OPEN Magazine 5 May 2014

The Magic of Gabriel García Márquez

RS 40 5 M ay 2 0 14

inside Of a Nose and a Speech in Telangana l i f e

a n d

t i m e s .

e v e r y

w e e k

E XC LU S I V E

THE TARGET Narendra Modi tops the hit list of Islamist terror.

Is the current level of security enough to keep him safe?

RNI NO. DELENG/2009/27862

Open Mail | editor@openmedianetwork.in Editor S Prasannarajan managing Editor PR Ramesh Deputy Editors Aresh Shirali, Ullekh NP art director Madhu Bhaskar Senior Editors Kishore Seram,

Haima Deshpande (Mumbai) Mumbai bureau chief Madhavankutty Pillai Associate Editor (Web) Vijay K Soni assistant editors

Anil Budur Lulla (Bangalore), Shahina KK, Aastha Atray Banan, Mihir Srivastava, Chinki Sinha, Sohini Chattopadhyay Special Correspondents Aanchal Bansal, Lhendup Gyatso Bhutia (Mumbai), Gunjeet Sra Assistant Art Directors Tarun Sehgal, Anirban Ghosh SENIOR DESIGNER Anup Banerjee photo editor Ruhani Kaur assistant Photo editor Ritesh Uttamchandani (Mumbai) Staff Photographers Ashish Sharma, Raul Irani Editorial Researcher Shailendra Tyagi asst Editor (web) Arindam Mukherjee staff writer Devika Bakshi Associate publisher Deepa Gopinath Associate general managers (advertisement) Rajeev Marwaha (North

and East), Karl Mistry (West), Krishnanand Nair (South) Manager—Marketing Raghav Chandrasekhar

National Head—Distribution and Sales

Ajay Gupta regional heads—circulation D Charles

(South), Melvin George (West), Basab Ghosh (East) Head—production Maneesh Tyagi pre-press manager Sharad Tailang cfo Anil Bisht hEAD—it Hamendra Singh publisher

R Rajmohan

All rights reserved throughout the world.

Reproduction in any manner is prohibited.

Printed and published by R Rajmohan on behalf of the owner, Open Media Network Pvt Ltd. Printed at Thomson Press India Ltd., 18-35 Milestone, Delhi Mathura Road, Faridabad—121007, (Haryana).

Published at 4, DDA Commercial Complex, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi-110017.

Ph: (011) 30934199; Fax: (011) 30934162 To subscribe, sms ‘openmagazine’ to 56070 or log on to www.openthemagazine.com Or call our Toll Free Number 1800 300 22 000 or email at: subscription@openmedianetwork.in For corporate sales, email ajay@openmedianetwork.in For marketing alliances, email alliances@openmedianetwork.in For advertising, email advt@openmedianetwork.in

Volume 6 Issue 17 For the week 29 April—5 May 2014 Total No. of pages 64 + Covers

cover illustration Anirban Ghosh

5 may 2014

Kunal

This is just Leftist bleeding-heart pontification from a writer who is at an arm’s length from the country, its people and its problems (‘Decolonisation of the Mind’, 14 April 2014). It is easy to point at India’s disenfranchised and preach while being comfortably ensconced in the privileges of the capitalistic growth that you criticise so vehemently. It is the same privatisation, deregulation and ‘big business’ focus that has pulled millions out of poverty into the expansive middle classes that form the backbone of a trillion-dollar-plus economy today. Your This obsession with suggestion that no one the poverty of the last must become rich as man to the exclusion long as there are poor of all else does not help and oppressed people around is self defeating. anyone, least of all those Wealth needs to be who need it most created before it can be redistributed. This obsession with the poverty of the last man to the exclusion of all else does not help anyone, least of all those who need it most. Activism and agitation must complement a sustainable growth model in order to fight any inequity that results.

Activism cannot be the centrepiece of governance, as the author seems to suggest. I think it will suit everyone if such non-resident armchair ‘intellectuals’ give up their pretensions of knowing India.  letter of the week Inspirational Paul

the article ‘The sage’ (21 April 2014) brings back fond memories. I lived in the same Suryanagar Colony near Paul uncle’s house and Neeraj is one of my best pals. Yes, I have seen him going for shoots every day.

I remember he once showed me a photograph of a peasant. I found he so beautifully captured the peasant’s long feet to highlight his point of view. Within half an hour I wrote a poem on it. Neeraj appreciated my poem and he specially took me to Paul uncle and made me read it aloud.

Uncle Paul and aunty both liked my poem, and it gave me so much inspiration that I started writing more and more poems. Today I have carved my own niche as a Hindi-Marathi

poet, but I really can’t forget the motivation and love I got from Paul uncle in those early days of my poetic travel.  VIVEK MRIDUL

What Modi Should Do

this refers to ‘What Modi Can Learn from 2009’ (28 April 2014). Narendra Modi will succeed as PM only if he can handle India’s diverse communities, religions and castes—factors that tend to vitiate Indian politics. India needs a dynamic PM who can help all states progress. Also, if elected PM, he must get rid of criminals from his party.  Mahe sh Kapasi

Too Much Credit to Shah there is no doubt that Amit Shah is a talented and

intelligent man, but the credit given to him for the BJP’s performance in UP is too much (‘His Master’s Mind’, 21 April 2014). It is a Modi wave that is helping the BJP in UP. Further, the fact that Shah is Modi’s man gives him an authority that leaders in UP have to pay heed to. The BJP’s problem in the state is that it has too many leaders who are useless.  pushpendra

For Strategic Pragmatism

this article paints all major political parties in a weak light, while proposing some fringe movements that have had partial success as examples that will deliver success in decolonising India and its government (‘Decolonisation of the Mind’, 14 April 2014).

Hidden behind all this verbiage propounding solutions— which are not feasible given the political situation of India today—is an absence of any appreciation of the country’s current set of circumstances.

Every nation exists in the context of all other nations in the world, so if some countries adopt some utopian attitude and model, they risk being severely disadvantaged in the future in a way that they might not have foreseen. The classic example of this now is Ukraine, which gave up its nuclear weapons, with the US, UK and Russia giving it guarantees that its territorial integrity would be protected. But look what happened. Russia has annexed Crimea in response to Nato’s efforts to wean it away from Russia, with the guarantors unable to lift a finger.  Jaya

open www.openthemagazine.com 1

The Great Temple Mafia desecration

Treasury theft, sexual assault and a death in the Sree Padmanabhaswamy temple

Three years after

the underground vaults of Thiruvananthapuram’s Sree Padmanabhaswamy temple were opened and a stunning amount of old jewellery, gold and silver estimated around Rs 1 lakh discovered, the Supreme Court-appointed amicus curiae, Gopal Subhramanyam, has found that the treasure is being pilfered. In his report, he also mentions a sexual assault of a woman who stitched clothes for the temple, an acid attack attempt on a temple employee who had questioned theft 5 may 2014

in the temple, and the death of an auto driver, Anil Kumar, whose body was found in a pond inside the temple.

Asking for another investigation into the death, which the police concluded is a case of drowning, the report notes, ‘Mafia is involved in the administration of the temple and all nefarious acts are committed in the name of the palace’. The erstwhile royal family of Travancore controls the administration of the shrine.

Subhramanyam claims to have found 17 kg of gold being pilfered, and, shockingly,

a gold plating machine on the temple premises. The report has asked for a CAG audit of the treasure. Subhramanyam has also asked that the present trustee, controlled by the royal family, be prevented from interfering in the day-to-day management of the temple.

The amicus curiae has urged the Supreme Court to direct the trustee of the temple to submit an affidavit on the various bank accounts and land owned by the temple, as well as details of the properties and their documents.

Referring to the resistance put

up by the royal family against opening vault B three years ago citing divine reasons, Subhramanyam apparently found that the vault had been opened several times and many articles are now missing.

The temple management, however, claims that the report is ‘misleading’. According to the executive officer of the temple, SR Bhubanedran, the report is an attempt to create a negative image of the temple administration among devotees. n Shahina KK

open www.openthemagazine.com 3

simon reddy/latitudestock images/getty images

small world

10

contents

18

cover story Target: Modi

UP

6

hurried man’s guide

26

open essay

to Aditya Chopra and Rani Mukerji’s wedding

8

41

36

Of home and heart

The Wrestler is Withering Away

bengal

Didi is singing alone this time

andhra

A sense of betrayal, a whiff of hope

locomotif

El Realismo Gabo, Forever

person of the Week david moyes

The Wrong Chosen One The disastrous successor of Sir Alex Ferguson Lhendup Bhutia

A

s it turned out, the chanting in the stadium came true. During the match between Manchester United and Everton, which the former lost 2-0 and for the first time in 19 years missed the cut to the Champions League qualifications, the stadium erupted with chants of ‘Sacked in the morning’ as the pale, forlorn figure of David Moyes in the Manchester United dugout looked on.

The next morning, Moyes, the 10-monthold coach of the famed Manchester United, was delivered his relieving letter.

The fall from grace is shocking. Ten months ago, Moyes was on the cusp of great things. Handpicked by Sir Alex Ferguson, football’s most decorated and able manager, with a £4 million-a-year, six-year contract to manage the world’s most celebrated football club. Many were surprised over the choice of Moyes, then a low-key manager of Everton who had never won a major trophy in his career.

Manchester United fans had assumed the club would try and get Jose Mourinho, the well-regarded Portuguese trophy specialist currently at the helm of affairs at Chelsea. But it was reasoned that what Manchester United wanted after Ferguson was not a ruthless genius manager who could make the team strong but perhaps also mess it up, but a low-key individual who could unassumingly keep the mean Manchester United machine ticking. Ferguson called him the “chosen one”.

Today, Manchester United is in tatters.

They are placed a lowly seven in the Premier League ranking and are guaran4 open

teed their worst-ever points total, having already suffered a record 10 defeats. They have lost both home and away to their archrivals, City and Liverpool and have scored only 18 goals at home, the same total as this year’s bottom rankers, Fulham and Cardiff. Throughout the season, the team known for their attacking style of play and intensity, appeared tired and defensive. They are now certainties to fail to qualify for the Champions League for the first time in 19 seasons. Compare that with Ferguson’s legacy – almost 27 years as manager, with 13 Premier League and 2 UEFA Champions League titles.

Set aside tactics and analysis. What Moyes lacked is man-management and matthew peters/getty images

communication, the two most crucial aspects of managing a club. He overtrained the players, and it is said Robin van Persie, one of the star players in the team, has been injured for most of this season because of over-training. He let go of Ferguson’s coaching staff and surrounded himself with those he brought on from Everton. When the team started failing, which happens even to the best, and the criticism began to pile up, he did not have the experience of Ferguson’s staff to rely on. What the ruthless Ferguson could do, with either humour or bluster, was get the best out of people. Moyes was incapable of doing this. People questioned his abilities. The players complained and the spectators jeered. On the night of the Manchester United-Everton match, a man dressed as the Grim Reaper among the spectators prophetically pointed his scythe towards him.

Despite only four matches remaining this season, Moyes has not been allowed to even complete a year. Ryan Giggs, the player-coach with whom Moyes is said to share a strained relationship will now take over as interim manager till a new replacement is found. In his press statement, Moyes thanked the Manchester United staff but not the players. Such has been the animosity, one can only presume.

Moyes now departs with a substantial payoff, which is expected to be around 12 months’ compensation of the £5 million he was to receive for five years. But the money will do little to nurse the humiliation of the sacking. n 5 May 2014

46

52

book extract

In praise of the risk-taker

b

p

books

58

The wishful advisor

b true life

Nocturnal mission

NOT PEOPLE LIKE US

books

56

63

Home and the world

Imran introspects

kevin frayer/getty images

on able Pers Unreasotnhe Week of ■

du The Hin

Hate M

onger

■

f o r making inflammatory

statements against Muslims If there is support for Narendra Modi among the middle class this election, it is because he has sought to bid his campaign on development and efficiency. But this support will evaporate if the Hindu hate monger raises his ugly head. In the past few days, BJP leader Giriraj Singh and Vishwa Hindu Parishad leader Pravin Togadia have delivered highly inflammatory statements. Singh said those who do not vote for Narendra Modi will have to find a place in Pakistan.

Togadia, who reportedly exhorted Hindus in Bhavnagar, Gujarat, to force a Muslim businessman to vacate a house he had bought in a Hindu locality, thundered that if Muslim property owners don’t relent in 48 hours, they should be assaulted with stones, tyres and rotten tomatoes. Such hate mongers only communalise elections and stoke fear among minorities. n 5 may 2014

Varanasi 24.4.2014, 1 pm N a r e n d r a M o d i ’ s highly televised road show on his way to filing his nomination papers in Varanasi as the BJP candidate on Thursday was meant as a show of strength on a day when 117 Lok Sabha constituencies across 11 states went to the polls. It was a grand plan to ensure top-of-the-mind recall.

More of a carnival than a road show, it was colourful, with people holding up thousands of flags with the lotus symbol, wearing saffron caps, Modi masks, showering rose petals from balconies and cheering the BJP’s prime ministerial candidate—the crowds simply washed the world’s oldest living city, considered holy by Hindus, in saffron.

Modi stood out in his pristine white attire on an open truck, crawling through the crowd along the two-km stretch from Banaras Hindu University, where he landed in a chopper, to the district collectorate where he filed his nomination papers. BHU founder Madan Mohan Malaviya’s grandson was among those who proposed his name. Others included Padma Vibhushan Chhandu Lal Mishra, a noted classical singer from the city, boatman Virbhadra Nishad, and Ashok of Varanasi’s weaver community. ‘My coming to Varanasi is like a child going to his Mother. I have come to this divine land on the call of Ganga Mata,’ Modi tweeted. n open www.openthemagazine.com 5

angle

A Hurried Man’s Guide

On the Contrary

to the Aditya-Rani wedding

The Absent Context

Two top Bollywood personalities, filmmaker Aditya Chopra and actress Rani Mukerji, recently got married in Italy. Conducted secretly in the presence of select friends and family members, the media was intimated via press statements only a day later.

The couple have been rumoured to be romantically involved for at least half a decade, though they have always denied it. Aditya, the eldest son of filmmaker Yash Chopra and the head of Yash Raj Films, Bollywood’s most successful production house, is known to be a recluse. He rarely attends events and never grants interviews. He was earlier married to a childhood friend, an interior designer named Payal Khanna. It lasted eight years (from 2001 to Reportedly, the 2009). It is rumoured that couple could not his marriage was close to wed earlier collapsing in 2006. This because Yash was when he started datand Pamela ing Rani, who was workChopra were ing in a number of Yash Raj fond of Aditya Films’ productions.

According to media reports, the reason the marriage did not take place earlier is that Aditya’s parents, Yash and Pamela Chopra, were fond of Payal. However, after Yash’s death last year, the relationship between Rani and Pamela im-

proved. Since then, Rani was seen in the Chopra home at a number of family events. Some media reports say the marriage was conducted now because the health of Rani’s father, Ram Mukherjee, is deteriorating and he wanted his daughter wed soon.

There has been much speculation about the couple’s wedding since last year, with some reports claiming they were to be married in February this year. They had to apparently reschedule the date due to work commitments.

Some other reports claim that the couple got secretly married in 2012. They were reportedly unable to open up on their marital status last year because of Yash’s untimely death. n

Shazia Ilmi and the perils of the hidden camera M a d h ava n ku t t y P i l l a i

T

he Youtube video in

which Aam Aadmi Party leader Shazia Ilmi asks Muslims to be ‘communal’ is quite clear. She says explicitly that Muslims have tried secularism without profit. And yet if you see the clip, which is slightly over a minute long, in its entirely, it is hard to see any malice in it. The connection between the word ‘communal’ and violence that is so ingrained in the Indian psyche is not Ilmi’s context. She is making a political pitch to wean them away from the Congress and ‘communal’ is used as a synonym for self-interest and, therefore, they should turn to Arvind Kejriwal. That is her pitch to the Muslims around her in that room.

But even if we agree that she meant self-interest, there is still some hypocrisy there. The Aam Aadmi Party is built on the premise that national interest should be supreme and it is time to overhaul the system.

To then appeal in narrow parochial semantics goes against its own grain.

That is doublespeak but still a lighter misdemeanour than what Ilmi is being castigated for.

Malleability of principles to adjust to ground realities will always be a problem for the Aam Aadmi Party.

Built on self-professed, and largely genuine, moral high ground, they really have no answer to the question of how to keep it going when it comes to the give and take of electoral politics. A few years ago when AAP was not in politics, the leaders of the party would have been mortified at appealing to people on the basis of caste or religion. Now they realise that it’s impossible to not do so in politics. For a party that is so vehement about corruption, the idea of bribing voters by populist schemes is also something it accepted without any public debate. It contributed in large measure to getting AAP to

power in Delhi. When Ilmi talked her way into trouble, she was merely doing regular inevitable politics. The electorate demands communication in terms of their universe. If a Muslim’s concern is the fear of his community being victimised, then it is not possible for a politician who wants that vote to give him only a lecture on corruption.

The other interesting aspect of the Ilmi incident is how the very tool that AAP thought would be a solution to corruption—the hidden camera— is being regularly used against it. It shows how dangerous a weapon it is if both honest and dishonest people can be killed by it. The sting is putty in the hands of a The truth to an good editor.

Sometimes, like action or word the Ilmi case, it is dependent does not even on context and need an editor to do damage. Take in the sting a word like context can ‘communal’, get be inserted by the media to cunning highlight it enough and everything else in that clip becomes irrelevant. The truth to an action or word is dependent on context, and in the sting context can be inserted by cunning. In private casual conversations we often say what we think the other person wants to hear even if we don’t mean it. But if it is captured by a camera, it suddenly makes a leap into becoming a statement of character.

The hidden camera is probably a useful tool if used judiciously and with some system of cross verification. However, the AAP solution in Delhi of making every citizen go after every government servant with a mobile camera was designed for chaos. How that experiment would have panned out we now know from Ilmi’s current predicament. n 5 May 2014

business

The Wonders and Woes of Foreign Funds C R E D I T The RBI’s ongoing and so far unsuccessful resolve to defeat inflation by keeping domestic credit costly has been pushing Indian companies to mobilise funds overseas. The world’s advanced countries, still recovering from the Great Recession, remain keen to stimulate their economies and stoke some inflation (since deflation is dangerous) by keeping credit cheap. This has opened an opportunity for domestic corporations to take cheaper loans from banks abroad in foreign currencies. But is the interest rate differential the sole reason for their favouring foreign financial markets? “No,” says Nirupama Soundararajan, a capital market analyst with Ficci, “Interest rate arbitrage might be facilitating foreign borrowing inflows into the country, but that remains but one reason for seeking overseas funding.” As Indian growth aspirations get more ambitious, says Phani Sekhar, a fund manager at Angel Broking, “External borrowings are going to remain relevant for India even after this arbitrage vanishes”—which could happen once the West properly recovers and if India succeeds in taming its inflation under a new political dispensation.

Large sums of money would still be needed. Sekhar points out that the $1 trillion that India’s infrastructure sector needs as investment envisaged by the Twelfth Five Year Plan cannot be financed entirely by domestic funds. External borrowings would have to fill the gap. In

borrow in haste...

