commencement of the proceedings for the day.

They have changed the venue in this great edifice constructed and designed by the genius of Lutyens, responsible for the design of most of New politico-administrative Delhi. Earlier when the ceremony for my Father and for Jaya and me was held in the main Durbar Hall, the glory and magnificence of this immense Bhavan, built by the British as the Viceregal Lodge on what is commonly known as Raisina Hill, lent more pageantry to the occasion. Under the large domes of this, also known as Ashoka Hall, when the military band struck up the National Anthem, it had sent goose bumps all over the body.

The investiture ceremony today is being conducted in the smaller area where generally, the Prime Minister and cabinet are sworn in after the democratic elections are over. It is still a most picturesque and large enclosure. The murals painted on the roof and the sides are mostly of Mughal depictions, lined above and below with Urdu or perhaps Arabic, gold embossed writings. An artistic chair on a slightly raised platform, covered with exquisite Persian carpeting on the far end, lined on either side by the Presidents bodyguards is a modified version of perhaps a throne that may have been the protocol when the British ruled. Constitutional and Government heads come in turn and seat themselves at designated seats along with the guests and invitees facing the President. Everything looks formal and regal, barring of course the autograph hunters - they are everywhere.

Those that receive recognition are seated side ways on either side. Some few yards in front of the President’s chair, a small oblong carpet strategically positioned, is the point of arrival for each awardee, where he/she shall stop, turn to the President, greet her and then gently walk up to her raised platform for the medal to be pinned on shoulder, a manuscript handed and then in almost military like mode, move side ways without showing your back to the dignitary, return to your seat and breathe normally as the invitees applaud.

Akshay is there too to receive his decoration. He greets me warmly. What a phenomenal progress for this young man in such a short time. Dhoni and Bhajji are winners too but they are not in the program today. They as we all know are playing for the country in New Zealand and shall attend the second Padma Award celebration by the middle of the month.

A lot of the old staff come up and greet us. My visits to RB have been several. Well… 5 times for ceremonies connected to the family itself and once to receive the medal of recognition from the King of Morrocco, during his state visit. Apart from this an entire chapter of my school days and days in college have been spent, almost daily, in the vast portals and compounds of this exalted palace. For extra curricular activities, games and sport, films, formal teas in the company of dear and close friends, now gone from this world. Nostalgia grips me as the ceremony concludes and we are led into the dining area for the traditional refreshments. The President is gracious and informal now. She chats with the ease of exchanging pleasantries, wishes that we come over some time. The Prime Minister, who has never failed to enquire after my health through either a personal emissary or letter, pushes through his security cordon to hold affectionately my hands and ask on my health. I reciprocate in asking of his condition; he having been through a serious heart surgery not so long ago. I assure his gracious wife that a correction she had asked me to make in the words of the Granth Saheb quoted and printed on the passing away of my Mother, had indeed been executed and incorporated. There are many there who have studied under my Father at the Allahabad University and many that worked with him in the External affairs Ministry when he was in Delhi. In all it is a warm and comforting late morning brunch but we keep away from the generous spread and battling the autographs come away, driving through the lanes that I had traversed almost every day during the times when we lived in Delhi - South Avenue, Teen Murti House, the Secretariat…

Everything coming back in the warm summer day, so vividly. Running out from 77, South Avenue, a bunched up group of apartments for the servants of the Governments and MP’s , to see the first Prime Minister of India, Pt Jawaharlal Nehru, drive out from his residence, Teen Murti House some 100 yards away to the Parliament or his office, returning for lunch, out again and then return finally at the end of the day from work. It was a ritual for us kids as we lined up on the path -way to wave to him. At times he would notice us and wave back. On other days he just went by, fingers spread over his gandhi capped head in pensive mood. A single police motorcycled pilot preceded him those days. Traffic moved normally. No interruptions at all.

Difficult to imagine how much procedure has changed since then. Siren blaring jeeps and police vehicles, hundreds of police lined up en VIP route, an entire cavalcade of motorized facilities in an about. And of course the traffic stoppages miles around to allow the PM to drive through safely; grumbling public notwithstanding !!

Those were such peaceful and temperate times.

Look around us now. This beautiful city of wide tree laden roads. Compact and similar looking low roofed houses, now barricaded with oppressive fences and security tents. Sand bags and out posts for the police at every corner. Gun toting uniformed personnel strutting about in anxious alertness. Everyone suspicious, every one almost a suspect.

What have we become !!

Aishwarya’s parents stay with us at Sopaan. The kids are back from school with all their tales of happiness and misery. Of teachers and fellow classmates. Of their fun and their pain. Of games and the dreaded mathematics. And … of homework !!

I show my samdhi’s around. And spend most of the time in my Father’s study, which we have kept pristine and in the same state he left it in. His work desk, his library of books, his writing utensils and his aura …. all there in that study, in tact. The last volumes of his biography he wrote from here as also his last works on his poems. I sleep in his bedroom now and even today after so many years of their absence from Sopaan, the presence of Ma and Babuji remains.

Later in the day… the Habitat Center and another Award for being among the 20 people who made a difference to India. There is a large list of luminaries, all eminent and distinguished in their fields that are being given recognition by the Limca Book of Records. I am humbled that they have decided to include me among them, though not particularly happy with the media conference they push us into soon after. The media is just not interested in either the Award or its acquisition or the merits of those that have contributed a lifetime to the country. They are only interested on whether I have had a traffic sign post put outside my house, Prateeksha, which states “Tourist buses not allowed, normal public transport buses allowed only”. And taking it further, whether this would not jeopardize the hundreds of fans of their desire to come and meet you every Sunday. Fans that have made you who you are. How ever could you do this Mr Bachchan !!! And … now that this prohibitive sign is up will you not be coming out to wave to them. Would this not in a sense deplete your fan following !!

I mean… who are these sensation starved journalists, that have no modicum of professional ethics or custom. How ever does one deal with them that possess limited brain capacity !! They tire me of their inanities…

Family dinner again at Shweta’s… and such a delight to be with her and others, in her aesthetically designed home. The only despairing moment - the children have gone to bed !!

And so must I dearest ones…

Amitabh Bachchan