Yesterday marked the 75th year of the adoption of the Indian Constitution, celebrated annually as Constitution Day. The day inevitably brings with it a renewed admiration for the framers and for the constitutional experiment they initiated seventy-five years ago.
Much of the public discourse rightly focused on celebrating the durability of the Constitution, its capacity for self-correction and its role as a stabilising force in a complex democracy. Yet, this commemorative moment also invites a different exercise: one of reflection rather than veneration. Instead of rehearsing familiar narratives of constitutional glory, it may be more valuable to revisit some of the framers’ hopes that did not materialise and to consider why certain constitutional expectations failed to translate into practice.
This exercise is not a critique of the Constituent Assembly. Rather, it is a recognition that the Constitution was always envisioned as a living document - one that would grow, adapt and be improved upon. Several choices that the framers thought the future would complete remain unfinished and contemporary events have exposed the consequences of these unfulfilled expectations. Three examples are particularly instructive: the absence of an Instrument of Instructions to guide constitutional functionaries; the failure to establish standards for ministerial qualifications and disqualification; and the limited realisation of certain Directive Principles of State Policy, particularly those relating to environment protection and a uniform civil code.
Each of these hopes reveals a moment in the Assembly when the framers assumed that political culture or legislative initiative would supply what constitutional text did not. 75 years later, it is evident that those assumptions require revisiting.
One of the more sophisticated proposals available to the Constituent Assembly concerned the adoption of an Instrument of Instructions - a set of principles and duties for the President and Governors, modelled on the conventions then practiced. Ambedkar compared the Instrument to the Directive Principles of State Policy, noting that it would guide constitutional functionaries in exercising their discretionary powers. If adopted, the Instrument would have served as both a moral and constitutional compass, reducing the potential for conflict between constitutional offices and elected governments.
Although the Instrument was included in the draft Constitution, just days before the Constitution’s adoption, the Drafting Committee recommended its deletion. The decision rested on three grounds: first, that the President and Governor should not be given explicit directions and that their conduct should instead be shaped by conventions evolving over time; second, that the Instrument would lack enforceability, since no authority existed to ensure compliance; and third, that given the limited discretionary authority vested in these offices, the Instrument would have little practical purpose. Central to this view was an underlying faith in constitutional propriety: the assumption that the President and Governors, bound by the narrow contours of their power, would act consistently with democratic norms.
Recent events, however, suggest that this was a leap of faith that has not been vindicated. Since independence, Presidents and Governors have exercised their discretion in ways not contemplated by the framers, often subverting the functioning of elected governments. Whether in matters of summoning legislatures, appointing Chief Ministers, withholding assent or recommending President’s Rule, the absence of normative instruction has enabled a pattern of centralisation that the framers sought to avoid.
Recently, in the Presidential Reference on the powers of Governors, the Supreme Court effectively set aside a previous decision imposing timelines on gubernatorial discretion, reasoning that the Constitution deliberately imposes no such fetter on their powers. This reasoning ignored the framers’ hope that minimal discretionary authority would be exercised with restraint and that conventions, not expediency, would guide these offices in upholding representative governance.
Had an Instrument of Instructions been adopted - clarifying expected conduct and delineating the contours of discretion - several of today’s federal tensions might have been mediated through constitutional norms rather than political contestation. The Assembly’s decision to rely on evolving conventions rather than codification has, therefore, emerged as one of the Constitution’s unrealised hopes.
The Constitution does not contain any independent standards for membership in the Council of Ministers, requiring only that Ministers be elected to either House within six months of appointment. The qualifications and disqualifications applicable to legislators are, by default, applicable to Ministers. Nor does the Constitution prescribe circumstances in which Ministers must vacate office. This was an intentional choice: the framers believed that the ethical and institutional standards governing ministerial office would be elaborated by Parliament in due course.
Ambedkar was explicit about this expectation. He argued that detailing disqualifications in the Constitution would unduly “burden the Constitution” and that such matters should be settled by future legislation. When KT Shah moved an amendment proposing special qualifications for Ministers - including the disqualification of convicted individuals from holding ministerial office - Ambedkar reiterated the Drafting Committee’s view that these questions should not be constitutionalised. Instead, he urged the Assembly to trust the judgment of the Prime Minister, the legislature and the public to ensure that such individuals would not be appointed. Dr Rajendra Prasad, too, emphasised the importance of ensuring that those entrusted with executive authority met standards commensurate with the dignity of their office.