Foreign loans could prove hard to pay back if the rupee crashes afp

all, despite the economic slowdown, India borrowed about $32 billion in 2013-14, about the same as the previous year, mostly in the form of ‘external commercial borrowings’ (ECBs) and foreign currency convertible bonds (FCCBs).

Analysts estimate that the country’s demand for foreign funds might be higher this year if a regime change at the Centre results in a sharp recovery, as many market players expect.

However, every opportunity is fraught with risk, and foreign borrowings are no exception. The most feared negative possibility is that India’s economic

scenario does not pan out as expected by optimists. Disappointment could see ‘hot money’ flee Indian assets. Additionally, if the next government is unable to ease the execution of mega-projects, then this would compound the problem. A currency crash would not only make foreign loans more expensive, it may make it hard for existing borrowers to service these. On top of all this, if India suffers a credit rating downgrade, it could set off a crisis. No wonder the RBI has quietly been shoring up its forex reserves.

Governor Rajan must prepare for every eventuality. n SHAILENDRA TYAGI

forex reserves

The RBI has been piling up dollars just in case India suffers a sudden flight of capital

282

291

295

291

294

303

309

(All figures are in $ billion)

276

Source: RBI compiled by Shailendra Tyagi

5 May 2014

30 SEPT 2013

31 OCT 2013

30 NOV 2013

31 DEC 2013

31 JAN 2014

28 FEB 2014

31 MARCH 2014

11 APRIL 2014

“The main problem is that the consumer’s purchasing power has been eroded.

Fuel prices have gone up by over Rs 20 a litre in two years. Taking an average use of a car of 1,000 km a month, the extra burden is Rs 1,300. The cost of living has gone up and salaries are not growing as fast as inflation… We cannot continue like this” RC Bhargava, Chairman, Maruti

Suzuki India, on why so few cars are selling in India

lo co m ot i f

El Realismo Gabo, Forever S PRASANNARAJAN

‘M

any years later, as he

faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice.’ So began the story that changed the way stories were told. Anyone who ever held that book in his hands knew that the real was too magical to be missed by the living. That everydayness is too thin a deception to conceal the whirl of the surreal that history has bequeathed to each one of us.

One Hundred Years of Solitude, translated from the Spanish

by Gregory Rabassa, the novel that launched Gabriel García Márquez (1927-2014) as perhaps the most original storyteller of the twentieth century, is a book renewed by rereadings.

From almost every page of this family saga, the fantastical leaps out, like an extravagantly imagined tropical beast, but, at the end of the dizzying passage, you are not floating in the unreal. You are transported deeper into the real, and if the real in the world of García Márquez is oversized and exaggerated, blame it on history. If, in this world, the normal is as awesome as a train that looks like ‘a kitchen dragging a village behind it’ or as beautiful as a celestial girl called Remedios, blame it on the rite of memory, ancestral and political. Shall we say, a Macondo-shaped memory?

You could go on tracing the origin of fiction’s most feverishly imagined place, you could go on arguing how much Márquez’s Macondo is indebted to Faulkner’s Yoknapatawpha County, or, you could return to what García Márquez says about a childhood train journey in his memoirs, Living to Tell the Tale: ‘The train stopped at a station that had no town, and a short while later it passed the only banana plantation along the route that had its name written over the gate: Macondo. This word had attracted my attention ever since the first trips I had made with my grandfather, but I discovered only as an adult that I liked its poetic resonance.’ He never heard anyone saying the word, and when he read in an encyclopaedia that it was the name of a tropical tree, he had already made it a town in his fiction. Later, he discovered that the Makonde were a nomadic tribe. ‘But I never confirmed it, and I never saw the tree, for though I often asked about it in the banana region, no one could tell me anything about it.

Perhaps it never existed.’

It exists, as one of fiction’s enduring datelines, as an invention as intimate as García Márquez’s birthplace, the Colombian town of Aracataca, and as magically absorbing— and disturbing—as the entire Latin American continent.

Here, an insomnia plague or a banana fever is not out of place.

8 open

Macondo, fully realised in One Hundred Years of Solitude, could have happened only in the pages of a novel shaped by the twin powers of memory and history.

García Márquez has attributed this overwhelming fabulism as a literary technique to the storytelling style of his grandmother, who narrated the most unbelievable tales with a “brick face”—emotionless. The tone—documentary and journalistic—is prevalent across the maestro’s oeuvre, but the detachment is all the more necessary for a novelist from a place where the past is a text of stifled freedom and dictatorship. The reality was less real—or too real to be real.

As García Márquez says in his Paris Review interview: “The trouble is that many people believe that I’m a writer of fantastic fiction, when actually I’m a very realistic person and write what I believe is the true socialist realism.” The term socialist realism could be misleading as it comes from someone whose fiction is far removed from the kind of drabness that style, as we understand it, is associated with. What he means is that, if you guys find what is real for me is magical for the rest, well, it’s your problem. As Salman Rushdie, whose indebtedness to the maestro is apparent in Midnight’s Children, says, ‘García Márquez decided that reality in South America had literally ceased to exist: this is the source of his fabulism. The damage to reality was—is—at least as much political as cultural. In Márquez’s experience, truth has been controlled to the point at which it has ceased to be possible to find out what it is. The only truth is that you are being lied to all the time.’

So it’s pretty much real when in The Autumn of the Patriarch, his other big book before the Nobel Prize, the dictator gives away the oceans as debt payment: nautical engineers carry off the Caribbean ‘in numbered pieces to plant it far from the hurricanes in the blood-red dawns of Arizona.’ Or when the Patriarch one day wakes up late in the afternoon and thinks it is morning, and his countrymen have to stand outside the palace window with cut-out suns to create an illusionary morning for the dictator. The possibilities of el realismo mágico are immense in a Márquez novel: they bring out the many variations of the relationship between solitude and power. The Autumn of the Patriarch is the story of a lone, nameless dictator in a nameless nation. In him we see the shades of every Latin American dictator, and in his country we see the geography of every South American country under a dictatorship, but what makes the book bigger than an allegory is the solitude of the Patriarch, whose monstrosity is matched by his melancholy. As Gerald Martin writes in his biography of the novelist, ‘García Márquez had realised, he told interviewers, that this dictator was what Colonel Aureliano Buendía would have turned into if he had won his war—in other words, if 5 May 2014

Colombian history had been different and the Liberals rather than the Conservatives had triumphed over the course of the nineteenth century.’

In many ways, The General in His Labyrinth, one of his major post-Nobel Prize novels, is an extension—or maybe a variation—of The Autumn of the Patriarch. The novel on the last lonely days of Simón Bolívar could have easily been called ‘The Autumn of the Liberator’. Here, García Márquez reverses his technique: he turns the mythical into the mundane.

Bolívar the liberator is less than his historical size: humanised and shrunken, a pastiche of the magic that was: ‘a master of the arts of war, no one surpassed him in inspiration.’

Now, ‘I’m old, sick, tired, disillusioned, harassed, slandered, and unappreciated.’ No amount of cologne, on which he was once accused of spending eight thousand pesos of public funds, can keep away the stench of reality. The Liberator cries out in hopelessness as his idea of unity disintegrates at the same speed his body does: ‘Damn it, please let us have our Middle Ages in peace!’ The curse of the Liberator, a figure of mortal disillusion, would outlive him: ‘America is ungovernable, the man who serves a revolution ploughs the sea, this nation will fall inevitably into the hands of the unruly mob and then will pass into the hands of almost indistinguishable petty tyrants of every colour and race…’ Like any other death in a Márquez novel, poignancy and pathology, poetry and grotesquery, are at play when the Liberator is finally freed from his labyrinth—eight buttons of pure gold will be torn off from his blue tunic in the confusion of his death.

Rodrigo Garcia, FNPI/AP

The picaresque of Bolívar would be mimed by the history of Latin America, starring wannabe Bolívars. Hugo Chávez was the most ambitious—and ludicrous. The other, withering away in Havana, was a friend of the novelist, and García Márquez was rather defensive about the Maximum Leader when he described the friendship as purely literary. García Márquez, unlike the other member of the Latin American boom, Mario Vargas Llosa (Carlos Fuentes was the third), travelled on the left. Llosa is unapologetically Thatcherite, and his spat with García Márquez is now part of literary trivia.

As the most famous writer of the Spanish-speaking world, García Márquez may have enjoyed political attention. What sets him apart is not the ideological incompatibility of his politics but the expansiveness of his imagination. He has written one of the greatest love stories ever told at the peak of his post-Nobel fame: Love in the Time of Cholera, an epistolary romance in which Florentino Ariza waits for fifty one years, nine months and four days to regain Fermina Daza, who had once agreed to marry him if he promised not to make her eat eggplant. Set in an unnamed port city in the Caribbean, this is another only-Gabo-can moment after One Hundred Years of Solitude in the history of twentieth century fiction. We are back to the interchangeability of love and death: ‘At nightfall, at the oppressive moment of transition, a storm of carnivorous mosquitoes rose out of the swamps, and a tender breath of human shit, warm and sad, stirred the certainty of death in the depths of one’s soul.’ Love is the only thing that interests Florentino, who eats roses, and fills up twenty-two notebooks with six hundred and twenty two entries of carnal conquests in the waiting period.

In the end, when the reunited lovers go sailing down the Magdalene, the infinity of longing and the inevitability of death merge in the river.

On a smaller scale, but as fabulous as ever, the love story is played out in Of Love and Other Demons, with a backdrop more sinister than cholera—the church. This is what the exorcist lover says: ‘I have always believed He attributes more importance to love than to faith.’

Even as we appreciate the magic of his realism, we cannot afford to miss one of South America’s most versatile journalists at work. García Márquez, the master of detail, employs the craft of narrative journalism in his fiction. In News of a Kidnapping, a reporter’s book on the hostage-taking by Pablo Escobar, the art of journalism and the flair of fiction join to make the drama of drugs, politics, diplomacy, and the struggle of the ten abducted Colombians, nine of them journalists, as engrossing as any Márquez story.

The reality of the world Gabriel García Márquez inherited needed a redeemer, a storyteller. El Maestro lived to tell the tale. n

The reality of the world Gabriel García Márquez inherited needed a redeemer, a storyteller.

El Maestro lived to tell the tale

open www.openthemagazine.com 9

open essay

By SUNANDA K DATTA-RAY

HOME IS WHERE THE VOTE IS… …Or, is it that home is where the heart is but the heart is more than a cashbox?

10 open

5 May 2014

F

our encounters with expatriate Indians in the course

of a week in Turkey recalled the crucial question—Where is home?—underlying the spat between Amarinder Singh and Arun Jaitley as the curtain rose on the greatest electoral show on earth. An answer of sorts occurs to me amid the olive groves, vineyards and hillsides speckled with ten thousand varieties of wild flowers of Kythera, the Greek island where a retired Australian diplomat of Kytherian origin has built the house where I am writing this. Le Corbusier might have designed his stylish minimalist abode of dark local stone and acres of plate glass overlooking the sapphire sparkle of the Aegean Sea. His home has followed his heart. But where is home for the 88 ‘undocumented’ Pakistanis whom armed Greek policemen bundled into an aeroplane and dumped in Pakistan? Or for the thousands of Asians and Africans who slipped into Greece to make a new home but are now languishing in detention centres? What did 27-year-old Shehzad Luqman, who had lived in Greece for five years until the small hours one morning when he was stabbed to death as he cycled to work, call home?

The Golden Dawn, an increasingly popular political party committed to an exclusive Greek identity, inspired Luqman’s murderers. It isn’t difficult to sympathise with 11 million Greeks reeling under an economic crisis and burdened with a million outsiders. But who is ‘the outsider’ and who ‘the insider’ in India? The answer can be disastrous for national harmony if it implies a trade-off between growth and secular democracy.

Ironically, Greece’s operation against the unwanted homeless is named after Xenios Zeus, the mythological protector of travellers. Even more ironically, Kythera’s bustling prosperity is untouched by national distress because thousands of Kytherians sent their young children away to Australia where they made good. My friend’s father was only twelve when he was put on a ship bound for Sydney. A humbler version of Sierra Leone’s gaunt Gate of No Return—so hauntingly depicted in Steven Spielberg’s film Amistad—marks the spot where migrants like him said their last goodbyes before walking down to the harbour at Agia Pelagia. The inscription on a cross under a drooping tree calls it the point of tears, welcome, joy and bitterness. My friend was born and bred in Sydney and served in Australian missions all over the world before rediscovering his Kytherian landfall.

I, too, once thought I caught a glimpse of the landscape of atavistic memory in a village grove in erstwhile East Pakistan. It was the site, my father had told me, of an ancestress vowing as the sati flames consumed her that she and her husband would one day return as twins to the same family. Contrary to Nirad C Chaudhuri’s assertion that life’s progression must always be westward, my own perambulations have often taken me east, and fruitfully too. But family legend can be like ‘Shri Ram’ and

Ramrajya—myths that distract attention from the obligations and responsibilities of present reality. Some terrains permit no return of the native.

Home has many connotations. Europeans, as the English called themselves in the Calcutta of my childhood, spoke of ‘Home’ and ‘Home Leave’, the latter a status symbol even for Indians. When a European spoke of ‘HOME’ in block capitals you knew that somewhere in the lineage lurked what was called ‘a touch of the tarbrush’. Many years later, Congressmen who deserted Indira Gandhi’s sinking ship after the Emergency called it ‘homecoming’ when they crawled back into her benediction after she regained power. Similarly, and like the Bengali writer who wore trousers under his dhoti in 1857 and kept a sharp watch on the fortunes of sepoys and soldiers, many civil servants, journalists and others are now discovering saffron has always been their favourite colour.

Homecoming can be spontaneously sincere. I read somewhere that visiting a forward army position during the 1965 war with Pakistan, an excited Sardar Swaran Singh began to Sameer Sehgal/Hindustan Times/Getty Images

Amarinder Singh’s jibe about Jaitley is misplaced.

Patiala’s former king should know that even the most cosmopolitan Punjabi is forever a Punjabi

5 May 2014

run towards the glimmer of Lahore. Guns boomed but adolescence beckoned.

Does Manmohan Singh feel a similar yearning for Gah as he packs his bags after 23 years of political asylum in Guwahati?

Politicians are today’s kings, and kings die in exile, as Oscar Wilde noted. Perhaps there was a wistful twinge in Pervez Musharraf’s comment during his 2001 visit that if he did not press for Kashmir he might as well buy back his ancestral Naharwali Haveli in Daryaganj and stay back.

But Amarinder Singh’s jibe about Arun Jaitley was misplaced. open www.openthemagazine.com 11

Patiala’s former maharaja should know that even the most cosmopolitan Punjabi is forever a Punjabi. Amarinder Singh more accurately associated Sonia Gandhi with Uttar Pradesh.

Militant feminism hasn’t exorcised the traditional conviction that a woman’s place is in her husband’s home. As for Rajiv Gandhi’s place, the facile charge that he should organise a Festival of India in India too and soak up all it had to offer failed to take into account that Westernisation is an older Indian tradition than globalisation. What sociologists call ‘exile at home’ is only another manifestation of cultural fusion.

That phenomenon has been obscured by the diaspora’s success in mastering two worlds. PIO and OCI cards have turned emigration into package tours and reduced foreign citizenship to passports of convenience. Even while rejecting the notion of a ‘tribal home’, VS Naipaul took an unmistakably proprietorial interest in India. The people I met in Turkey more unashamedly kept the ancestral flag flying with their equivalent of the bed of native earth in which a peripatetic Dracula slept in Bram Stoker’s eponymous novel.

I had thought otherwise until an Indian Singaporean whom I called deracine rebuked me. “When you see another Indian at an international airport, don’t you wonder where he comes from?” he demanded. “So do we!” I wasn’t surprised, therefore, when an Indian woman came up to our table at a pavement café in Istanbul. “Where are you guys from?” she asked, revealing her American orientation. Her husband and son joined her. They were Mumbaikars from Seattle, kindly people whose loneliness generated friendliness.

An observer said of their British equivalent that no matter how many years they spent in the United Kingdom, they lived in India and went to work in Britain. A Polish Jew recreates Alexander Pope’s definition of bliss—‘Happy the man, whose wish and care a few paternal acres bound, content to breathe his native air, in his own ground’—in Israel. An Indian is lost without India.

Diaspora nostalgia provides rich pickings for nationalist organisations. The homesick NRI atones for the comforts of the Western world by working overtime to ensure a US visa for the messiah who claims he alone can rescue Bharat Mata from illegal immigrants in the east, terrorists from the west and Delhi’s foreign usurper. The magnitude of the diaspora’s intervention in the General Election of 2014 will never be known, but the help it undoubtedly extended was another aspect of the eternal quest for home.

guage, but I gathered he was from the French-ruled island of Reunion whose Indians are said to be ‘socially Catholic and privately Hindu’. That silent encounter was as poignant as an elderly Bengali asking me in Manchester if mangoes still grow in India. He had gone to Britain before World War II to study law, failed his exams, married an Englishwoman and held a clerical job when we met. He had never had enough money to go back.

His wife and children had no interest in India.

The buzz phrase during my teens in England, nostalgie de la boue, yearning for the mud, expressed the longings of a generation that attributed spiritual values to faraway primitives. The mundane convenience of a British passport which could be obtained across the counter in those days was irrelevant to that thirst for redemption. Many years later a British diplomat gave me the status of ‘retired person of independent means’. It was a short cut to citizenship, he said. And, indeed, Heathrow Airport officials assumed I had come to stay the first time I landed armed with that document. “You don’t live here any longer?” they asked in surprise long after I let my privileged visa lapse.

I did so because much as I enjoy spending time there, Britain can never be home. I would have felt a fraud presenting a passport emblazoned with the Royal coat of arms at immigration counters. An acquired passport would have been more of a

It will be a sad day for India if businessmen accept a government’s right to redefine who is a native as the price of development—which so often means opportunies for them to amass wealth

T

he quest can be intensely unhappy. I have often wondered about the unknown Indian whose portrait hangs among the Khmer Rouge’s murdered victims in the grim Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum in Phnom Penh. What happened to the thousand Indians who lived in Vietnam in 1949 according to a recent American history? Sadly, conversation wasn’t possible with the man who was drawn by my Indian features at Paris’s Gare du Nord station. We didn’t have a common lan12 open

straitjacket than the one that is my birthright. I would have felt deprived of the moveable feast of memories that keep alive in the twilight of my life the various experiences of youth. I owe something of myself to my birthplace Calcutta, to Benares and Lucknow where I first went to school, to the adolescent battlefields of Manchester, Stockport, Newcastle upon Tyne and London, to Honolulu’s paradise lost, Singapore which so handsomely rewarded my labour, perhaps even to Sydney where I was married. Beyond them shimmers that unreachable ancestral village in what is now Bangladesh.

Each place, even the last, means belonging and acceptance.

Each sustains a composite identity that balances anxiety with security and defies a single label. Home is some place one can leave, forget and return to, a place that recognises no difference between one native and another.

It will be a sad day for India if businessmen accept a government’s right to redefine who is a native as the price of development which so often means opportunities for them to amass wealth. Home is where the heart is, but the heart is more than a cashbox. Any equivalent of Greece’s Golden Dawn would destroy the India I am proud to call home. n 5 May 2014

Aatish Taseer a bend in the ganges

The Comfort of Masks

F

ew things better capture the mood of this election than the Modi mask. We’ve seen them now for a while, those smiling bearded faces with the eyes hollowed out. Here, in Benares, where the election has acquired the pitch and fever of carnival, they make a special impression. I see them almost every evening on the ghat, fastened to the faces of one or two people in a small cluster of men in saffron caps. They contain a double mystery. One neither knows the man behind the mask nor does one entirely know the man who the mask is a likeness of. And, as such, there is something sinister about them. The masks are a celebration of sameness, of a homogenising vision, from which many people feel shut out. They convey both the euphoria of this election as well as its air of great mutual distrust.

