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When A Maharani Regally Reminds About Real Vs Reel Royals
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Radhikaraje Gaekwad's wry but succinct observations about real vs reel royals point to a common flaw: lack of domain knowledge about them
The Royals, the Netflix version, that is, has elicited an elegant and timely repartee from a 'real' maharani about what bona fide royals were and are. Radhikaraje Gaekwad, wife of the 'Maharaja' of the erstwhile princely state of Baroda (and daughter of a 'maharajkumar' of Wankaner) ended her riposte with, 'Yet after all these decades, our country continues to view us—all 565 families and a few thousand nobility—with an odd mixture of awe, ignorance and distaste."
Spot on! Indeed, the only redeeming feature of Netflix's version of royals is Ishan Khattar as Aviraaj Singh, 'Maharaja' of the fictional Morpur. Even his nickname Fizzy is what seasoned royal watchers might consider a clever inclusion because it not only encapsulates his effervescent on-screen persona but also harks back to 'Bubbles', the late Maharaja of Jaipur Brigadier Bhawani Singh, whose flamboyant young grandson Padmanabh ('Pacho') Singh is the current 'ruler'.
But the rest of the series is a mishmash of what Bollywood thinks the lives of Indian royals are—or were. It's as if the writer(s) pored over back-issues of Hello! and Marwar to cobble together a storyline for a couture and interiors promo. Sadly, while it was filmed in 'real' palaces, The Royals' clothes, ceremonial or while partying (apparently their sole occupation) were hardly aristocratic—Abu-Sandeep at best. And SoBo English did not make them to the mahal born.
Even so, this series offers a good reason to take a proper look at the progress of Indian royalty in democratic India in the past eight decades. Cinema in socialist India immortalised the trope of wicked, licentious feudal rajas, taluqdars and zamindars living off the sweat and tears of their suffering praja (subjects), taking advantage of poor women and spending lavish amounts on hunting, gambling, alcohol and any other debauched habit that screenwriters could conjure up.
Now, with being rich becoming cool again in post-socialist, liberalised India, feudal scions are shown in fast cars with arm candy or flaunting gowns and jewels, albeit more in society and fashion magazines rather than on the silver screen. One point that the Netflix series gets right—but only superficially—is that many an Indian royal family is on skid row, and live sham lives of grandeur. Unfortunately, the plot is too thin to present a credible picture of their existential dilemma.
For the uninitiated, despite India no longer recognising royal titles they flourish in private and tourist circles, especially in the latter as they validate 'royal hospitality' premium rates. Radhikaraje has painted a very saintly picture of our princely states' life under the British and then their accession to independent Bharat that Sardar Patel may have a few quibbles about, but overall she makes a valid point: they all work hard now, not rest on their, well, crown jewels.
So, the life portrayed in The Royals is not true-to-life, even if it isn't meant to be a documentary, but a rom(p)-com about a playboy prince and a self-made hospitality industry diva. Even so, a modicum of understanding of royal protocol and relationships beyond 'khama-gani' and 'hukum', gaudily embellished mahals, bowing and scraping mustachioed-and-turbaned retainers, not to mention polo matches, racing cars and fashion shows, would have been welcome.
Indian royals foraying into the hospitality sector with their palaces (in varying stages of grandeur and decay) leveraging the aura of their glittery past was a story that began in earnest soon after liberalisation. Three decades on, there is hardly a fort, palace, shikargah, haveli, villa or even cottage with royal links that have not become hotels, some with the former feudal owners still in residence, but most with professional managements who adroitly heighten the 'royal" experience.
So the plot of The Royals—a hospitality professional seeks to turn a princely pile into a hotel where 'commoners" can have a taste of regal life in the midst of actual royals—is hardly new or earth-shattering. Equally clichéd is young Fizzy Morpur swanning around New York having affairs or modelling bare chested in some sunny and sandy locale. While some may think they know who Khattar's Aviraaj is based on, rich and reckless playboy princes simply don't exist anymore.