Yet, Parliament never enacted such a law. The absence of a principled framework has meant that ministerial responsibility is governed almost entirely by political convention, with no constitutional or legislative guidance on when a Minister ought to resign, or whether certain circumstances - such as criminal indictment, misconduct, prolonged detention or proven conflict of interest - should automatically disqualify an individual from holding executive office. One consequence has been the deepening criminalisation of politics, where individuals with serious criminal records continue to occupy ministerial positions.
The recent Constitution (One Hundred and Thirtieth Amendment) Bill, 2025, which proposes cessation of ministerial office upon thirty consecutive days of detention, finally attempts to act on this constitutional hope. However, a recent report by Charkha, the Constitutional Law Centre at Vidhi, undertakes a detailed examination of the Bill and highlights several infirmities in its current design.
The Directive Principles of State Policy (DPSPs) formed the Constitution’s moral and developmental compass. They were not enforceable in courts, but they were intended to guide legislative and executive action, shaping India’s social and economic transformation. The framers assumed that over time, these principles would be progressively realised. Yet, several of these core aspirations remain incomplete, particularly those concerning environmental protection and the uniform civil code.
First, Article 48A, which directs the State to “protect and improve the environment and to safeguard the forests and wildlife of the country,” reflects a constitutional recognition of ecological stewardship. It was later complemented by judicial innovation, which located environmental rights within Article 21. Despite this, environmental governance remains inconsistent and often subordinated to developmental imperatives.
This is particularly evident from the ongoing air quality crisis in New Delhi and other cities, which highlights the gap between constitutional aspiration and administrative reality. Instead of working collaboratively to realise this constitutional objective, successive governments have evaded responsibility, disputed data, and failed to implement sustained long-term measures. The Directive Principle was intended to ensure that environmental concerns formed part of the State’s foundational policy commitments. The absence of sustained institutional implementation suggests that this hope remains only partially realised.
Second, Article 44 reflects a similar aspiration: that personal laws would eventually be harmonised into a common civil code. The framers understood this to be a reformative ideal requiring deliberation, sensitivity and public consensus. They did not intend immediate uniformity, but anticipated that over time, the legislature would guide a consultative transition. Today, however, the UCC has become a site of political invocation rather than substantive debate. As I argued in an earlier column, constitutional veneration cannot be selective: it is inconsistent to invoke the UCC merely as an ideological tool while avoiding the deliberative processes envisaged by the framers.
As the Supreme Court hears constitutional challenges to several discriminatory and gender-biased religious practices, a deliberate and inclusive UCC could offer a principled path forward. Such an effort must be guided by reform, not by partisan or majoritarian concerns.
Several other constitutional hopes remain only partially realised. The prohibition on titles under Article 18 has been observed formally but often evaded symbolically, with various institutions and social practices continuing to confer honorific distinctions. Such practices run contrary to the equality the Constitution envisaged. They signal a retention of hierarchical modes of address - echoes of an era of rulers and subjects -that the Constitution consciously sought to defeat by creating an equal citizenry. A recent example arose before the Rajasthan High Court, which directed the heirs of the erstwhile royal family of Jaipur to remove the prefixes “Maharaj” and “Princess” from their names, failing which their plea would be dismissed.
Likewise, the constitutional expectation that Indian languages would gradually replace English in higher judicial and governmental functioning has not materialised. The persistence of English as the dominant language of constitutional governance reflects how certain symbolic aspirations of the framers remain only partially fulfilled.
75 years after its adoption, the Constitution of India remains a remarkable achievement. But commemoration should not obscure introspection. Some of the framers’ most thoughtful hopes have either proved too optimistic or remain unrealised. Recognising these gaps does not diminish the Constitution; it strengthens our understanding of what meaningful constitutional reform requires. The task ahead is to study these realities carefully and to adopt changes grounded in principle rather than sentiment - a reminder that the true homage to the Constitution lies not only in celebrating it, but in improving it.
Swapnil Tripathi leads Charkha, the Constitutional Law Centre at the Vidhi Centre for Legal Policy.
Views are personal.