Muslims are the most obvious group to feel excluded from this majoritarian celebration. But there are others too, including many among the English-speaking classes in the big cities. They sense that this election is not simply about governance or development, but that it contains other strains too; that there is a tension along cultural and linguistic lines, a hint of class warfare in the air. And they are not wrong. I sense it too, now in a group of tea drinkers at Benares Hindu University, who feel Modi is the only man to save India from another descent into ghulami, now in a boatman who hopes he will chase away the ‘Angrezon ki sarkar,’ now in a young BHU student of Sanskrit, who feels India’s minorities have abused its culture of hospitality. “They can stay, of course,” he says easily, “we have given them sharana (refuge). But they must not grow any bigger.”

These are not the only voices to emerge from behind the masks; there are others, far more benign, who want nothing more from Modi than good roads and jobs and electricity; but the voices that contain this note of cultural tension are important. They represent the deeper vibrations of this election and they are part of a realignment, long overdue in this country, of which the rise of Narendra Modi will one day come to be seen as an inevitable consequence. But before I say more about this, let me tell you—for it is not unrelated!—a little bit about the house where I am staying in Benares.

It used to belong, this river-facing house with its blackish yellow facade, to a woman called Alice Boner. She was a Swiss artist who, through her connection to Uday Shankar, came 14 open

to India in the 1930s. She fell in love with Benares, moved here in 1936 and lived in the house where I am living till a few years before her death in 1981. Much under the influence of the Sri Lankan art critic AK Coomaraswamy, she dedicated her life to Indian Art. She was especially interested in the relationship that exists between a country’s Art and its system of beliefs, feeling ‘that every architecture, every image has to be an expression of the inner life’. She wrote: ‘It is an elementary and obvious truth that the particular form language of any art is conditioned by the cosmic, psychological and metaphysical conceptions that lie at its base.’

The influence of Coomaraswamy, as well as her own discoveries, gave her a particularly acute understanding of the relationship between cultural power and political power.

And, as Indian independence—to which she was witness— approached, Alice became concerned as to what independent India would do to dismantle colonial education and to resurrect its relationship with its own past and traditions.

Alice was someone, I think, who would have felt that a political awakening in a country like India, emerging from centuries of foreign rule, would be meaningless if not accompanied by a cultural awakening of some kind. I think she would have wanted independent India to feel the confidence that comes to a country from a vital relationship to its past. On 25 June 1946, after a conversation with Sarojini Naidu in Delhi, she recorded this diary entry: ‘I asked [Naidu] whether, when India would have her own government, they would not consider calling Coomaraswamy back from America to give directives for the new education in art and other fields. I thought that he was the man who could really put India on the right path and help her keep her own tradition intact, while recognising her whole social and economic life. She would not 5 May 2014

hear anything of this. “Oh no!” she said. We have other things to do now! We have to rebuild India politically. Those things will come much later! And, besides, he is old now, and out of touch with India.”

I felt disappointed and wondered who was more out of touch with India, whether a man living in America and devoting all his studies and deep penetration to the exact meaning of Indian tradition, or people living in India and looking all the while towards Europe for inspiration and direction for all their activities?’

So much of Naidu’s attitude—her easy contempt for cultural things, her foolish disregard of Coomaraswamy, her inability to grasp the relationship between culture and politics—is still prevalent among English-speaking Indians today. For India, even after decades of political independence, never really got around to culture. And what a heavy price she has paid! India is not an authority on her own past; Indians do not write the great works of Indology; modern India’s cultural life is stunted and slavish. Her young people live in a state I would describe almost as a kind of linguistic apartheid, in which they are routinely made to feel small for not knowing English, the power of which they see around them all the time.

Worst of all: through their education system, they are systematically denied contact with India’s classical past, which would nourish their interior life and bring forth their genius.

A few days ago, in my conversation with students at Benares Hindu University, I encountered some of the agony this experience can cause. At first glance the university—set up in 1916—seems to be the exact expression of a vital relationship between a modern culture and its classical past. It is a vast and beautiful university, its streets scalloped with the heavy shade of north India’s great trees. Its impressive buildings of mixed accents, all yellow and red, seem to strive for a synthesis between the traditional and the modern. There are, in its

Sanskrit faculty, departments of m-ıma- m . sa—Indian hermeneutics! But BHU, though it contains the spirit of a time when India really was in the midst of a cultural awakening, seems, like India itself, not to have been able to come through on the promise of that time.

And that wasted promise will produce anger. It was easily audible in the voice of a young PhD student of Hindu Law—Priyankar Aggarwal—when he spoke of his education, which far from being nourishing, had been a trauma. “You might not believe me,” he told me, one windless afternoon, a few days ago, “I studied until the 12th in an English medium school. But, at the end of it, I could neither speak English nor understand it. That is the effect of this modern education system.” The word he used again and again, and with great effect, to describe the stultifying effect of his education was stereotyped. “In Sanskrit, I raul irani saw a vast horizon. That is why I chose it. But in the other subjects, it was so stereotyped. Just mug up what’s in the textbook, give the exams, get your marks, and bhool jao: bhaadh me jaaye!” It was nirasa, he said.

And this word, when it came from his mouth, this man who truly knew what rasa was, seemed to contain all rasas’ meanings: not just sap or juice or flavour, but essence. This was what he felt his education had lacked. I knew very well what he meant. My own education, though it had included a far more profound engagement with the West, had left me with a similar feeling of lack. It was what had brought me to Sanskrit too, and the language had given me more than I could ever have imagined. What is it Wilde says of Christ in De Profundis? ‘…like a work of art: he does not teach anything, but by being brought into his presence one becomes something.’

But the Sanskrit department at BHU, as with other branches of Indology in

The masks are a celebration of sameness from which many people feel shut out.

They convey both the euphoria of this election and its air of mutual distrust

5 may 2014

open www.openthemagazine.com 15

BHU seems to strive for a synthesis between the traditional and the modern.

But its Sanskrit department was a bleak place to be

Express archive

India, was a bleak place to be. Priyankar described it as a desolation, attracting only those people who couldn’t get in anywhere else. And though many achieved competence in the language—a thing in itself!—they were not active in research, he said. Not pushing the boundaries of what was already known, not renewing their connection to the past.

The only possibilities, he said, for someone coming out of university with Sanskrit to earn an income were in astrology and liturgy. I was very sad to hear him speak like this because at Columbia University—where I was part of an on-line reading group, reading The Birth of Kumara—this was not the case. There, academic research was happening—good books were being written, boundaries were being stretched— and someone, with Priyankar’s passion and learning, would have been a welcome addition. One had only to join the dots, and it was only a matter of time before someone did. I had, in fact, met people like him, scholars of Hindi and Urdu, who had escaped the corruption and listlessness of India’s university system for the respect and support other places had to offer.

But even if Priyankar found his way, none of this was good news for India. The past could not be ignored; a country that did not probe its past, did not allow itself to be made new by its relationship to the past, would invariably end up the victim of crude revivalism. This was already happening in India. People, acting out of insecurity, while feeling keenly the loss of the past, were turning it into a thing of slogans and pamphlets, something sacred but inert, which demands reverence but does not fire the imagination. And when piety becomes the only way of engaging the past, people are quick to take offence. Coomaraswamy, long ago, sensed this danger for India: ‘In the nineteenth century, we have to remark two special conditions beside the survival of the past in the present. First, that Indian culture was already decadent, that is to say, suffering from the inevitable consequences of all formulation. The formula, however admirable, is inherited rather than earned, it becomes an end instead of a means, and its meaning is forgotten, so that it is insecure.’

That insecurity, if not quenched in real learning, expresses itself in all varieties of chauvinism, false pride and prejudice.

16 open

It expresses itself in the actions of little men like What’s-hisname Batra who had Penguin pulp Wendy Doniger’s book.

Or: Mr Ashok Chowgule, of the Vishwa Hindu Parishad, who wrote to me last week to warn me not to call Benares Benares, but Varanasi. What better example of the smallness of this mentality than to want to limit this city of innumerable names to one name! Men as these are not interested in their own past. What they really want is to recast Hinduism in the spirit of Victorian Christianity and Islam. They want to make a Prophet of Ram, and a Bible of the Gita. And one has at least as much to fear from them as from the people, who, in the name of secularism, would put a stake in the heart of Hindu India.

T

hese are our culture wars. It is tempting, in this season of political and cultural change, to imagine a different India: one with a place of importance in the world of Indian learning, a country whose scholars produce the work foreigners are producing, and whose children do not leave its schools and universities without the confidence that comes from a serious engagement with the past. But perhaps one does not ask anything of so uncertain a time. Especially, here, in Benares— known also, Mr Chowgule, as apunarbhavabhumi: the land of non-recurrence—where there is now a great feeling of flux.

The place is crawling with journalists; Modi and Kejriwal are both in town; and, as sam . dhya—the hour of juncture— falls over the river, there are many discrete realities to contend with. There is this little house, with its view of the Ganga and its library of books on Indian art; there are the ghats, full of people immersed in the instinctive life of Tradition; and now, more numerous every day, there are the orange-capped agents of the new time to come, threading their way through the crowd of bathers, ascetics, students and tourists—the men in masks. n

Aatish Taseer’s new novel, The Way Things Were, will be published at the end of this year.

His weekly despatch from Benares will appear through the elections 5 May 2014

TARGET

M

THREAT TO

Narendra Modi, one of India’s most protected politicians, tops the hit list of Islamist terror.

PR RAMESH unravels the plot

Sam PANTHAKY/AFP

DI

1

3 2 infographic anirban ghosh

The Rally Security Drill 1

Security deployed around the helicopter.

Terminal buildings, balconies, galleries and buildings close to the air field have police deployment. Commandos at strategic points near the airport and the venue

Y

asin Bhatkal surprised his

interrogators late last August when he named all the top 10 on his hit list: Narendra Modi, Narendra Modi, Narendra Modi…. There was no other name. The captured Indian Mujahideen (IM) cofounder appeared remorseless, defiant—and brutally blunt even for a man who’d plant bombs in a mosque because he hated foreign women in short skirts entering it. Bhatkal, who was on the run for eight years and was arrested in Nepal last year, is the key suspect in the case of Pune’s German Bakery attack in February 2010 that killed 17 people. Investigators had identified Bhatkal through CCTV footage from the bakery.

“We would do anything to get Modi, at whatever cost,” he told a police officer in Bihar, a state that has emerged as a recruitment ground for jihadists. It was to Bihar that Bhatkal, mastermind of several bomb blasts across India, was first brought from Nepal—where he was living in disguise as an Ayurvedic practitioner, lying low while quietly making plans for his next strike.

Bhatkal’s disclosures should have put the Centre and Nitish Kumar’s government in Bihar on their toes, but they didn’t. Within months, the IM struck again, this time at a Modi rally in Patna, 20 open

2

Before every movement, every vehicle of the carcade is subjected to anti-sabotage checks. Police also ensure anti-explosive checks along the route

killing eight people and injuring scores of others. A young captured IM terrorist told his interrogators that it was his life’s calling to be a ‘martyr’—and that he and his team had done an extensive recce of various cities in the country where the BJP leader would address rallies, including Kanpur and Allahabad, to chalk out an audacious attempt on his life. If the IM had succeeded in this operation, communal harmony in India would have suffered a heavy blow.

The Central Government was finally shaken out of its slumber, and since the Patna blasts—which kicked up a melee of finger-pointing and counter-accusations—the State’s security cover for Modi, Gujarat’s Chief Minister and the BJP’s prime ministerial candidate, has been tightened significantly. But the extent of the threat to his life is much more worrisome than is perceived, suggest intelligence inputs that Open has gained access to.

Central security agencies acknowledge that for Islamist forces, Modi is India’s No 1 target. ‘He faces a high degree of threat not just from IM but also from Pakistani groups that routinely collaborate with Indian operatives such as Lashkar-e-Toiba, Jaish-e-Mohammed, Harkat ul Mujahideen, Harkat ul Jihad Islami, Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan and

3

Carcade is ready for departure to the rally venue. The carcade consists of an ambulance and fire fighter. The ambulance carries doctors and paramedical staff. Modi’s blood group is A+

Hizbul Mujahideen,’ says a government document.

Startling Disclosures

The official assessment is backed by intelligence inputs that point to numerous plots to target Modi. These are some of the leads available with India’s agencies: • Officials of Pakistan’s external intelligence agency, the ISI, held a meeting with Indian Sikh radicals residing at House No G 541, DHA, Phase 5, Lahore, on 26 October 2013, where ISI operatives motivated Sikh extremists, including Lakhbir Singh Rode and Jagtar Singh Tara, to assist in transporting explosives to India to create disturbances at Modi rallies.

• At an indoor meeting of the banned SIMI in Nepal, held at the office of the Islamic Sangh, Birat Nagar, Nepal, speakers said the need of the hour was to find faithfuls who were ready to “neutralise” Modi.

• A D-Company operative, Munna Jhingra, who is currently incarcerated in Thailand on drug charges, has told an associate in Pakistan that he would eliminate Modi upon his release from jail.

• Maulana Masood Azhar of the Jaish-eMohammed told his acolytes that Modi would be killed if he becomes India’s Prime Minister.

5 May 2014

Safe House

Modi travels in this bullet-proof SUV

FIRE FIGHTER

AMBULANCE

LOCAL POLICE ESCORT-2

SPARE CM CAR

TAIL CAR

4 NSG ESCORT-1

JAMMER VEHICLE

CM CAR

NSG ESCORT-2

GUJARAT POLICE ESCORT-3

PILOT VEHICLE

5 4

110 Black Cat Commandos belonging to the NSG protect Modi. Among them one group is tasked to take on any attack, the second to provide cover and third to get him to safety

5

Strict access control measures are ensured at the venue to prevent unauthorised persons from gaining entry

ver t co 60f

6

7

6

A sterile zone is enforced around Modi in view of the increasing threat of a fidayeen attack

7

Plainclothesmen are deployed in the first row of the VIP enclosure

High Alert on the Road Modi’s carcade is offered a very high level of protection to guard against any ambush or sabotage illustrations anirban ghosh

1

All vehicles in the Gujarat CM’s convoy are inspected for explosive devices. Experience and skills of drivers are also verified. No other vehicle is allowed on the CM’s route

2

The carcade is watched constantly from various locations—from rooftops or balconies—to ensure that no unauthorised vehicle comes anywhere near it. Often barricades are erected to keep crowds at a safe distance

22 open

3

Vehicles are provided adequate security while they are parked. Security experts aver that this is the occasion when terrorists may try to either plant explosives or sabotage the vehicles

4

5

Traffic is stopped until Modi’s carcade has crossed the next intersection. Barriers are put up— or police vehicles are used—to prevent any vehicle from breaking through to ram the VVIP convoy

Specialists routinely scan manholes, culverts, drains and other places on the road where explosive devices could be hidden before the carcade passes through. Cattle are cleared from the route beforehand 5 May 2014

• IM leaders operating from Karachi are likely to depute trained cadres that would enter India to carry out fidayeen attacks on Modi.

• Pakistan-based IM terrorists are planning a terror strike in a prominent Indian city that Modi is likely to visit—such as Delhi, Mumbai, Ahmedabad or Surat.

• Zia ur Rehman alias Waqas, an IM operative picked up from Dhaka, has disclosed in his interrogation that Bhatkal and Asadullah Akhtar—both now in police custody—had discussed strikes on Modi.

The plot Thickens

Robert Spencer, founder of the blog Jihad Watch, tells Open that he has in his possession enough evidence to suggest that the jihadist threat to Indian nationalist leaders is “very big”. “They will do anything to kill them,” he says. Spencer has tracked jihadist movements across the world.

Bhatkal’s interrogation could have been used to extract more details of IM activities across the country. But it seems political apathy got in the way.

The IM leader’s arrest was supposed to be the biggest victory of the past couple of decades for Indian security agencies.

Working with intelligence assets created in Nepal, by early August 2013, IB officials had traced Bhatkal’s exact location in Pokhara. However, to cross over, nab him and get him to Bihar, they needed around Rs 2 lakh. Time was crucial, and rather than going through the rigmarole of getting financial clearances from the IB headquarters, the sleuths informally arranged the money with the help of a police official posted at Raxaul.

Five days later, the IB team and Motihari’s Superintendent of Police drove back with Bhatkal, hoping to get as much information as possible out of him over the next 24 hours on IM operations and targets. The initial questioning soon after his arrest would have given his interrogators a tactical advantage, as a terror accused is psychologically most vulnerable in this period. Lack of judicial scrutiny tends to spook the most hardened of criminals, and they usually yield leads at the slightest exertion of psychological pressure. But this is where things went horribly wrong. As the Bihar police—under the instructions of Chief 5 May 2014

Minister Nitish Kumar—refused to arrest Bhatkal, the IB sleuths were forced to bring in the National Investigation Agency (the IB has no power to arrest anyone). Unfortunately, a senior NIA officer, unable to keep the catch secret, tipped off the media. Though the officer was shifted out of the NIA later, enough damage had already been done: Bhatkal had to be produced rightaway before a magistrate after the news of his arrest appeared on TV. Once his questioning began under court scrutiny, Bhatkal became more confident and less cooperative. The interrogators were now met with carefully crafted responses like, “I am not feeling up to it” or “I have to offer namaaz” every time they began asking him questions.

But the Patna blasts at Modi’s rally on 27 October 2013 prompted the Centre to do a rethink. A panicky UPA Government issued an order to throw a ring of security around Modi on par with that of someone shielded by the Special Protection Group, which covers prime ministers and other top leaders.

All of Modi’s recent public meetings have seen a strict observance of ASL— short for ‘Advance Security liaison’—protocols (see graphic), a drill that is undertaken during visits of India’s President, Prime Minister and Congress President Sonia Gandhi. The order demanded that Modi be treated as an ASL protectee all over the country.

Mad Pursuit

The significance of the IM threat came to light after the interrogation of David Coleman Headley, the man who scouted

“We would do anything to get Modi, at whatever cost,” Yasin Bhatkal told a police officer

for targets of a jihadist attack on Mumbai that took place on 26 November 2008. He was the first to reveal to his US interrogators details of the so-called Karachi Project—a plot scripted by the ISI, involving retired and serving officers of the Pakistan army, to launch terror attacks on India through the use of Lashkar collaborators. Among the aims of this sinister plan, Indian cities were to be subjected to a series of terror attacks designed and directed by ISI-appointed handlers in Karachi but executed by IM operatives and passed off as cases of ‘homegrown terror’.

The probe of the Patna blasts has revealed how influential the IM is in Bihar.

Tehsin Akhtar alias Monu, a leading member of the group’s Darbhanga module who is thought to have masterminded those blasts, had set up a network that stretched from Darbhanga, Madhubani, Sitamarhi and Samastipur in the state’s north to Aurangabad and Gaya in central Bihar. Monu, according to intelligence sources, was also behind the serial bomb blasts on the Mahabodhi Temple in Bodh Gaya in July, an act of terror scripted in retaliation to the alleged killings of Rohingya Muslims in Myanmar.

