By Karan Thapar

The British are widely admired for their sense of humour. They have the unique capacity to laugh at themselves. Even their most cherished and beloved are often the butt of jokes. The King – and before that, his mother, the Queen – is frequently mocked in good-natured humour. Their accent, their dress, their mannerisms and even their appearance are joked about. Not for a moment would they object. They know that the jests are proof of their popularity.

What is not so well known is how the British treat their politicians. They can be brutal. Consider what happens when a prime minister loses an election.

It’s customarily held on a thursday. By the early hours of friday the results are known. Around mid-day that morning the defeated prime minister drives to Buckingham Palace to resign. He travels in the prime minister’s official car and enters by the main gate. Twenty minutes later he departs. This time he’s in a car offered by the Palace. Usually, he exits by a side gate. He’s now history and the television cameras no longer follow him.

Shortly afterwards the leader of the opposition travels to Buckingham Palace. He does so in his official car. Having been asked to form a government and kiss the King’s hands – as the tradition maintains – he leaves in the prime minister’s official limousine.

The whole thing takes about an hour or so. In that short time one chapter has closed and another opened. One man’s tenure is over. Another’s has begun.

During this period removal vans arrive at Downing Street and the outgoing prime minister’s belongings are moved out. The night before the flat above was his home. The next day by lunch time it no longer is.

Something very similar happened last month when Keir Starmer ceased to be prime minister and Andy Burnham took his place. Starmer drove to Buckingham Palace in his official car escorted by outriders. After submitting his resignation he left by the back entrance ignored by the TV channels. The sun had set on his day. Minutes later Burnham arrived, accompanied by his Dutch wife. When he left he was prime minister and seated in his official car. Now the outriders escorted him to Downing Street. Television filmed every moment of the three minute journey as the country eagerly waited for his first address to the nation as chief executive.

Contrast that with what happens in India. Days can go by after the election results are known before the defeated prime minister steps aside and the new man is sworn-in. That’s even the case when the incumbent has won a second term with a full majority.

In America the newly elected president has to wait two and a half months before his inauguration. The outgoing president continues as a lame duck during that period.

On the one occasion I remember, when Edward Heath in 1974 did not resign immediately but sought to form a coalition with the Liberals, there was public anger. The Brits did not like his attempt to cling to office.

Last month there were a few quaint touches to the Starmer-Burnham transition. Because Buckingham Palace is undergoing extensive maintenance, both Starmer and Burnham entered through the luggage door. The monarch’s private secretary and an equerry were waiting for them in the adjacent courtyard. King Charles received them in the Chinese Dining Room. It looked quite exotic.

On arrival at Downing Street the new prime minister dispensed with the customary lectern, which is usually placed in the middle of the road, opposite the media, and in front of the new premier’s staff, who stand on the pavement. Instead, he spoke extempore. BBC anchors assumed he’d learnt his speech by heart. So traditional had the presence of the lectern become its disappearance was widely commented upon. That alone ensured Starmer got off to a new start!

The almost cold-blooded unsentimental matter-of-fact way prime minister’s change office in Britain can seem cruel but its clinical, clear-cut and carefully choreographed. How different it is to the scenes played out last week in Delhi.