The Gamosa, Assam’s Pride and the Misreading of Respect

The Republic Day controversy this year did not emerge from questions of governance or constitutional principle. It arose, instead, from a cultural symbol deeply embedded in Assamese life—the gamosa—and from the way that symbol was hurriedly drawn into a national political confrontation.

To describe the gamosa as a scarf or ceremonial cloth is to flatten its meaning. In Assam, the gamosa is an offering, not an accessory. It signifies honour, affection and social recognition. It is placed on shoulders to mark respect, not worn to signal conformity. Its value lies in the act of giving, in the relationship it represents, and in the quiet dignity it carries across generations.

It was this symbol that entered the political spotlight when Rahul Gandhi chose not to wear a gamosa during a Republic Day-related appearance. The BJP quickly interpreted this as an insult to Assam and the Northeast, later extending the charge to alleged disrespect towards the President. The Congress responded by dismissing the reaction as manufactured outrage. In the exchange that followed, the gamosa itself was reduced to a political exhibit.

For many in Assam, the discomfort was genuine. The Northeast has long existed at the margins of national attention, its concerns acknowledged intermittently rather than engaged with consistently. In such a context, cultural symbols assume a heightened importance. They are not merely markers of identity but assurances of recognition. When a national leader appears inattentive to these symbols, the reaction is shaped by historical experience as much as by immediate political alignment.

At the same time, respect for the gamosa cannot be reduced to the expectation that it must be worn on demand. Cultural dignity does not thrive under compulsion. Symbols draw their meaning from consent and understanding, not from obligation. When respect is measured solely through visible compliance, culture risks being transformed into performance.

This is where the political handling of the episode deserves scrutiny. For the Congress, the controversy exposes a familiar shortcoming: a tendency to underestimate the emotional and symbolic weight of regional identity in the Northeast. Political engagement here requires attentiveness not only to policy but to cultural context. Indifference—whether intended or perceived—deepens the sense of distance that many in the region already feel.

For the BJP, the episode raises a different concern. When cultural pride is mobilised primarily to corner political opponents, it risks turning shared heritage into a tool of accusation. The gamosa then ceases to be a symbol of welcome and becomes a test of

allegiance. Such an approach may yield momentary political advantage, but it diminishes the dignity of the symbol itself.

What is lost amid this exchange is the broader meaning of Republic Day. The Republic is anchored in a Constitution that unites India not through uniform cultural expression but through equal citizenship. It does not prescribe how respect must be displayed, nor does it demand performative gestures as proof of belonging. Its strength lies in its capacity to accommodate difference without coercion.

The gamosa represents Assam’s pride, not its political anxieties. It does not seek validation through outrage, nor does it require policing to retain its meaning. True recognition of the Northeast lies in sustained engagement—political attention, cultural understanding and economic inclusion—not in episodic controversies amplified for national consumption.

If the episode has revealed anything, it is the fragility of our public discourse around culture. Assam does not ask to be noticed through spectacle. It asks to be understood. The gamosa, in all its quiet dignity, deserves to remain a symbol of respect—offered freely, received with grace, and kept beyond the reach of partisan battles.