During their interrogation, members of the Patna attack module told the police that Tehsin Akhtar had instigated the group to carry out serial blasts. Said one, named Imtiaz: “Hamaara uddeshya thha ki aatank phaile aur bhaag daud mein kaafi sankhya mein mahilayein aur bachche marein” (Our objective was to spread terror so that women and children get killed in heavy numbers in the resultant stampede). According to Imtiaz, the stampede plan was Akhtar’s, who was present at Gandhi Maidan to supervise the bombers as they ringed the rally ground with explosives. “Muzaffarnagar mein bahut Muslim maare gaye hain, aur tum sirf namaaz hi padhte raho (Many Muslims got killed in Muzaffarnagar and all you do is to pray),” Tehsin exhorted his associates, according to one of those who planted the explosives.

Tragedy of Errors

Ignoring intelligence inputs has been a curse in India right from the time of Mahatma Gandhi to that of former Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi. A retired police officer, who has served eight prime minopen www.openthemagazine.com 23

Signs of Danger Manish Swarup/ap

N L YASIT KA A H B Founder of the Indian Mujahideen (IM)

Terror Kingpin Yasin Bhatkal, founder of the banned Indian Mujahideen, is currently in custody in India.

During interrogations, he revealed that Narendra Modi is his outfit’s top assassination target. The mastermind of several bomb blasts in India, Bhatkal was arrested last August in Nepal where he was living in disguise as an ayurvedic healer. Born in Karnataka, he is the key suspect—identified through CCTV footage—of Pune’s German Bakery attack of February 2010. The police say he planned a terror strike on the Jama Masjid in Delhi because he disliked seeing foreign women in short skirts visit the historic mosque.

AT GUJR S RIOT Fury of the Mob

In early 2002, riots broke out in Ahmedabad following the burning of a train in Godhra in which 58 people had died, most of them Ram Mandir karsevaks (volunteers) who were on their way back from Ayodhya.

Many Muslims were killed over several days of violence that also witnessed the destruction of mosques and looting of shops. The police proved to be largely ineffective in containing the conflagration. Several Hindus were also killed, many of them shot by the police. Modi, who was Chief Minister, has been criticised for not doing enough to stop the mindless violence.

isters as an SPG hand, tells Open of an incident that speaks of the callous approach to security that enabled the killing of Rajiv Gandhi by LTTE assassins.

Three days before the former PM’s assassination, the officer was on his way to Balia, hometown of the then Prime Minister Chandra Shekhar. When he reached platform No 2 of Patna Railway Station, he saw a slogan-shouting crowd surge ahead and about on Platform No 1, shunting aside everything in its way.

Youthful Congress supporters and others were milling around, with arms and legs flailing and bodies bobbing to the crackle of slogans. There was palpable excitement in the air, as if it were a defining moment in India’s political history.

And then he saw Rajiv Gandhi being bumped from shoulder to excited shoulder. By force of habit, the former SPG officer’s instant thought—indeed worry—was of Gandhi’s security. Any one of the hundreds of hands in that mob reaching out to touch, shake his hand, or garland him could blow him to bits, 24 open

A warehouse burns in Aslalinaka village near Ahmedabad in March 2002

he realised with a disconcerting sense of apprehension.

Three days later, after hours of hectic official engagements with the then Prime Minister, the former SPG official had barely retired to rest in Balia, at the PM’s house, when constables came banging on the door. There was shocking news. “Sir, the Congress president has been assassinated at Sriperambudur.”

The apprehension had turned to reality.

“It was his extreme proximity to the public that made his security threat perception the most sensitive among many PMs,” says the former SPG official.

Interestingly enough, speaking to a New York Times reporter on his way to his rally venue at Sriperambudur, Rajiv Gandhi had expanded on this, asserting that it was imperative for him to personally ask voters across India to return the Congress to power, even if it meant approaching people and interacting with them as if it were a local election. “I used to campaign like this before I became PM, now that I am no longer one, I’m going back to that,”

the reporter later recalled him as saying.

‘They decked him in flowers. Minutes later, he was dead,’ wrote Barbara Crosette of The New York Times in her eyewitness account of Rajiv Gandhi’s murder at that rally on 21 May 1991, after the first phase of polling in that year’s General Election was over.

When Rajiv Gandhi was Prime Minister before his party lost power in the General Election of 1989, the SPG official was part of a special crack team of security personnel especially trained for the PM’s security. Then a junior officer, he had had several opportunities to interact directly with the PM. As PM, Gandhi had participated actively in shaping this new expert security crew. Among his directives, he wanted their attire kept sober and uniform from its director down to every constable; this would signal an operational structure free of any rigid hierarchy that might hamper the flow of information from the ground to senior officers and vice-versa. Gandhi was also keen that the special 5 May 2014

A PATN T BLAS

People run for cover in Patna’s Gandhi Maidan in October 2013

Attack in Patna The Indian Mujahideen, which did a recce of Modi’s rallies in Kanpur and Allahabad, attacked a rally addressed by him in Patna’s Gandhi Maidan on 27 October last year. The attack killed eight people and injured scores of others. A young IM terrorist who was captured told his interrogators that it was his life’s calling to be a ‘martyr’ and that he and his team had planned to take Modi’s life.

It was these blasts in Bihar’s capital that forced the Centre to offer Modi SPG-level security, usually reserved for PMs and other top leaders. Until then, the Centre had ignored intelligence warnings.

Santosh Kumar/Hindustan Times/Getty Images

agents in his security detail appear ordinary so as not to deter ordinary folk from getting close. In consonance with that, he also decided that the SPG would be armed only discreetly—unlike the Black Cat Commandos who would be seen wielding firearms in public to keep people at bay.

It was VP Singh—after assuming power in 1989 at the head of the National Front Government—who made 7 Race Course Road the PM’s official residence, where the SPG pitched an elaborate security camp. Singh, the SPG official recalls, had particularly strained relations with his protectors, even ascribing conspiratorial political motives to their heavy presence on the premises. It was also he who ordered that Gandhi be stripped of his SPG cover just two months after he stepped down as PM. Keeping VIPs safe is a matter of utmost importance in any democracy. In a letter against the official probe of security lapses surrounding Rajiv Gandhi’s assasination, B Raman, a former additional direc5 May 2014

tor in the Cabinet Secretariat, had observed: ‘General Charles de Gaulle used to disregard the advice of his security officers. John F Kennedy went to Dallas in Texas despite intelligence reports of likely disruption of his visit by conservative and racist elements. French President Giscard d’Estaing was in the habit of driving at breakneck speed and

Terror experts believe it is only a matter of time before Modi is targetted by global jihadists

was once involved in a serious collision with a milk van when he went out at night without informing the security.

Indira Gandhi was disinclined to wear a bullet-proof vest. Swedish Prime Minister Olof Palme, who was killed in 1987, and his wife were in the habit of going for after-dinner walks without informing their security. When mishaps occur, the security bureaucracy cannot absolve itself of responsibility by claiming that the VIP invited trouble by not observing precautions. The bureaucracy is expected to protect him despite the VIP’s propensity for non-observance of precautions.’

The Vulnerability of Modi

Many international experts on terror believe it is only a matter of time that Modi becomes a target of trans-national Islamists operating in the Middle East, especially since they thrive on the spectacle such an attack would be. Says renowned author and military historian Edward Luttwak: “In the case of India, jihadists are both an organic expression of the Islamic legal doctrine that no Darr-ul Islam territory can ever be alienated to non-Muslim rule (regardless of the proportion of its non-Muslim population)—a doctrine promulgated by the Uttar Pradesh-based, tax-exempt Darul Uloom Deoband—and jihad is also an instrument of the Pakistani state; the former provides numbers, the latter specialised training.”He adds, “Both together mean that for India, jihadists are a strategic threat.” This means, he argues, that Modi is not only vulnerable to assassination but also to a temporary conquest of his political space by 26/11-style attackers.

Those tasked with safeguarding Modi agree that it is a challenge, but say they are leaving nothing to chance. According to a senior security official posted in Gandhinagar, the point is to make sure nothing is let slip even for a fraction of a moment. “Remember the statement issued by the Irish Republican Army on the attempt to kill Margaret Thatcher in 1984 at the Brighton Hotel?” he says, “The statement ended like this, ‘…You have to be lucky all the time. We have to be lucky only once’.”

That, he says, is the brutal truth. n open www.openthemagazine.com 25

DEBUT

A sense of betrayal A whiff of hope

From Sonia Gandhi’s 13-minute stump speech to K Chandrashekar Rao’s nose which is more admirable than his words. Madhavankutty Pillai travels through a divided land and realises that the future of Telangana is hostage to populism and opportunism

photographs by ritesh uttamchandani

I

t was in 2009 while doing his last

year of law at Osmania University that Manne Krishank became one of the faces of the student agitation for a separate Telangana state. There had been intermittent statehood movements for half a century but no one had seen anything like this. The students were, as one political commentator put it, infantry or cannon fodder. They went out into the streets in thousands. They committed suicide in public. They got beaten up.

26 open

They got thrown in jail.

Krishank is a bearded, lanky and intense sort of person, dressed in a white kurta and always walking fast with a couple of young men trailing him. He has been arrested hundreds of times, and says with a certain pride that there are 178 cases registered against him and that he was twice put in a Central Jail. Once, during a march to the Assembly, the police blocked their way and Krishank saw one student douse his body with kerosene

and run aflame towards the cordon so that the way would be cleared. Over 1,200 killed themselves for the state, according to one estimate.

On 2 June, Telangana will come into being, founded on such blood, toil and sacrifice. Its 119 Assembly seats will go to polls on 30 April to decide who will head its first government. In this first election of a new state, you would expect political parties to give a large number of tickets to those who led the movement on the 5 May 2014

troops Supporters of the Telangana Rashtra Samiti head for a rally in Husnabad

streets. This is where Krishank’s story takes a curious turn.

About two months ago, he joined the Congress. Many student leaders were going to the Telangana Rashtra Samiti, the political party founded in 2001 by an ex Congress leader K Chandrashekar Rao with the one-point agenda of statehood.

The Congress too needed to showcase student leaders and it was understood that Krishank would get a ticket. The constituency he had decided on was 5 May 2014

Secunderabad Cantonment, abutting Osmania University, the epicentre of the student agitation. “I had done my schooling in that constituency, my plus two, my law, my university, my agitation, everything. I was the only student leader who was active in my own constituency because my university falls adjacent to my constituency,” he says.

On 4 April 2014, before the Congress was to announce its list of nominees, Krishank put up a cryptic Facebook post:

‘Saw students with blood, saw them dragged jailed but i see myself and many other fellow student leaders standing with folded hands at the door steps of politics... Its more painful when i see my fellow comrades rejected... Its true that sensitive and sincere people dont have place in mainstream politics..

Before im backstabbed i want to put my last words, The students who fought for Telangana have no voice in this new state....’

Obviously, he was anticipating a betrayal. But he also had mentors in the paropen www.openthemagazine.com 27

high profile TRS chief K Chandrashekar Rao arrives at an election rally in Husnabad, preceded by his famous nose

ty like K Raju, chairman of the AICC’s Scheduled Caste Cell. Earlier, Krishank had been called to Delhi to lobby with the Gandhis. When the first list came out, his name was on it. After his return to Hyderabad, he took a celebratory walk with his followers around his constituency. He had already started campaigning. At the age of 25, he saw a reasonable chance of becoming an MLA. But within 48 hours, the Congress revoked his nomination and announced another name. Krishank first learnt of it through the media and then his leaders.

The party promised to ‘take care of him in future’. The Congress didn’t give a ticket to a single student leader. The TRS gave two tickets, both in not very winnable constituencies. When it came to elections, the students had been ignored. Old equations of caste and money were back.

The state had been formed, but politics had not changed. Krishank is continuing in the Congress.

S

uch twists are not new to Telangana. The journey to statehood has had more U-turns than straight roads. The demand for a separate 28 open

Telangana state began almost simultaneously with its merger into Andhra Pradesh in 1956. The region felt that its resources and jobs would be poached on by the rest of Andhra. A ‘Gentleman’s Agreement’ promised to safeguard the rights of Telangana but the perception of guarantees being flouted continued to grow and led to wide unrest in 1968 and 1969. That agitation was quelled.

In 1983, NT Rama Rao came to power with the Telugu Desam Party (TDP). He wanted to build his base in Telangana and his strategy was to woo the Naxalite movement that was taking root there.

“He said, ‘these Naxalites are patriots’ and opened the party to them. The Telugu Desam Party in Telangana is a largely Naxalite party. They manipulated the election. These people slowly became democratised; a lot of them right now have Naxalite backgrounds,” says Gautam Pingle, author of the recently published book The Fall and Rise of Telangana. This strategy of wooing Naxalites was later adopted by the Congress. Statehood remained a seething demand under the surface, like a dormant volcano.

In 1999, the TDP was in power and Congress leader YS Rajasekhara Reddy

(YSR) had been appointed leader of the opposition. He decided to revive the Telangana issue to undercut the TDP base. He took Telangana MLAs to Delhi with a petition for statehood, which led to Sonia Gandhi writing to Home Minister LK Advani demanding it. The BJP had been willing, but its coalition partner TDP refused to allow it. YSR won the 2004 election by allying himself with the Telangana movement. Once he became Chief Minister, he went back on his word. In 2008, it was the turn of TDP leader Chandrababu Naidu to support Telangana. But once he lost the elections, he too reneged. After the announcement of Telangana last year, it was the TDP which led most protests against it.

Telangana’s history has been a revolving door of parties promising statehood when they needed its votes and then backing out.

What eventually forced the issue was YSR’s unexpected death in a helicopter crash. Pingle believes that when the majority of Congress MLAs supported his son Jagan Reddy for chief ministership, Sonia Gandhi realised she had lost the party. She decided to create Telangana to save the Congress in that region at 5 May 2014

least. YSR died on 2 September 2009. “By December they decided they will go through with Telangana [even if it] splits the party. And a deal was made with TRS,” says Pingle.

But there were still more U-turns in store. Within two weeks, despite announcing it in Parliament, the decision was put on hold. That was the beginning of the mass movement that led to statehood. It was led by joint action committees of citizen groups across society, from students to government employees to lawyers, under the umbrella of the Telangana Joint Action Committee (JAC).

“From 2011 on, the JAC was in full steam.

The TRS was back in action politically.

When they finally gave statehood, it was to the movement that they gave in,” says Pingle.

W

ith Telangana a reality, the par-

ties that opposed it, like the TDP and YSR Congress, have become irrelevant in the region. The main contest is between the TRS and the Congress. N Venugopal Rao, editor of Veekshanam, a Telugu monthly academic journal on politics and economy, has been following elections in the state for decades. He says political parties are asking the electorate for votes on two counts—one is the gratitude vote for giving them Telangana, and the second is the reconstruction vote, on the promise of development in the new state.

“I think the gratitude vote will mostly go to the TRS, then Congress. The second question is on the development of Telangana. There is nothing new in any of the manifestos about reconstruction,” he says. Like most neutral political observers, he too expects a hung assembly, with the TRS leading, followed by the Congress. It would then have to be a coalition government. “For a new state, that is very sad,” he says.

That is because of the huge task before the government of dividing all the institutions between Telangana and Seemandhra in an amicable manner. To take an example of the difficulties, Andhra Pradesh had taken about $20 billion in loans from foreign institutions like the World Bank. This debt would have to be shared by Telangana and Seemandhra according to their popula-

5 May 2014

tion ratio. Telangana would thus have to repay 42 per cent of the loans. The problem however is that Telangana does not believe 42 per cent of those loans were spent on the region. “Maybe 20-25 per cent was spent on Telangana and the rest was spent on Andhra. So Telangana has to pay at least 15 per cent more than what it has consumed. Naturally, both the governments will fight on that,” says Venugopal.

Then there is the question of government employees from Seemandhra refusing to go back to their state because they have the option of staying on in Hyderabad. “The same Andhra employees will continue doing Telangana jobs, it will not be a correction,” says Venugopal. The new government’s entire energy will be expended on such issues related to division. “It will not have time to think about reconstruction,” he says.

Hyderabad being a common capital for ten years is another flashpoint.

Telangana believes this is a just a ploy by Seemandhra to hold on to the city be-

and it is usually mentioned with a chuckle or a smirk. Early this month, he switched three parties in three days. On a Sunday, he had been with the TDP, on Monday he was with Congress and on Tuesday he was with the TRS. The YSR Congress, led by Jagan Reddy, has as its MP candidate a former Director General of Police of the state. The irony of a top policeman being fielded by a man facing large scale corruption charges is not lost on anyone, but then corruption has not been much of an issue in this election here. The Telugu Desam Party has an education baron, which shows the link between big business and politics. The Aam Aadmi Party has fielded Narasimha Rao’s grandson, interestingly enough, after an earlier candidate reportedly couldn’t stand the heat and dust of campaigning and backed out midway. The Congress candidate is the sitting MP. Because of the large number of Seemandhra voters here, even the TDP and YSR Congress fancy their chances.

The candidate we set out to follow is

“

AAP is like the child who shouted that the emperor is naked. We need that voice. But if that child becomes king, it is a disaster ” Dr Jayaprakash Narayan, Lok Satta Party

cause of the investments in land there by businessmen of coastal Andhra. That is also said to be the reason statehood was delayed for so long.

T

he Lok Sabha constituency of

Malkajgiri is shaped like a kidney and encircles half of Hyderabad. It is the largest constituency in India and represents all the chaos and opportunism around the state’s division. There are 3 million voters here but it is also a constituency with a substantial number of ‘settlers’, the word used to describe those from Seemandhra.

A rich mix of characters is standing from here. Take the TRS candidate. His name is Mynampalli Hanumanth Rao

Dr Jayaprakash Narayan of the Lok Satta Party. He is an ex IAS officer and was the Arvind Kejriwal of Andhra Pradesh long before Kejriwal entered politics. He has an urban base and is a respected figure cutting across party lines. JP, as he is known, was an MLA from one of Malkajgiri’s Assembly segments in the last election, but he had then been backed by the TDP. Going alone, his chances are slim, despite a large number of yuppie volunteers working for him.

We find him on top of an open vehicle surrounded by the sound of whistles, the Lok Satta’s symbol. He gets down in between, hugs a child, pats a shopkeeper on the back and moves on. When they stop at a ground for a neighbourhood gathering, I ask him about the division of the open www.openthemagazine.com 29

state. He says his position has been that it is neither a catastrophe nor a panacea. It is a political issue and now that it has happened, what is needed is reconciliation.

He had been optimistic about the future, but after the mainstream political parties released their manifestos, he is not sure any more. “They have made reckless promises. Rs 50,000-70,000 crore loan waivers and there is no money; all sorts of freebies without any productivity improvement; no focus on infrastructure, industrialisation, job creation.

Unless there are saner voices, we have created conditions for the decline of both these states,” JP says.

And so his pitch is that Lok Satta is that sane voice. But it is a voice only audible in bits. A party like his should have been allied with the Aam Aadmi Party, but he says they spurned his offer of friendship.

me into an enclosure next to the stage. I ask him what they will do once in power. Among the many things he lists is a job for every home. “These jobs will come when the 1.5 lakh Andhra employees return to their state. Everyone will be happy then,” he says. Majid also had a friend who immolated himself during the agitation. I ask him why so few youth leaders have got tickets. “The party also needs funds to fight elections, who will bring it? It is hard to run a party,” he says.