Heirs to one-pistol salute 'states' like Morpur could not afford such layabout lives. Most scions of actual former princely states have pretty mundane day jobs now—tourism, marketing, politics—even if they do get to trot out the family regalia, swords and horse-drawn carriages for marriages and funerals. Very unlike a century ago when Indian 'rulers" (real power was mostly vested in the hands of their official British 'residents') and their excesses were the stuff of legend.
From the late 19th century till 1947, the world's top couturiers, jewellers, vintners and carmakers beat a path to their palace doors to seek their custom. Though these rulers were cleverly called 'princes' and only had 'HH' or His Highness prefixed to their names rather than His Majesty—thereby keeping them below the British Royal Family and other European monarchies in the blue-blooded pecking order—maharajas paid a king's ransom to procure the world's finest goods.
Today, our de-recognised royals are at best brand ambassadors for the world's top labels. They are not sitting in the front rows of international fashion shows as coveted customers, they are more likely to auction their baubles than bid for some at Christie's, and they are no longer the world's biggest buyers of premier cru wines and vintage champagnes. Many of them do still, however, wear their inherited gem-studded kalgis, necklaces and bracelets with rare elegance.
That regal elegance is hard to replicate, and The Royals fails miserably on that count, no matter how reputed their stylist/costume designer. No maharani worth her French chiffons and graded Basra pearls today would wear what The Royals' widowed queen and queen mother do. Radhikaraje, always a picture of elan in traditional weaves, is not the only one who cringed royally. Only the royal brothers Aviraaj and Digvijay in their side-strapped trousers looked authentic.
A more ineffable yet crucial aspect of real royals is their protocol and bearing, which is not about swagger or walking around stiff-necked. Anyone who knows Indian royals would vouch that most of them have an innate old-world grace and courtesy—a sadly misunderstood word these days. There's something about their carriage and manners that sets most of them apart. Caricaturing is easier than accurate portrayal and The Royals' writers, unfortunately, get neither right.
For anyone familiar with the protocol of India's royals, especially Rajputs from Rajasthan and affiliated families, the consistent use of the word 'Maharaj-ji' to refer to Aviraaj and his father is especially jarring. In royalspeak, the titleholder is Maharaja. Maharaj (without the 'a') is what all the younger brothers of the king are called, short for Maharajkumar. So The Royals' Digvijay is Maharaj(kumar) while Aviraaj is Maharaja. And his mother would be Rajmata, not Rani-sa.
Maharaja, Maharani, Maharajkumar, Maharajkumari, Raja, Rani, Yuvraj, Yuvrani, Rajkumar, Rajkumari, Baijilal, Rao Raja, Rao Rani, Kanwar, Bhanwar, Pattayet, Pattayet Rani, Tikka Raja, Bapji, Shriji and more—royal prefixes and honorifics are varied, but very specific and hierarchical. Even though none of these titles are officially recognised anymore, they are actually an article of faith in royal circles and cannot be used at will interchangeably or bandied about.
Earlier films on Indian royals delved into 'history": Jodha-Akbar, Bajirao Mastani etc. Only Zubeida, Khalid Mohammed's take on his mother, Jodhpur Maharaja Hanwant Singh's second wife, was on a recent person. Manoj Bajpai as Hanwant was more Hindi heartland than Rajputana, but Karishma Kapoor as a Gayatri-Devi-like Zubeida and Rekha as the older first wife looked and sounded more authentic than Sakshi Tanwar and Zeenat Aman as Aviraaj's mother and grandma.
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In Zubeida's case, Khalid Mohammed's personal knowledge perhaps ensured a higher degree of authenticity at least in the appearance and manner of the royal protagonists, even if the script deviated often from what really happened. The Royals is totally a fictitious tale and hence should have been far easier to conceptualise. But the obvious lack of domain knowledge on a small but well-defined segment—Indian royalty and nobility—makes Maharani Radhikaraje's words ring so true.
The author is a freelance writer. Views expressed in the above piece are personal and solely those of the author. They do not necessarily reflect News18's views.
tags :
Bhumi Pednekar Ishan Khattar Netflix The Royals
Location :
New Delhi, India, India
First Published:
June 05, 2025, 14:14 IST
News opinion Opinion | When A Maharani Regally Reminds About Real Vs Reel Royals