He introduces me to V Satish Kumar, a genial man who is running for the MLA seat in this constituency on a TRS ticket.

He lists what the TRS is promising—a 2BHK house to those who need it, CBSE standard education for every child from KG to PG, Rs 1,000 pension for the old and unemployed, Rs 1,500 for the handicapped, reservations for Muslims, and so

in and out A worker packs up a large cut-out of Sonia Gandhi after her quick rally in Karimnagar

He calls their approach ‘Luddite’ and without institutional understanding.

“AAP is a bit like the small little child who shouted that the emperor is naked. We need that voice. But if that child becomes king suddenly, it is a disaster,” he says.

A

t the town of Husnabad, people

are moving in groups towards the RTC Depot grounds, where TRS leader K Chandrashekar Rao will address a rally.

There I meet Mohammad Majid, the district vice president of the TRS. He ushers 30 open

on. Who wouldn’t vote for such a party if not for the fact that the Congress promises just as much? Never mind that it would take an economic miracle to fulfil these promises.

KCR arrives in the style of big leaders, late by hours so that every man and woman who was to come has come. After listening to him for a few minutes and admiring his nose, the most prominent one of any Indian politician, I join the crowd making its long way home under the baking sun. He has only just begun to speak, but some are already returning, having

fulfilled their duty to come, if only to see him from afar.

T

he helicopter is a red dot in the cloudless sky. When it breaks through the horizon, a clamour goes up in Ambedkar Stadium. A day before the KCR rally, I am in Karimnagar. Sonia Gandhi is going to arrive here for her first rally in the state. It is an important one for the Congress. Their primary appeal to voters revolves around her being the one who pushed for the state. It was in this very ground five years ago that she first promised the creation of Telangana.

There are an overwhelming number of policemen. I push my way to the front of the ground, where I can get a view of the stage. I spot an empty chair and claim it. I look around. A man is splayed asleep on the ground in the milling crowd.

Another, walking by, spits casually and it lands on his trousers. He moves on unaffected. After some time I notice two people gesturing to each other over my head.

They continue for a while until I feel it is some sort of prank. Then, I notice others doing it. All around me people are making furious intricate movements with their fingers, thumping their fists to their palms, soundlessly moving their lips.

One of them in a red striped shirt looks at me, notices my expression, points to his ears and mouth and shakes his head. I am in the middle of a crowd of deaf-mute men. He smiles at me.

Once the helicopter comes, it is all in fast forward. Sonia reaches the venue.

She starts speaking at 4.32 pm by my watch and ends at 4.45 pm. She is expressionless, soliciting first, as Venugopal had observed, the gratitude vote. She talks about Congress being the one which took the decision to form the state, preparing the Bill and passing it in the Lok Sabha and Rajya Sabha. After some more of this, she turns to the reconstruction vote with talk of a 4,000 MW power project, irrigation and loan waiver schemes. After the speech ends, she takes eight minutes to greet a line of local MLAs and MPs. At 4.53 pm she is off.

While she is speaking I notice some of the deaf-mutes standing on chairs. She is just a blur and they won’t understand her, but it doesn’t matter. Words are meaningless between politician and subject.

There is only spectacle and presence. n 5 May 2014

stumped | Madhavankutty Pillai

Skewed Logic, Old Invective and Double Trouble LK Advani discourages abstinence, Raj Thackeray scapes an old goat and Abu Azmi asks people to vote twice

I

n the town of Thandla, Madhya

Pradesh, the patriarch of the Bharatiya Janata Party, LK Advani, made a curious point when addressing a public gathering. He said that people should vote and it should be compulsory.

He referred to countries where the electorate is fined if they don’t vote but didn’t want the same thing imposed here. In his words, as reported by the Indian Express: “Though I would not like any fine to be imposed in India, but want that if someone does not cast his vote in an election he should not be allowed to vote in the next election.”

Well meaning it might be, but there are still some niggles over the logic of it.

Discount that this is an election that has already seen a huge jump in voting percentage, so there is no immediate urgency for such a measure. But even if you agree with the idea that everyone must be coerced into voting, Advani’s solution is a little self defeating. A fine is a good deterrent and might work. But how is it a punishment to make a man not vote because he has not voted? Most people who take a holiday during an election will happily take another one during the next polls.

The thing about Raj Thackeray’s oratory is that it is full of attitude without substance; finely crafted noise, if you will. He is, of course, no different from most politicians on this count, but there is always an underlying hint of violence in whatever he says. It is usually couched in themes like the rights of sons-of-the-soil, but, all said and done, it is no more or less than a good old stoking of xenophobia for political purposes.

Speaking in Mumbai on Sunday, he

5 May 2014

was back to his pet theme. DNA reported him saying, “No one knows what is going on in Maharashtra and especially here. This district is witnessing an influx of people who are engaged in all kinds of illegal activities...

Issues like land grabbing too are unattended.”But consider this: his party often resorts to violence but it is never directed against these migrant-criminals that he seems so concerned about.

Instead, his partymen beat up hardworking taxi drivers just because they are from states like Bihar or Uttar Pradesh.

Thackeray’s viewpoint comes from the culture of the Shiv Sena, from which he imbibed his politics. Sena leader Ramdas Kadam too offered a glimpse of how easy it is to revert to the mean. In a public gathering in Mumbai, which had Narendra Amir Bahadori/getty images

Modi and Uddhav Thackeray on the dais, he embarked on an unexpected hate speech. Alluding to the 2011 Azad Maidan violence some time back, he said, “These Muslims attacked the police, burnt their vehicles, vandalised statues of martyrs, attacked women police. In Maharashtra, this land of Shivaji Maharaj, those who disrespect my mothers and sisters, Narendra Modi will take action against them.” Both Modi and Uddhav Thackeray tried to dissociate themselves from the vitriol later.

After decades of openly targeting Muslims, the Sena under Uddhav Thackeray has been trying a mellower makeover, mainly because India has changed and the politics of hate loses more votes than it gets. Only Kadam is yet to understand it.

The Samajwadi Party’s Mumbai leader Abu Asim Azmi’s motto is that it is alright to say stupid things as long as they are on different topics. Fresh from being panned across the country for saying that in rape cases even women should be hanged, he put his other foot in his mouth this week. The Hindu reported that, at a rally in Mumbai, he said, “I urge North Indian voters to vote for the SP candidate in Mumbai on April 24th and then take the evening train to Uttar Pradesh and help the party win there as well.” He was of course echoing what Sharad Pawar said some time ago, but in Pawar’s case you could at least give him some benefit of doubt that he was joking. If you have ever heard Azmi, you know that he is not a man given to humour. He might even hang people who laugh too much. n A weekly column on election speeches open www.openthemagazine.com 35

SURVIVAL STRUGGLE

The Wrestler Is Mulayam Singh Yadav was once called the Little Napoleon of Uttar Pradesh.

Is he headed for his political Waterloo?

ULLEKH NP in the SP supremo’s home terrain finds intimations of a fadeout

I

n Rithauli, the village where Samajwadi Party (SP) President

Mulayam Singh Yadav was born, 30-year-old farmer Mohan was contemplating voting for the BJP in the 24 April poll. His friends shared his views, but these were not too popular among an older generation of voters used to blindly backing the SP, a party seen at the forefront of a political movement in Uttar Pradesh to emancipate Yadavs from age-old caste repression under Brahmin supremacists. “Mulayam Singh had been like a religion here ever since he formed his party in the early 1990s,” says Mohan, “but times are changing.” Winds of change are evident in several other neighbouring villages once considered SP bastions and are part of the Firozabad Lok Sabha constituency, where Mulayam’s nephew Akshay has made his poll debut this General Election.

Gurjit Singh, a prosperous-looking farmer in the hamlet of Pithanpur, voted SP in the 2012 Assembly polls in which Mulayam’s son Akhilesh Yadav swept to power with a record margin. Singh claims he did so because his nephews goaded him into it to avail of free laptops in a populist scheme announced by the party. “No such mistakes anymore…. This time, there is also a wave around Narendra Modi,” says the talkative 47-year-old, emphasising that “who the local candidate was didn’t concern me”. SP Singh Baghel, who is of a ‘most backward caste’, was the BJP’s nominee for the Firozabad Lok Sabha seat, which Chief Minister Akhilesh Yadav had won in 2009. Akhilesh had contested from Kannauj and Firozabad and later vacated the Firozabad seat only to field his wife Dimple in a by-election that she lost.

In the Firozabad-Etah-Etawah-Mainpuri-Kannauj belt, which Mulayam considers his fortress, his party has faced unprecedented heat this year thanks to a surfeit of factors. “The results on 16 May will reveal all that,” says an SP leader based in Lucknow, asking not to be named because he is not authorised to speak to the media.

“Modi contesting from Uttar Pradesh was a really major factor,” he adds, “whether you want to admit it or not.” Then there is the split in Muslim votes among the BSP, Congress and the SP. Another factor, political pundits point out, is the alienation from the SP of nonYadav Other Backward Classes (OBCs), especially those who belong to farming communities—despite historical clashes with Yadavs,

36 open

Withering Away

rajesh kumar singh/ap

photos ullekh np

they had looked up to Mulayam as a true inheritor of the late Prime Minister Charan Singh’s pro-farmer legacy.

The portentous trends in SP pocketburoughs reflect its troubles in the rest of the state, especially in the western and eastern belts, or Poorvanchal, where the BJP hopes to win a record number of seats thanks to Modi’s candidacy from Varanasi and the polarisation along religious lines following violent conflagrations in Muzaffarnagar district of western UP, notes Devendra Kumar, a Delhi-based psephologist who has tracked poll trends in the state for the past two decades. He also expects the BJP to exceed its strongest performance ever in the state: in 1998, the party won 57 of its 85 seats (Uttarkahand had not been carved out as a separate state).

The Socialist

Saifai, a beautiful village in Etawah district, is where Mulayam’s family shifted to from Rithauli in his early childhood.

“The place is like a Mulayam fan club,” laughs a BSP leader from Mainpuri, Deepak Painter, adding that “Mulayam had been the CM of Saifai, not UP.” A visit to Mulayam’s home village reveals much more. This is where, to borrow an analogy from RJD leader Lalu Prasad, the roads are as “smooth as Hema Malini’s cheeks”. It also houses several huge government buildings, paramedical colleges, a school named after Bollywood icon Amitabh Bachchan, a college in the memory of ‘Netaji’s’ early mentor, Nathu Singh, and an airstrip not far from the SP chief’s palatial home that always has a steady stream of visitors, including Bollywood stars, police officers, members of his extded family and so on. Mulayam was there a few days earlier, the police tell you. Akhilesh might land at the aerodrome and take a chopper from there to visit nearby villages. Maybe he would come home and take a few hours of rest. Maybe not. It is a matter of speculation.

Several police officers posted here have worked closely with the family—which now has at least 10 members in active politics. “Netaji will always call the shots in UP. He will always have his base intact,” says a police officer. Painter of the BSP wasn’t joking: it is a fan club indeed.

Rajiv Yadav, a resident of this ‘Mulayam 38 open

“We [Baghels] are a nowhere people. We are not beneficiaries of any [social engineering]. I will vote differently now” Rajvir Singh Baghel, VOTER Firozabad constituency country’, tries to peddle the view that “no other politician has done as much has he has done for UP”. When he reels out “development initiatives” churned out by the SP heavyweight and former Union Defence Minister, most of them have to do with what the former wrestler has done for his native village. The SP chief has often been under criticism for doling out project after project for the benefit of his village while neglecting the rest of the state. Early this year, Saifai Mahotsav, a grand carnival, saw performances by film stars such as Salman Khan and Madhuri Dixit. The celebrations drew criticism because such a glitzy show was underway even while children of riot victims were dying of cold just 300 km away in Muzaffarnagar’s relief camps.

The over-confidence and embarrassment of riches on full display at Saifai was in stark contrast with the mood elsewhere. In many parts, the state’s ruling party was accused of resorting to booth-capturing in desperation. Says a senior police officer, “Well, you can’t compare Saifai with the rest of UP. That is a village-town well-lit 24X7. You just drive down a few miles away, and it is pitch darkness in other villages and along the road.” Ram Laxman, a cowherder who lives in Etawah town and

travels across the district, agrees: “My friends and members of my community in various parts of the state have told me they would vote for the BJP and not SP in this election. The feeling I get is that when the results are in next month, SP will win much fewer seats in UP because of the Modi wave.”

A recent survey by a prominent TV channel forecast that the BJP would win half of the 80 seats in the country’s most populous state that accounts for more Lok Sabha seats than any other. The party’s impressive showing in UP will, without doubt, come at the cost of three other major players: the SP, BSP and CongressRLD combine. The last of these, which won 26 UP seats in 2009, is predicted to win 12, while SP is expected to decline from 23 to 13 and BSP from 20 to 15.

Notably, such forecasts come at a time when many of Mulayam’s former supporters have begun to question his socialist credentials and his right to describe himself as Charan Singh’s successor.

“Mulayam is known as a socialist, but he has done [his utmost] for his family and caste, not for others. He has nothing left in him of Charan Singh’s values,” asserts Onkar Singh, 52, whose village is in the Mainpuri constituency. He belongs to the MBC Gadariya community. Some SP 5 May 2014

“Whether there is a Modi wave or not, I will vote SP. Mulayam and his party have done enough for the state. It is too early to forget it” Manoj Goud (right), VOTER Kannauj constituency leaders claim that such views are common in UP where Yadavs have always had a “distinct identity and ways” that don’t endear them to other ‘backward castes’. “There is nothing new about nonYadav OBCs’ resentment against Yadavs,” says a Mainpuri-based party leader. But the resentment this time is deeper, and it is against Mulayam and his party as well, interjects a bureaucrat, expecting a major shift in vote dynamics in the state.

While OBCs taken together constitute 35.5 per cent of UP’s population, most of them—26 per cent of the population— are non-Yadavs. Among the powerful non-Yadav OBCs are Kurmis, who account for 4 per cent of the state’s population. Lodhs account for 3 per cent of that count, Mauryas 3 per cent, Nishads 3 per cent, Jats 1 per cent and other OBC groups 11 per cent.

Past Glory

In the dark and stormy world of UP politics, Mulayam’s rise in the 1990s was nothing short of meteoric. And it coincided with the Congress’ rapid slide as an electoral force. At its prime, the Grand Old Party stood unchallenged—with minor setbacks in 1967 and 1977—in the state for decades, thanks to its loyal voter base of Muslims, Dalits and Brahmins.

5 May 2014

Until the late 1980s, no other social coalition could end that dominance. In 1984, riding a political wave after Indira Gandhi’s assassination, the Congress won 83 of the state’s 85 Lok Sabha seats, securing a staggering 51 per cent of all votes polled in the undivided state.

According to psephologist Kumar, three events of the mid to late-1980s radically altered the state’s political landscape: the emergence of the BSP, which swayed Dalits away from the Congress, introduction of the Mandal Commission Report that empowered OBCs and left them asking for more, and the Ram Mandir Movement that loosened the Congress grip on ‘upper castes’.

The new era was marked by Dalit and OBC dominance, Kumar says. “The Dalits who had remained staunchly aligned with the Congress prior to 1989 started demanding their share in power thanks to ‘identity politics’ championed by Kanshi Ram. On the other hand, VP Singh’s Mandal politics was hijacked by Mulayam, and he launched the SP with the strong backing of Yadavs in 1992. The Mandir Movement of the BJP [catalysed] social realignments and political shifts in Uttar Pradesh,” he says, adding that the new equations were reflected in the 1991 Lok Sabha polls in which the BJP gar-

nered 32.8 per cent of all votes polled, thanks to communal polarisation and the support of ‘upper castes’, non-Yadav OBCs and some sections of Dalits.

Mulayam lost no time in striking friendships with Muslim political leaders who were also seeking their pound of political flesh in the highly-polarised 1990s: this resulted in the formation of what rivals called the ‘Mullah-Mulayam’ combine. In 1996, the Congress won just 8.1 per cent of the state’s votes polled, a huge crash from its 1984 figure of 51 per cent. The SP won 20.8 per cent, the BSP 20.6 per cent, and the BJP consolidated its 1991 gains by polling 33.4 per cent.

It is that glory that the BJP is looking to revive to return to power at the Centre after a gap of 10 years. In a departure from its image as a Brahmin-Bania-Thakur party, it has fielded several OBC candidates to widen its appeal and shore itself up across a vast variety of caste groups.

Woes Galore

Indications of the SP’s decline in its strongholds were evident as early as 2009 when Dimple Yadav suffered a humiliating defeat at the hands of actor Raj Babbar of the Congress in the Firozabad by-election—something that Mulayam took as a personal humiliation. Nothing could open www.openthemagazine.com 39

“Netaji seems to be in control in Saifai (Mulayam’s home-village).

But he seems to be losing control in the rest of the state” Ram Lakshman VOTER Etawah constituency

actually be more dangerous than wounded pride. Netaji soon blamed his lieutenant Amar Singh for the resounding reverse, and, angry about Dimple’s defeat, he expelled his long-time confidant from the party. Mulayam later ensured a Lok Sabha seat for his daughter-in-law in the 2012 Kannauj bypoll at the time that SP won a landslide victory in Assembly polls and Akhilesh unseated Mayawati to become Chief Minister.

This year, Mulayam has sought re-election from Mainpuri, and Dimple, again, from Kannauj, a city known for its ittars (perfumes).

Party leaders are worried that the poor image of the two-year-old Akhilesh government will likely impact its poll prospects. “The poor record of our government in handling law-and-order and a lack of cohesion within the government and the party over several crucial matters have resulted in a very bad image of an otherwise brilliant leader like Akhilesh. The anti-incumbency wave is very strong,” says the SP leader from Lucknow. Besides, the SP has earned the displeasure of Muslims as well as Yadavs in the state after the Muzaffarnagar riots, which polarised preferences along religious lines in many parts of the state.

Political analysts believe that the SP government’s reported mishandling of the situation has especially upset Muslims. While Kumar and a few others believe that UP’s ruling party has attracted Muslim ire across the state, University of Lucknow Professor Sudhir Panwar feels that the phenomenon is restricted 40 open

to western UP alone—and that the party may yet draw Muslim votes in eastern and central regions of the state. “I don’t think Mulayam is under much threat from anyone,” he argues.

However, many members of the minority community that Open spoke to— in Firozabad, Mainpuri, Kannauj, Etawah and Farrukhabad—do not share Panwar’s analysis. Seated near Mainpuri’s sprawling vegetable market, Anwar Alam, a fruit wholesaler, puffs away at a cigarette in between sips of tea. He has no doubt that Mulayam will win Mainpuri, but he is sure that the SP leader will not get his vote. “The BSP has increasingly become the preferred choice of many Muslims in the state,” he declares. Just a day earlier, BSP chief Mayawati had addressed a rally in Koravali, which lies between Mainpuri and Etawah, and he had attended that. Though her primary motive in the region was to wrest back Etawah, the seat represented by her mentor Kanshi Ram in 1991, she also had in mind the Muslim vote. “The BSP will definitely eat into the SP’s Muslim vote base,” claims BSP’s Painter.

Oxford University Professor Faisal Devji says that he has reason to believe that Muslims might turn to the BSP in UP and to Nitish Kumar’s JD-U in Bihar. “The Congress will be attractive only if there’s a general feeling that they can increase their vote share among other constituencies as well, thus making them capable of offering protection and privileges to Muslims in particular,” he says.

Insecurity or Cunning?

Meanwhile, SP leaders keep insisting that the disquiet is only on the western front. “We face challenges in western UP because of the dirty games played by the BJP led by Amit Shah. But in the rest of the state, Muslims have voted or will vote for us en bloc,” believes the Lucknowbased SP leader. The next two phases of the Lok Sabha polls in UP are scheduled on 7 and 12 May. This ‘logic’ runs deep within the party, SP leaders aver. Which also explains why Mulayam chose to contest two seats: Mainpuri and Azamgarh. As publicised widely, the man the late PM Charan Singh is said to have called ‘the little Napoleon’ has been going all out to counter the so-called ‘Modi wave’ (which, ironically, he claims doesn’t exist) in eastern UP by strengthening Muslim-Yadav ties across the entire belt. A section of political commentators argue that this move only betrays Mulayam’s insecurities, as in 1999, when the SP strongman contested both the Mainpuri and Kannauj seats. Back then, he had feared likely ‘Muslim anger’ over his attempt to ruin Sonia Gandhi’s chances of forming a ‘secular’ government in April 1999 after Atal Behari Vajpayee’s government failed to win a confidence vote in the Lok Sabha once AIADMK chief Jayalalithaa withdrew her support to the BJP-led coalition at the Centre.

“I don’t think Netaji, who has galvanised a movement for the uplift of the poor, is contesting from Azamgarh out of fear. He is a brave man. He is contesting to strengthen his position,” says the SP leader without elaboration. Mulayam, who has made expedient noises by promising to amend the Constitution to offer Muslims greater affirmative action, is also known for his political cunning; rumours are rife that this could be a ruse to groom his son from his second marriage, Prateek Yadav, in politics. In 1999, he had vacated Kannauj to make way for Akhilesh. “History might repeat itself.

You never know,” the SP leader guffaws.

The ‘Napoleon’ of UP—who recently kicked up a storm over his outrageous comments seeking soft laws for serial rapists—is soon expected to lay his cards on the table vis-à-vis Prateek. But, by then, will this Mahabharat of 2014 already have spelt his Waterloo? n 5 May 2014

bengal tigress

Didi Is Singing Alone This Time

As Mamata Banerjee rides a wave of triumphalism, SOHINI CHATTOPHADYAY in West Bengal says all is not as funny as the Trinamool leader’s limericks photographs by ronny sen

T

rinamool Congress chairperson

and Bengal Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee is a painter, and a poet, essayist and writer with 45 books to her authorship. Her preferred form on the political platform, however, is the limerick, the chhora as it is called in Bangla.

She has, as it happens, also authored two books of rhyme for children. “BJP aashbe naa//CPM jaagbe naa//Congress aar naa/aar naa,” she says, seemingly spontaneously, pacing up and down a stage set up on the grounds of a college in Domkal on a dehydrating April afternoon. A rough translation would go thus: Won’t let the BJP in the door We’ll let the CPM snore The Congress, no more No more Unlike a classic limerick, the fourth line is not smooth rhyme but a repetition of uneven rhythm. But she breaks it up and times it sharp, working the roughhewn texture of the limerick to her advantage. It seems more spontaneous, less structured, more real. Like Didi herself,

who is wont to unpredictable outbursts of unparliamentary behaviour. In 2005, she flung some papers at the Deputy Speaker of the Lok Sabha, Charanjit Singh Atwal, because Lok Sabha Speaker Somnath Chatterjee had disallowed an adjournment motion requested by her.

In 1997, she had hurled her shawl at the then Railway Minister Ram Vilas Paswan for ignoring Bengal in his rail budget.

Some days ago, she said, referring to Narendra Modi, “Namo Namo hoye, naa No-no hoye ota” (Will people say NaMo NaMo, or No-No to him). It was a remark that got considerable play on air. It’s the same style of uneven limerick, and sounds trite when you read it, but watch it on YouTube. Banerjee delivers it with a rhythm and furrowed-brow conviction that makes it hard not to listen and laugh along, perhaps even cheer along. If she were to listen to the ‘elite classes’ she dismisses, they would tell her this is performance poetry. But perhaps she knows this already; perhaps she prefers to call it a form of jatra, the folk theatre of melodramatic texture so popular in the rural

areas of Bengal. The general understanding is that her own appeal is far higher in rural areas than it is in the urban and suburban parts of Bengal.

I turn to smile in shared enjoyment of the ‘chhora’ with my neighbours, but they are all staring transfixed at the stage, standing on their toes atop the red plastic chairs arranged for a public meeting in Domkal in Murshidabad constituency. Murshidabad is among the six Lok Sabha constituencies in West Bengal that go to the polls on 24 April, the second phase of voting in the state. Banerjee has been campaigning on the trot for the past six days; she has put together an ambitious timetable to cover all 42 constituencies in the state as well as 65 in the neighbouring states of Assam, Tripura, Jharkhand and others where her Trinamool Congress party has put up candidates. At 59, she is known to maintain a punishing work schedule that is said to keep her bureaucrats on their toes.

Sukumar Mahato, a local reporter with The Times of India, says she is the first Chief Minister who undertakes regular

going all out Supporters of the BJP near their party office in North Kolkata. The party is fighting on its own this time, contesting all 42 seats

The BJP’s vote percentage in 2009 was 6.5 per cent. The party’s state vicepresident expects it to shoot up to 22-25 per cent this time

monthly recces of assorted districts accompanied with her team of bureaucrats from Writers’ Buildings. “She has an unconventional style, she will stop to eat papad with children in a village and ask what they need. Then she will go the district magistrate to ask what scheme could furnish the funds for whatever this is. Have you heard of such a Chief Minister in Bengal earlier?” he asks.

This is the first time that Banerjee’s party is contesting elections on its own in West Bengal; in the previous Lok Sabha polls, the Trinamool Congress had an alliance with the Congress, and in 2004, with the BJP. For a personalitycentred party like the Trinamool, Didi’s presence on the campaign trail is possibly vital.

This is Banerjee’s third rally of the day in the Murshidabad area, a Sunday, and people have been gathering at the grounds from 2 pm, an hour before schedule. There are ice-cream vending carts, hawkers selling wax-sealed packets of salted nuts, popcorn and chanachur (a savoury mixture beloved to Bengalis), vendors frying shiny brown telebhaja (pakoras) on the edges of the ground, and a smart man selling slivers of watermelon on a blistering afternoon. Domkal is mostly an agricultural village, and most people here have come after winding up their day’s work a little early, carrying bottles of water to survive the heat. This could well be a carnival ground. The mood is relaxed. It is as if people are on a Sunday outing.

Shahbul Hoque, his lungi folded up to his knees, can’t stop grinning, probably in anticipation of the performance lined up ahead. He has come on foot from Raghunathpur, a village about 5 km away from Domkal, and waded through the river Seyalmari to listen to Didi. This is the first time he will see her live, but he likes watching her on television. His life has changed considerably since Didi came to power in the state in 2011, ending 34 years of Left Front rule. “I got a house to live in, I got a BPL card,” he says, flashing his brown-stained toothy grin even wider. Hoque is a daily wage agricultural labourer. He received an allowance of Rs 40,000 to build a pucca house, and his application for a BPL card, which he had submitted several times earlier, was processed quickly. He also got work 5 may 2014

In West Bengal, for the previous Lok Sabha polls, the Trinamool Congress had an alliance with the Congress, and in 2004, with the BJP

under the MNREGA scheme, and though he is yet to be paid for it, he says he’s certain the money will come to him eventually. Hoque is unlettered and unsure of how old he is, but his son is a graduate of a local college and runs a small business selling pens, and his daughter is in high school. Hoque says he voted for Didi to be Chief Minister (the Vidhan Sabha election was in 2011), and for her party in the Panchayat polls of 2013. But he used to be a Congress supporter. “Now we are all for Didi, my family. She cares for us,” he says.

Though there is still an hour to go before Banerjee’s slated arrival, Trinamool’s Murshidabad candidate Mohammad Ali and some party office bearers have decided that the visibly swelling crowd needs to be managed from stage. The ground capacity is over 100,000, but the party expected a turnout of around 20,000, Ali says over a hurried lunch in a college room before the meeting. In the event, the meeting saw several thousands more attending; the district intelligence bureau of the police say more than 60,000 attended, while Ali, an unassuming man who rates himself third in the electoral race, puts the number at 80,000. The previous day, Rahul Gandhi’s rally in neighbouring Behrampore was attended by less than 10,000 people, and was generally seen as a flop. Interestingly, Murshidabad, which has a majority Muslim population, is an area where the Trinamool is considered weak. In the three Lok Sabha seats of Murshidabad district, the Trinamool has not won a single seat so far.

Rehana Bibi is sitting with her daughter Saheba in the women’s enclosure, and

chatting with her neighbours, unaffected by the heat and deafening announcements. She chuckles when she hears I have come from Kolkata to listen to Didi.

“Me too,” she says, “I have come from here (pointing her thumb backward to indicate the village) but I have brought my daughters and son along. They wanted to watch TV but I told them this would be better,” she says. “I know, she dragged me,” says Saheba, with such a happy grin that it belies any reluctance to attend.

This will be her first election as a voter and she is undecided about her vote. But Rehana is confident that all the four votes in their household (her younger daughter does not have a card yet) will go to Didi. They are a farming family and Rehana does some tailoring on the side.

“She (implying Saheba) got her cycle from school because of Didi. Soon, she will get Rs 25,000 from the school, and the girls are getting scholarship money too. The children appreciate all this,” she says. Under the West Bengal government’s Kanyashree scheme launched in 2013, girls in the age group of 13-18 years get an annual scholarship of Rs 500. And girls who continue to remain enrolled in education at 18, and are unmarried, get a lumpsum payment of Rs 25,000. The scheme is meant to discourage child marriage and promote women’s education.

“My husband has always been a Congress supporter, I used to vote for them too. But this time, he too is voting for Didi. We are getting some support from her,” she says.

When Banerjee steps out of her helicopter, she is accompanied by two actors, the sisters Riya and Raima Sen, but the meeting is her show throughout. She speaks for almost 45 minutes straight, open www.openthemagazine.com 43

speculation A BJP worker looks outside the window of the party office in Kolkata. The BJP expects to win between three and five seats this time

seemingly spontaneously, walking around on stage briskly and directing frequent impromptu remarks at the crowd.

A band of boys has climbed atop the makeshift structures supporting the public announcement systems, and Mohammad Ali and other party officebearers have been screaming at them to climb down. They are still there when Banerjee is on stage, but she adopts a completely different tack: “Lakkhi chhele amar (good boys of mine), come down now. Come down slowly from the right,” she coos. It is hard not to be amused by such remarks, or to dislike her bustling energy on stage. She speaks briskly, in contrast to the contemplative style favoured by better-known political orators like Narendra Modi, and in everyday homespun lingo, making for an entertaining performance.

“Her political discourse is utterly homegrown, crowded with idioms used only with those one is very familiar with, 44 open

her conspiracy theories verge on neighbourhood gossip, her humour is that of an indulgent matriarch, and her display of affection and anger completely uncensored by the public gaze,” says Sumana Roy, a writer based in Siliguri. “Our women politicians speak—or at least try to speak—an utterly urban patriarchal discourse, one that kills ‘women’s speech’. I think of Mamata Banerjee as a significant game-changer in the way the political discourse in the country has been forced to become elastic.”

Filing out of the rally grounds, Rabi-ulIslam, 28, has decided that Didi will get his vote. “It’s not that Mannan-da has not worked,” he says, referring to Abdul Mannan Hossain, the Congress MP from Murshidabad for the past two terms, “But I like Didi’s energy and initiative. She has said there will be a super-speciality hospital in the constituency, and I think she will manage it.” He is a grameen doctor with a dispensary in Domkal, and

not a direct beneficiary of any of the state government’s schemes. His friend Foizul Shah, who is receiving an unemployment allowance of Rs 1,500 a month from the state government’s Yubashree scheme, is even more enthusiastic: “Didi should be prime minister, byas (that’s it).”

I

n the high-ceilinged, old-Calcutta style office of the BJP’s Bengal unit, Pratap Banerjee, state vice-president of the party, is overseeing preparations for a press conference but is gracious with unexpected visitors. “This morning, two local clubs came to the office and asked to be given work for the election. Usually, they expect to be paid for their work with a carom board or a table-tennis board, but they just want to work for the election. I am now used to people dropping by without notice in the office. In the past five-six months, the membership of the party in 5 May 2014

Bengal has grown by five lakh. This is the Narendra Modi effect,” he says.

The BJP is fighting on its own this time, contesting all 42 seats. This is, in fact, the first time in several elections that the state is witnessing a four-corner contest among the Left, Trinamool, Congress and the BJP. Banerjee says the BJP is expecting to win between three and five seats this time, up from the sole seat the party won in 2009 (Darjeeling, with Jaswant Singh its victor). “What’s especially bracing is that I see BJP flags in the Muslim localities like Rajabazaar in Kolkata. I hear from district party workers that Muslims are coming to them, and saying that they have seen how well Muslims are doing in Gujarat. Many jewellery artisans from Bengal work in Surat. They have seen for themselves,” he says. The BJP’s vote percentage in 2009 was 6.5 per cent, according to Banerjee, and the party sees it shooting up to 22-25 per cent this time.

The Congress is rather subdued about its poll prospects in the state. “Our primary objective is to retain the six seats we have,” says Adhir Choudhury, state Congress president, over the phone. The Congress bastion is the Muslim-majority districts of Malda and Murshidabad, where the party won four of its six seats.

“The second is to increase the tally by a couple of seats.” Local Bangla-language reporters are of the view that the Congress would do well to win four seats.

“The Left is continuing to show signs of decline,” says Ashis Chakrabarty, senior editor, The Telegraph, “Which is not surprising because the conditions in which the Left rose to power no longer exist today. Having said that, the Left polled 38 per cent [of all votes] in the heavilyrigged Panchayat election in 2013, where they were not allowed to contest 40-odd seats, so you can’t dismiss them entirely.

I think it likely that the Trinamool will do better than they did in 2009 when they fought in alliance with others. If they were the third-largest party with 19 seats, they could emerge as the third-largest party this time too. But I feel Mamata is past her peak, which was 2011. Urban and suburban disaffection with her is growing. She might manage Kolkata this time, it’s only two seats after all, but Kolkata North will be a tough fight,” he says.

5 may 2014

“I

be very surprised if the Trinamool Congress emerged as the third largest party on 16 May. If they do, it will make them insufferable here,” says writer and filmmaker Ruchir Joshi, who wrote the book Poriborton: An Election Diary on the watershed 2011 Assembly polls in Bengal.

On 12 April 2012, Banerjee’s government arrested a professor of Jadavpur University, Ambikesh Mahapatra, for circulating a cartoon about her and her party colleague Mukul Roy. Mahapatra’s neighbour was arrested because the professor used his email address to send out the cartoon. Earlier that year, the West Bengal government grossly mishandled the rape complaint filed by Suzette Jordan in what has come to be known as the ‘Park Street rape case’. Aside from Banerjee calling the rape a “sajano ghotona (fabricated incident)” and transferring the police officer who cracked the case, her party’s MP Kakoli Ghosh Dastidar made the distasteful remark, “That was not at all a rape case. It was a misunderstanding between the two parties involved, between a lady and her client.” No action was taken against Ghosh Dastidar.

In 2011, when Banerjee came to power in the state, she enjoyed the support of several prominent Bengali artists and intellectuals, apart from the media. But that relationship with opinion-shapers never recovered after April 2012; many of these intellectuals have distanced themselves from Banerjee since. In August that year, she branded a farmer ‘a Maoist’ at a rally in Belpahari for shouting to her that she was making false promises, and had the police pick him up. In 2013 came the news of the Saradha ponzi scheme, estimated to have caused small investors in ’d

What’s worrying about the Trinamool is its inability to express regret or introspect, and its belief that electoral triumph will absolve it of everything

eastern India losses of several thousand crores. Members of Banerjee’s government were alleged to have close links with the scheme’s operators, and its refusal to let the CBI probe the scandal after it was exposed has been roundly criticised.

“I had written to the Chief Minister and warned her about the Saradha group of companies, Rose Valley and KD Singh’s Alchemist Group in 2012,” says retired IPS office Najrul Islam, who was once one of Banerjee’s handpicked officers. “Did she do anything about it?” Islam is one of the few in West Bengal who is openly critical of the Chief Minister, having written three books that frown on her ‘unconventional’ ways. “Unconventional is one thing, but do you have to work in illegal ways? Mamata Banerjee has charge of eight or ten of the most crucial ministries in the state. If anything, work culture in Writers’ Buildings has become even worse.”

On the pages of Kolkata’s English and Bangla language newspapers, and panel discussions on news television, criticism of the Trinamool government is constant and stinging. “There is a witticism in Calcutta about this,” says Trinamool Vice-president Derek O’Brien when I bring this up. “That there are two chief ministers in Bengal. One who has been elected, and one who is an unelected media tycoon.”

“Some 200 or 300 articulate [members of the elite] do not reflect urban disaffection. You will get the answer to your question on 16 May. If we win Kolkata, that will speak for itself, won’t it?”

Still, I ask of the Park Street rape case, about whether the party in retrospect feels its handling of the case cost it a lot of goodwill. “Even if I were to concede that to you at this moment, what would you say if we won the Kolkata South constituency?” says O’Brien.

Even as O’Brien says this, he speaks politely, warmly at times. The Trinamool office is a friendly place. They order ‘cha’ and ‘biskoot’ for visiting reporters, and field questions affectionately if slightly dismissively. Like the local ‘dada’, they are warm and like to humour you. To an extent, this is sweet. What’s worrying about the Trinamool is the party’s inability to express regret or introspect, and its belief that electoral triumph will absolve it of everything. n open www.openthemagazine.com 45

p o l i t i c a l i n t e r e st

In Praise of the Risk Taker What does the rise of Modi and Kejriwal, and the stalling of Rahul, say about Indian politics?

SHEKHAR GUPTA

I

did not start out as a political reporter. I only

strayed into that most vaunted—and fun—part of our profession. Once in a while when the senior political dadas were not available for some reason. Or when, as a cub reporter usually left to cover crime in a city so benign it averaged only six murders a year (Chandigarh) or dealing with what was called, in typically vicious newsroom language, tray-andfire (the clip-tray with press releases like some ‘Lions Club’ celebrating Diwali with ‘pump and show’, and the routine call to the fire department before going home), you were told to go to the usually empty state assemblies late afternoon when real business was over and members’ private motions were discussed. My own debut in political reporting was the equivalent of the golden duck. I returned breathless from my first afternoon in the Punjab assembly, not even twentyone yet, and started explaining all the fascinating private members’ bills that were discussed. ‘You just be a good Pandu (old Mumbai-speak for a cop) and focus on accidents and robberies,’ said Balan, our much loved chief sub-editor. ‘Leave politics to senior people, and please take all private motions to your home.

This is my newsroom.’

But there were still learnings, and early learnings are the most useful. One of the first was never ignore politicians when they are out of power. That is when they have the most time and patience for you. They are also likely to remember this with some warmth, if not gratitude, when they return to power, as they almost always do. I sat sometimes to get some political gyan from, who else, but Giani Zail Singh when, as leader of a decimated Congress after 1977, he sat on dharna in Chandigarh’s Sector 22, with a motley group of protesters that nobody paid any attention to. He taught me patiently about caste and class in Punjab, of how it was nearly impossible for a non-Jat Sikh like him (he was a Ramgarhia, traditional carpenter) to become chief minister in that state and how remarkable it was for Indira Gandhi to have elevated him to that. Zail Singh lost power in 1977. Since then Punjab has had seven chief ministers. All of them have been Jat Sikhs. And it seems unlikely to change soon. Years later, when Indira Gandhi made him the first Sikh president of India, he never forgot the ‘khapachhi’ (scrawny) reporter on a red motorbike and found time for me even though Rashtrapati Bhavan was way beyond my station yet. And you always learnt politics from him.

At the peak of the Punjab terror, when my friend and mentor 46 open

Arun Shourie was really angry with the bungling Indira government, I sought time for him and myself with Gianiji. He hosted us for tea on the lawns of Rashtrapati Bhavan and tried calming Arun by playing down, even trivialising, the threat.

‘Munde ne tey goondey ne’ (There are urchins and goondas), he said. ‘What else is the problem? All you need to deal with them is intelligence.’

‘Intelligence? What do you mean, Gianiji?’ Arun asked. Zail Singh told us a rather colourfully involved story of how, when he was chief minister of Punjab, he had made sure his DIG (CID) reported to him directly and not to his home minister, unlike the rest of the police. At the same time, he had a mole of his own in the Akali Dal working committee. His DIG (CID) was forever irritated that his chief minister seemed to get the inside dope even before him. One day, Zail Singh said, the DIG stormed into his room, excited.

‘I have discovered your source, sir,’ he said. It was a woman member of the senior Akali organisation. Gianiji smiled in acknowledgement.

‘But sir, she is a woman of poor character. What kind of woman are you in touch with, Chief Minister Saab?’ the DIG asked.

‘Oye DIG Saab,’ Gianji said. ‘Aisa kaam bure character ki auratein hi karengi na, achche character ki nahin. Yeh intelligence ka kaam hai’ (You think women of good character will be your moles?

You need a woman of poor character here. This is the intelligence business), he told the sheepish DIG. This is perhaps why he wasn’t such a successful spook.

But on that late sunny winter afternoon on his west-facing lawns, both Arun and I had learnt a brilliant lesson in politics and governance. And this, from a man with almost no formal education. And such uncluttered views as expressed in his speech at the World Congress on Anthropology which he inaugurated at the Panjab University campus as chief minister and where I helped as a journalism student volunteer. ‘I do not understand you scientists,’ he said. ‘If man descended from monkey, tey tota kithhon aaya?’ (Then where did the parrot come from?)

A

theme you would find recurring often is how politics is frozen in our country, failing to keep pace with the voter and something’s gotta give at some point soon. Precisely that has happened now and the three Indians who personify the 5 May 2014

ashish sharma

shift that is generational as well as political and philosophical are Narendra Modi, Arvind Kejriwal and Rahul Gandhi. I have argued with all three. Not just argued, but even fought, as many of Modi’s supporters, masked or not, say. Reporters of the Indian Express have also broken several of the 2002 riot stories that Modi has still not been able to put out of his way. Yet, Modi and I never broke civilised conversation. Which is much more a credit to him than to me. Because I am, after all, a shameless, old-style reporter type. I never stop talking to anybody my writings may have torn into, or not answer phone calls from anybody whosoever. Generally, Indian politicians have that quality as well. God knows I had done enough to make Arjun Singh furious over the years. He even called me early one morning with a dire warning that if the man in whose name we ran the Indian Express (its redoubtable founder Ramnath Goenka) had been alive, I wouldn’t have lasted one more day in my job. But he always returned my call, found time whenever I asked, and then engaged.

I know the great secular manipulator’s followers would chafe. But Narendra Modi, even at the other end of the ideological spectrum, is equally an old-fashioned politician, always with a ready smile and hug. He called me just once to complain about a story that Muslims were being denied NREGA benefits in Gujarat (and it turns out that he was right on that one). He said, ‘You abuse me all the time for Hindutva, which is your right. I also can’t complain because I do believe in Hindutva. But you cannot call me so cheap [ghatiya] as to deny a hundred rupees a day to my Muslims.’ Later as we got to talk more often, he said I was the one critic he fully engaged with because while I cursed him for what I disapproved about him, I was also willing to give him credit when he did something right, as with his economy and infrastructure, particularly power. It was in a Walk the Talk with me in 2004 that Modi came closest to expressing remorse for 2002.

Modi, therefore, also has that one essential asset in Indian politics: the armour of a thick skin.

I am not sure you can say that about the two others in this upcoming race between the three. Both Rahul Gandhi and Kejriwal are still wary of those who disagree with them, though in their own different ways. Unlike Rahul, Kejriwal is an enthusiastic communicator in public, whether campaigning door to door or on the big stage. I have argued with him and the Anna movement often and several of those writings are included in 5 May 2014

this collection. He asked me, in a conversation, if I had checked with my marketing people how the line the paper had taken on the Anna movement was working with our audiences. I said I wasn’t producing an entertainment channel or a Bollywood film and audience preferences should never be the main determinant of news value. On reflection later, however, I had to concede that Kejriwal had figured out the modern news media’s greatest weakness: eyeballs. And his success in exploiting that (entirely legitimately) has contributed greatly to his brilliant success. As he grows in stature as an elected member of the establishment now, and fights on a much higher stage, it is a matter of time before he also imbibes that essential lesson of our politics: that you must continue to engage with all, particularly those who argue with you.

The rise of Modi and Kejriwal, and the stalling of Rahul, has also underlined for us again the value of decisiveness and risktaking in Indian politics. By fighting to become a candidate for prime minister, Modi has risked even losing his safe perch in Gujarat. Kejriwal has been an even bigger risk-taker, challenging Sheila Dikshit in her once impregnable fortress and not even covering himself by fighting in a safer constituency as well. We Indians love giant-killers. And while I have sometimes compared Kejriwal’s defeat of Sheila with Raj Narain beating Indira Gandhi at Rae Bareli in 1977, the comparison is inapt, because Kejriwal is no comedian or maverick like Raj Narain. He is a challenger of substance in the long run, one you would describe as a lambi race ka ghoda.

All three will change and evolve in months to come. Modi towards moderation, Kejriwal towards a little establishmentarian calm, and Rahul may shed some public diffidence and risk avoidance. Together, the trio will lead a brilliant cast of political characters who never leave you short of an idea when you sit down to writing another National Interest on a weary Friday afternoon. n

Shekhar Gupta is editor-in-chief of the Indian Express. This is an edited excerpt from the introduction to Anticipating India: The Best of National Interest, a compilation of his columns (HarperCollins, 480 pages, Rs 799) open www.openthemagazine.com 47

society

Khap of Good Hope In Haryana, a 70-year-old Sarpanch changes a centuries old tradition by permitting intercaste and intra-khap marriages Aanchal Bansal

I

t has been a busy day for Subedar

Inder Singh. Juggling press interviews and queries over the phone, he has been on the move, snatching moments to search for cellphone numbers in his scraggly pocket phone directory and calling his supporters to keep tabs on his detractors. “If you do anything new, there will always be resistance. I have tried to change a 650-year-old tradition,” says the 70-year-old Sarpanch of Satrol Khap in Haryana’s Hisar district. Known as the state’s largest khap (a local-area brotherhood of sorts), this one under the leadership of Singh called a panchayat, a gathering of elders, on 20 April and decided to allow intercaste marriages as well as weddings between families from within the 42 villages that constitute the khap.

Across the country, intercaste marriages have been frowned upon by traditionalists all through the ages. Rural Haryana’s traditional norms, however, also disallow matrimony within the same Hindu gotra (a grouping defined by lineage) and among residents of villages within the same khap. Alleged ‘violations’ of these norms have resulted in shocking cases of violence—with many young lovers lynched by mobs—in the recent past.

In allowing both intercaste and intrakhap marriages—subject to parental consent of course—the Satrol Khap has signalled a relaxation of strictures that has taken many by surprise. To be sure, it has not dared go all the way. Weddings between residents of adjoining villages (known as guhaan) are still a no-no, as a mark of ‘respect’ for the sense of fraternity shared by villages of the same khap.

Those would be a little too incestuous for the old guard to bear. “Traditionally, children from within the same gotra and villages under the same khap were considered brothers and sisters. We have

48 open

relaxed these, but have not removed the system in its entirety,” says Singh, defending himself in the face of stiff opposition from a section of the khap that has threatened to strip him of his leadership for ‘disrespect of tradition’.

The Sarpanch, who acted upon the suggestion of his friend Wazir Singh Mann, who is also a member of the khap core committee, says that the idea took shape over the last year-and-a-half since he became Sarpanch, and is part of an effort to keep up with the times. “The younger photos ruhani kaur

generation is moving ahead and honour killings and violence are no answer to this” says Mann, who pushed the reform after he learnt that his 26-year-old niece, training to be a nurse, was keen on marrying a young man of a neighbouring village; the trouble was that both belonged to villages—Ratti and Pushti—of the same khap. Faced with the inconvenience of having to find a proposal for an educated Jat girl who was past the age of 26—considered over-age for matrimony in these parts—and the threat of

embarassment should the girl elope with her boyfriend, the family’s elders sought a practical solution. “We knew the family and the villages are just about 30 km apart,” says Mann, “All our men have been in the military and this boy is also in the Army. Why look for somebody among strangers?”

While most khap members agree that keeping up with the times is the order of the day, they admit that a skewed sex ratio in the state is another factor. “There is a dearth of girls in Haryana and khap restrictions add to the problem of finding suitable matches. There are over 100 boys who are unmarried in our villages,” says Captain Mahabir Singh Lohan, another member of the core committee. “The alternative available is to search for girls outside the khap, which takes a huge chunk of options away (since the khap controls 42 villages spread over 400 sq km in the district),” he says. “The other option is to bring a bride from the Northeast or South,” he adds with thinly

disguised disapproval. “If we can get girls from within our culture, even if from a lower caste, it is better than bringing in an outsider. This has also led to cases of trafficking, which is not good for society,” he adds. According to Lohan, who runs a brick kiln in the village, every village under Satrol has about 15-20 women brought in from other states as brides over the past ten years.

T

hirty-five-year-old Sehram Singh

is a tea stall vendor at the local anaaj mandi in village Bans, buzzing with labourers and traders dealing with a fresh harvest of wheat. Most khap committee members own trading units in the mandi. Left with just a small scrap of land after a division of family property among four brothers, he runs the tea stall with his younger brother Kamal. As the khap’s latest decision comes up for discussion, both Kamal and Sehram decide to leave the stall, the rest of the men around them

stifling their laughter as the two brothers look around in embarrassment.

“They bought a bride for the younger brother through an agent, spending Rs 80,000, but she ran away with their jewellery within a month. Every village has at least two such cases,” reports 26-yearold Rakesh Mann, waiting to be married.

With the panchayat relaxing its norms, he believes that such mishaps will be history soon. “Only the rich, with decent jobs, can afford to get a good Haryanvi bride. Even the girls’ fathers look for boys who have money. The rest of us can only think of spending some money and finding a bride from another state—which is not the best option all the time,” says Mann, who runs a shop selling seeds and agricultural equipment in Bans.

With their feudal attitudes, skewed sex ratios and shrinking land holdings, states like Haryana and UP have become hubs of bride trafficking rackets.

According to a study done by Drishtee Street Adhyayan Prabodhan Kendra, of

no job, no wife The khap panchayat chief feels it is largely the unemployed who end up bearing the brunt of the state’s bride shortage

some 10,000 households surveyed in Haryana, nearly 9,000 had brides from other states. “Most of these brides are ‘bought’ at a rate between Rs 30,000 and Rs 50,000 from states like West Bengal, Assam, Tripura and even Kerala,” says Sunil Jaglan, Sarpanch of Bibipur village in Mewat district, a man who has led several initiatives addressing issues of sex ratio, trafficking and honour killing.

Agents, usually truck drivers who travel around the country, promise brides to Jats who cannot find suitable brides within the state. “Earlier, Jats, being the landed class, had no dearth of money. But with time, land holdings have decreased tremendously and employment opportunities are limited,” says Khap Sarpanch Inder Singh. “There is already a shortage

situation, then we might as well find brides from within our community.”

The decision has met with resistance from the Pethwa tappa, a cluster of 12 villages that form a sub-unit within the khap, which has announced that it would not allow such marriages and has constituted a committee of its own to debate the matter. “How can they destroy our brotherhood and culture?” asks Phool Kumar Petwar, a tappa leader who wants an opinion poll conducted on the issue.

Both Inder Singh and Mahabir Lohan, however, claim that the decision was taken only after conducting a survey for well over a year. Battling their own long-held prejudices and points of view, the two recount a meeting with young ASHA workers upset about a decision taken by a khap

nearly 15 per cent of its boys remaining unmarried and children born of brides from other states. Dr Nonica Datta, a historian of Modern India and a professor at Delhi University’s Miranda House, believes that changing norms are an indication of increasing female expression of sexuality and love. “The khap may allow intercaste marriages, but the rules might remain lopsided in favour of an unmarried boy interested in marrying a girl of a lower caste,” says Datta, author of Forming an Identity: a Social History of Jats. “Modern notions of love for a young woman are no longer about finding love after marriage, it is about dating, holding hands and being in love, as it were,” she says, pointing out that most recent cases of honour killing involved a girl daring to exercise agency or choice.

While khaps have found popular support for regressive and repressive decrees, such as not sending girls to schools, banning their use of cellphones and even marrying them off at 16, these brotherhoods have had plenty of support across political parties in search of a vote bank in the state. “This is not a politically motivated move and our aim is to get everyone to agree with us,” says Singh, “Even politicians will back us, you wait and see.”

A ‘outsiders’ A woman from Guwahati who lives with her brother-in-law after her Haryanvi husband’s death

of girls in Haryana, so this rule will help Jat boys find suitable brides,” he says.

Singh believes that the centuries-old tradition was instituted to counter the illeffects of a relatively homogenous gene pool, as would happen down the generations if closely related people were to have offspring. But those fears need to be outlived. “The population [back then] was much less and there were only seven villages under Satrol—hence the name. But we have spread way beyond that and options are limited,” he says. “Children born of inter-state marriages look different and the brides find it difficult to adjust, which is why many of them run away. If we are compromising on race and caste in this 50 open

in Jind that decreed that girls be married by the age of 16 to lower cases of rape. “I tried explaining to them that it was a good decision for their own good, as such crimes happen due to unfulfilled sexual desires, but they wouldn’t agree,” Singh says, “Girls are equally expressive.”

P

rimarily a feudal state with near-

ly 70 per cent of its Jat population concentrated around districts like Rohtak, Jind and Hisar, Haryana’s sex ratio is the lowest in the country, at 857 per 1,000, according to India’s 2011 census. The female voice remains largely unheard in a khap discourse mainly concerned with

s the day sets, 32-year-old Meera set-

tles down to cook a meal for her family of ten, including her four children. She came to Bans as a 22-year-old bride from Guwahati with her husband Kamaljeet, who went all the way to the Assamese city in search of a bride. “My father was a farmer and was looking for a match for me after I finished school,” she says, remembering the time she struggled with the language and trying to manage household chores. Her accent is still reminiscent of her ‘otherness’ that bothers the likes of Inder Singh. While Kamaljeet died in a drunken brawl, Meera was married to his younger brother five years ago as part of the karewa tradition in Haryana (originally formulated to keep property within the family). “I haven’t been to my village since then,” she says. Spending most of her time with her husband in the fields, Meera says she has vaguely heard of the decision. “I think it is good. It is not easy to live the way I do,” she says, before heading to the kitchen to cook a meal for her children. n 5 May 2014

true life

mindspace Inflammatory Screech

63

O p e n s pa c e

Rani Mukherjee Aditya Chopra Imran Khan

62

n p lu

2 States Transcendence

61 Cinema reviews

LG Curved OLED TV Portofino Chronograph Lenovo IdeaPad Flex 10

60

Tech & style

Babies and Biases Malthusian Food Crisis Pain Threshold and Genes

56

Science

Family Life by Akhil Sharma The Accidental Prime Minister

by Sanjaya Baru

books

Nocturnal Mission

52 64

gavin evans

an erotic lens Photographer Gavin Evans tells Chinki Sinha why shooting the city at night is like pornography 52

true life

Nocturnal Mission Wandering the city at night with photographer Gavin Evans Chinki Sinha

T

hat night, around 2 am, we

drove to Garstin Bastion Road in two cars, one trailing the other.

The streets were almost deserted, except the trucks that moaned as they made their way to wherever they were headed.

In its concentric circles, Delhi is a city that is trapped. Within its folds, there are stories that change with the movement of the clock. The city becomes a magical place at night, Gavin Evans whispers.

Besides, it is only in the dark that you see certain things. Like the stars. You are in between dreams. Delhi goes to sleep very briefly, he tells me. “Maybe two hours.”

He knows the sleep patterns of cities—Kolkata, Delhi, Darjeeling, Kanpur, etcetera. Evans says he is sentenced to walk the cities and villages in the night. Because the daylight is for everyone. It is only in the night that he begins to make sense of chaotic cities, with his camera. A photographer, tripod in hand, roaming the streets in search of images.

We stand near an old railway coach yard, looking at the windows from where prostitutes are gazing at the streets. After 3 am, visitors don’t walk up the stairs anymore. Those who want to stay the remainder of the night are already there, price paid, and those 52 open

who aren’t with anybody are seen through the mesh of windows.

Evans crosses the street, and walks up and down, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His partner Michaela Murken and I stand this side, warding off the men who beckon. She is brave. There’s a torch in her hand, and she points it at their faces as if she were shooing away ghosts. She got it in Rajasthan when they visited an accursed palace. Night is a strange time.

The 49-year-old photographer and filmmaker from Europe walks the night, taming it, using it to make sense of cities in their nocturnal hours, without their guard on.

Wires crisscross the lonely streets, bulging somewhere like a beehive, leaning out and becoming almost like serpents, slithering through alleys and climbing buildings. They almost look beautiful, and recur in his images, part of a series he calls Nightscapes. A portrait photographer who has shot David Bowie among others, he says it is his portrait of the country.

“In the night, all is revealed; the fabric of the cities and countryside are bared and exposed. Sidewalks are clear and, from the ground up, the view is uninterrupted. The veins of electricity cables and the flyovers are the lifelines that connect and give rhythm to the images; these are nocturnes. Night is

when the other world awakes. The light paints a different picture and the dark hides a different story. It is these unseen and untold stories that fascinate me,” he says.

“The cities are captured every second of every day on mobile phones and cameras. There is nothing I can say or contribute that hasn’t already been done by daylight,” he says. “Nightscapes is a piece of the cultural jigsaw—it occupies a space in the photographic archive of India. Every image tells a story, the narrative is composed of layers upon layers of visual.”

Like the electric cables. He is fascinated by them.

“I can’t avoid the cables. We don’t 5 May 2014

gavin evans

have them in Europe,” he says.

The series is about the night, and its picturesque solitude. In 2005, he shot another series, Tales of Resurrection, in his hometown in the north of England.

He would drive around the industrial wastelands at night, and one night, he came upon a concrete wartime bunker set against a burning skyline of flame stacks.

“The scene was surreal and foreboding,” Evans says. “I got out of the car and ventured inside the bunker. There, I found a dead fox. Someone had purposely placed its body there surrounded by stones—in a kind of ceremonial sacrifice.”

Secrets of the night, for him to find.

5 may 2014

“I

ndia at night is seductive, evoc-

ative and deeply mysterious,” says Evans. “It is also a contradiction.”

Evans landed in Kolkata with Murken one morning in February. Jet lagged after a 14-hour flight, he gawked at the crowded city from his taxi.

“At midnight I rose and ventured out,” he says. “To my amazement the streets were deserted. I was presented with an uninterrupted scene; no traffic or people to obscure my view.

Many cities around the world never rest. India by day moves at breakneck speed and, exhausted, it takes a breath for four or five hours before starting all over again.”

Kolkata revealed itself, night by

night. Evans slept through the days and walked the streets at night, a camera slung over his shoulder, looking for wires, people sleeping on the streets or precariously positioned on their rickshaws, or those who were awake like him. Murken would be with him, helping out when he sought her. Or she would stand by the side, watching.

“Despite constant warnings, especially while venturing into slums, I have never felt unsafe in India,” says Evans. “The folk I come across are often as curious as I am when they see me.” Besides, he says, Murken is there to protect him.

“India is possibly the most photographed country on earth and trying open www.openthemagazine.com 53

to do something different or unique is a major, almost impossible task,” he says. “The deserted slums at night reveal a profound beauty hidden in the daytime by the throng of inhabitants; just one example which makes Nightscapes different from other nocturnal documentations.”

He has the curiosity of an outsider, a wonderment that makes him trap layers in his photos. He wonders why a man doesn’t fall off as he snores while asleep with his head perched on the handlebars and his body on the rest of the cart.

There is a jarring collapse of private and public spaces. A photo from his collection frames dogs and humans, huddled together, perhaps whispering their dreams or fears to each other. In another, a lone ragpicker injects himself with heroin, or some other drug, slumped against the walls of New Delhi in the wee hours of the morning.

Creatures of the night.

“There is a lot to see,” he says. “There is an incredible tapestry. The camera is able to record so many details, so many things.”

In the slums he visits, like Nehru Colony, he says he is amazed to see such a range of emotions. And then, at night, the slums look forlorn, different.

Although his images are of the streets, Evans says he is not fascinated by poverty like most foreigners who have captured India’s deprivation.

Emptied out streets and the transition of a city as it diffuses into the night— those interest him. The nakedness of a city after sundown, undressing almost, while the lover explores its body through his lens.

“It is pornography,” he says.

T

hat night in Delhi, Evans asked me to look for a shrunken garden in a hotel; that’s where he would be waiting. At around 11.30 pm, it was still too early to go out.

Delhi is a confusing city, unlike Kolkata, Darjeeling and the other cities in which he has ventured out at night so far. It is a circle, and there are villages and lost cities within it, cities of 54 open

Michaela Murken

“India at night is

seductive, evocative and deeply mysterious,” says Gavin Evans. He is not fascinated by poverty, but by empty streets.

the nakedness of the city at night, undressing almost while the lover explores its body through his lens.

“It is like pornography” memory and nostalgia, and all of these manifest themselves at night.

“Language on sign hoardings varies; even the colour of Ambassadors changes from state to state. Every city is unique; its people, architecture and habits all differ,” Evans says. He hopes that, through his work, “viewers see their world in a new and revealing light.”

We eat tarts and go through his work. Like when he shot a night club

called Tropicana in Havana, Cuba.

There are the gay and the transexual and the fabulous. There are feathers and sequins and a sense of freedom, which will remain closeted when they go out in the streets.

Then there is the Touch project, in which one of his hands is offered to a subject to do whatever it is one chooses to do with it, while the other aims the camera at the subject’s face and two hands. The project explores the concept of personal space. There is reluctance, joy, hostility.

“It is intense,” he says. “It is about breaking down barriers.”

He has been working on Touch for nine years.

E

vans picked up the camera at the

T

he ‘in between time’ stretches

age of thirteen. “I came across the portfolio of a neighbour, a forensic photographer whose abstract images of crimes in Bermuda changed everything for me. I understood at once that photography had the power to provoke investigation and the power to change,” he says.

He had a brief stint at Harrow College of Higher Education outside London. Then, he says, he got into the real thing.

“There is nothing I like about taking photographs. The process is painful and deeply introspective. I must know why I point the camera in what direction before I fire the button.”

slowly. At GB Road, it is never so quiet. He waits patiently. Only he knows what he’s looking for, Murken says.

Strains of mujra float in the air, barely audible, but it breaks the silence of that elongated phase.

Just then, he finds it. He turns around, gets inside a yard and fixes the tripod. Then he takes a flash and stands under a banyan tree, lighting up its leaves. Beyond and under it, there is a hutment built on a wall, propped against the tree. Perhaps someone is sleeping there. Perhaps Evans is trying to capture their dreams. n 5 May 2014

Books sigrid estrada/corbis

Home and the World Akhil Sharma’s new novel Family Life, 12 years in the making, is an immigrant saga partially gone wrong RAJNI GEORGE

family life

By Akhil Sharma HAMISH HAMILTON | 240 pages | Rs 499

“L

ife can be dark, and dark things are opportunities,” says author Akhil Sharma from his home in New York City, over the phone. “Fiction allows us to range our empathy. In normal life we wouldn’t have time to listen to them, or they would reveal themselves to us and we’d turn away.” Indeed, Sharma’s endearing candour and unflinching wit flies in the face of perversion, making the bleakest of tales worthy, despite the kick. There’s that delightful early short story Cosmopolitan, anthologised in Best American Short Stories 1998 and made into a film starring Roshan Seth, wherein a lonely middle-aged Indian settled in New Jersey encounters his free-wheeling blonde neighbour.

Then came his debut novel An Obedient Father (2000), a skilled depiction of a corrupt Delhi school system official who sexually abuses his daughter and granddaughter—the sheer distastefulness of this theme, some say, kept Sharma from due recognition, though it won him the PEN/ Hemingway Award. At the time a 29-year-old New York City investment banker who had studied with Toni Morrison, worked unsuccessfully as a screenwriter and published fiction in The New Yorker, Sharma was lauded by many and dismissed by others as passing through.

It has taken him 14 years to publish his second book in 56 open

an impatient publishing industry. But Sharma has not been forgotten by magazines who called him one of their ‘great white whales’ (Vice) and editors anticipating big prizes. Family Life, his much-awaited immigrant saga partially gone wrong, comes with raves from David Sedaris, Gary Shteyngart and even Edmund White, and is heralded as one of the books of the year.

This time, Sharma’s characters are not as ripe, but they are just as morally ambivalent and demanding of empathy. It’s a super sad survivor story with bubbles of mirth, ‘lol sob’ moments throughout. ‘“Who’s the sad baby?... Who’s the baby that cries all the time?”’ narrator Ajay Mishra teases his now septuagenarian father as he tickles him, both first seen by the reader after the fact. For, Ajay tells us his tale at forty, but begins it at eight. That year, the three minutes his brother Birju spends unconscious at the bottom of a swimming pool—leaving him brain damaged, unable to talk, walk or see—set off the novel’s steady spiral, driving their father to the bottle and Ajay to both succeed with new vigour and feel guilty about thriving as his brother languishes, irretrievably.

The life that results is gripping, despite its pretty depressing premise of familial entrapment. All of it is palpable, immediate, starting with the portrait of 1970s India before and during the Emergency, after which the Mishras leave for America: the deprivations of controlled economy restrictions that lead them to split their matches in half; the arrival of the fat chequebook-like tickets their father sends back for them when he loses faith in the government and emigrates; the idea of India as an image, tangible even in the shapes of clouds to its first generation of adult hopefuls.

Only the promise of science and the need to prove himself 5 May 2014

to an indifferent universe can tempt Ajay’s father away, once the ideal fails. But during the long, gruelling ordeal that follows—featuring a parade of charlatan miracle healers intended to cure Birju and a daily routine of painful caregiving that eats into the family’s equilibrium and gives this tale its hurt-suffused heart—Ajay’s initial feeling on his first Diwali away from India persists: ‘At that moment, I felt the life I was living in America was not important, that no matter how rich America was, how wonderful it was to have cartoons on TV, only life in India mattered.’

S

harma is to be featured on the cover of The New York Times Book Review the day after we speak on the phone, but he seems slightly impervious, perhaps still stunned by the effort of delivering part of his own life into fiction. “The aim is to write a book that is useful to the reader, with the rigors of being truthful. The truth is useful. You need to tell the truth that comforts you,” he says.

“Nothing I’ve written has ever satisfied me,” he continues.

“Like when you love somebody and say ‘I love you’ and they can’t take it in.” Sharma’s process is unusual. “I don’t really revise. I rewrite until I get to a point, until I think this is doing what I want it to do, when it’s creating complications. I start with a blank document each time. You lose something and you get something else; only the essentials are left,” he explains. “I worked on this book for 12-and-a-half years, and out of those 7,000 pages came the book. During those 13 years, friends were publishing books, I was almost embarrassed and I also felt real envy.” That the book is now just over 200 pages is almost shocking.

Often, Sharma’s keenly recalled moments burst into pure hilarity; when young Ajay is negotiating terms of engagement with his shuddh desi girlfriend, for instance. “If you had a dog, what would you name it?” Minakshi, also an Indian immigrant, asks him. “Something Indian,” he replies, after some thought. Both agree that they can’t possibly call each other at home, or, of course have sex before marriage. Ajay even goes one further, solemnly saying, ‘I don’t want to kiss”. “Raising the standards of what was proper,” Ajay explains, “was a way of making myself more appealing, more trustworthy.”

“The humour [in Family Life] is less biting than in An Obedient Father,” says Sharma. “There, you have the comedy of the corrupt official practising karate to demonstrate his might. Those are people with power, so it’s darker, more like stone hitting stone. But here, the people are powerless, they can do dopey things.”

I’ve mentioned the judgement that hit his first book several times, and he responds at last. “In America and most places, a book is judged by its subject matter. It’s not about sympathy or moral concerns. I think what I found offensive was

the idea that ‘These things don’t occur in India’, which is an obvious lie. Whoever was trying to say this was trying to cause harm.”

Unlike Jhumpa Lahiri, whose work is now a pillar of the immigrant fiction firmament, Sharma operates best outside of this construct. Family Life might emerge less perfect in the management of its high and low moments, yet it is more compelling than some of Lahiri’s more overly polished prose. However, while he is one of the most stylish of this generation of Indian or non-Indian writers, in this narrative, Sharma stops short of his usual reach, despite his tender acuity and light moral touch. Perhaps it is the solemn nature the immigrant narrative seems to deliver upon itself, that cloying mix of duty, deities and divinity.

Some of the resultant insights, piercing and in keeping with the confessional tone of a lot of Sharma’s prose, can turn predictable: ‘I sensed they watched me with suspicion the same way I watched them, that since they knew immigrants, they understood that I was untrustworthy, that immigrants are desperate and willing to do almost anything.’

But others are touching: ‘I had the sudden realisation that probably we would never go back to India, that probably we would live in America forever. The realisation disturbed me. I suddenly saw that one day I would be nothing like who I was right then. This was like sensing my own death.’ Ultimately, Family Life is about selfhood, bringing to mind Eugenides’ Middlesex for the horrible truth its story is propelled by—the gruesome aspects of Birju’s health care and the corroded familial relationships in the former; the incestuous secret of the narrator’s true gender identity amid his Greek immigrant family in the latter. Yet in Eugenides’ narrative, the Greek family’s assimilation into America is secondary to the narrator’s selfhood, and in Sharma’s novel, selfhood is subsumed by the larger narrative of the family.

Sharma gives us only one half of a story that never fully plays out. What happens to Ajay before he becomes the successful banker, a beautiful lawyer girlfriend beside him, sufficient distance between him and his parents to rib them?

“It’s a disturbing ending,” says Sharma. “This is what life is like; this kind of ending tells you a character has his own life.” Certainly it is a perfect ending in some ways. But what fun for the reader if the author had spent a hundred-odd additional pages tickling us, telling us all of this and more. For that opening is the moment I suspect readers might love most; the delicious after-the-fact.

Perhaps it’s the next book that might prove most exciting, now that this major event has been written through. At the moment, Sharma is working on a short story about Abraham Lincoln, and there are other stories, he tells me. I sense, as we chat, that he is thinking about what time it is in India; he still visits once a year. Set there, or here, or in the different era of a dead American president, these promise great satisfaction. n

“The aim is to write a book that’s useful to the reader, with the rigours of being truthful. The truth is useful. You need to tell the truth that comforts you”

5 may 2014

open www.openthemagazine.com 57

Books The Wishful Advisor In his controversial book, Sanjaya Baru wishes for a Manmohan Singh who does not exist, and in the process unmasks the one who does SHAKTI SINHA

the accidental prime minister

By Sanjaya Baru penguin viking | 320 pages | rs 599

W

hat is it about The Accidental Prime Minister—a

book that only confirmed what Lutyens’ Delhi knew all along—that so raised the hackles of Dr Manmohan Singh’s family, prompting his daughter, historian Dr Upinder Singh, to describe it as a “stab in the back… a huge betrayal of trust”? The subtext is that author Sanjaya Baru, having been privy to so much as his media advisor, has let down Manmohan Singh by revealing what he should not have. If her criticism were just this, it might have been merely a reaction of anguish. But she raises other issues that say as much about the book as about her father.

Upinder Singh charges Baru with unethical behaviour, opportunism and lack of objectivity. She accuses him of writing fiction because he did not have access—“projecting himself in the centre of events, which is not true… It is not as if he was the Principal Secretary to the Prime Minister”—and claims Baru nursed a deep sense of resentment, which he shared with her. She also dismisses his explanation about his lack of control over the timing of the book’s release since she herself has published books. She does protest too much.

In Upinder Singh’s assessment, Baru clearly has not delivered. Worse, though he says that he aimed to restore Manmohan Singh’s reputation and desperately wants his ex-boss to succeed, he fails in converting the unconverted. It took him years of working closely with Manmohan Singh to realise that his ex-boss was ‘spineless’. This despite the fact that Manmohan Singh humiliated Baru by recalling him from Singapore and then not delivering the job offered.

Baru’s sense of being wronged is palpable in the book, far from being a secret grudge he shared with Dr Upinder Singh.

The problem with Baru’s account is not that he has written a fictional account, which he has not, but that he has given Manmohan Singh a wide pass. For most of the book, almost till the very end, Manmohan Singh can do no wrong. He and UPA-I come across as star performers, with a judicious blend of sound economic policies, appropriate focus on developing the social capabilities of the poor, and bold strategic initiatives like the Nuclear Deal with the US.

58 open

While some of the praise is deserved, the book would have benefitted if the origins of the problems of UPA-II had been identified. Putting the Fiscal Responsibility Act on hold was among the first decisions of UPA-I, setting the stage for the lack of fiscal space later, when it was needed. The restructuring of the economy by the earlier regime combined with easy global liquidity had helped India reach new heights in economic growth. But the restructuring was put on hold, even reversed, and mindless expansion of budgetary allocations towards populist schemes, without a thought about effective usage, became the norm.

It is not surprising that even as the Sarva Shiksha Abhiyaan and Right to Education Act led to a manifold increase in resources flowing to primary education, learning outcomes have actually fallen. Problems of governance like lack of accountability and mission creep cannot be corrected by pumping in extra money. Likewise, being concerned about the difficult life of small farmers is one thing; pushing a Rs 72,000 crore write-off of farm loans is quite different. To be fair, Baru links this profligate step, which benefitted large farmers generally, to the imperatives of the 2009 election. It is not surprising that the book quotes Digvijaya Singh as saying that Manmohan Singh is an underrated politician.

Baru’s other contentious argument is that the 2009 verdict was in Manmohan Singh’s favour and that he should have used this mandate to stop being an accidental prime minister. Congress spokesperson Abhishek Singhvi’s harsh attack on Baru can be linked to this claim, not to other parts of the book that portray Sonia Gandhi in unfavourable light. A Congress party without the Nehru-Gandhi family is blasphemy, and Narasimha Rao’s fate, which Baru recounts, is clear evidence of that.

Baru has a point that Manmohan Singh made a difference in helping the UPA win re-election. But to expect that Singh— who, if he chose to walk out of the Congress, could not trigger even one resignation from the party—could even think of asserting his position as leader of the Government is unrealistic.

Baru wishes for a Manmohan Singh who does not exist.

Reading Baru, and ex-coal secretary PC Parakh’s book Crusader or Conspirator: Coalgate and Other Truths, the Manmohan Singh who emerges is an opportunist, not ready to quit despite wielding little power, being openly humiliated by his ministers, and not even consulted by Sonia Gandhi in the decisions to award Pranab Mukherjee the Finance portfolio and AK Antony, Defence—all the while formally 5 May 2014

mustafa quraishi/ap

Baru’s and Parakh’s obvious disappointment with Manmohan Singh as Prime Minister is understandable. The largely English-educated upper middle-class, socially liberal and metropolitan in outlook, finds it difficult to reconcile India’s recent patchy economic record with their perception of where the country should have been. They blame the corrupt political class for all of India’s woes, and eagerly support any moves to cut the political class down to size. The Election Commission seizing complete control of not just the election process but all executive action during the extended election period, or the Judiciary ruling that convicted politicians should forfeit their seats in the legislature even pending appeals, or Anna Hazare’s simplistic ideas on curbing corruption—all are enthusiastically welcomed, with little regard for Constitutional niceties. The members of this class abhor political dynasties as well as atavistic nationalism, and have no time for family enterprises masquerading as regional parties. Ideally, they would like a two-party system driven by economic ideologies, specifically a right-wing BJP minus the RSS and a left-wing Congress sans the family. Manmohan Singh represented a rare chance to remake India along the lines of their imagination.

The tragedy of Manmohan Singh is that he let down this class, who looked to him to deliver clean, effective governance. By staying on in office after his ‘best before’ date, by allowing himself to be publicly humiliated by his ministers and a much younger and more immature Rahul Gandhi, he not only exposed himself to ridicule, he diminished the Office of the Prime Minister and left the executive extremely weak and short of credibility.

It is this unmasking—not unmaking—of Manmohan Singh that seems to have so infuriated his daughter. From being a knight in shining armour, he has turned out to be just another politician, hanging on despite everything.

To his credit, Manmohan Singh realised what his fans do not, that governance and leadership are political, not technocratic, and modulated his role accordingly. Whatever his critics say, by being Prime Minister for ten years, Manmohan Singh has achieved what even a titan like Atal Behari Vajpayee could not—so what if he has reigned, not ruled.

But he may well have served another purpose—that of unwittingly creating a demand for a strong leader who promises effective governance; one who not only leads his party and government decisively but who is able to mould his party in his own vision. n

To the Englisheducated upper middle class, Manmohan Singh represented a rare chance to remake India along the lines of their imagination

presiding over the most corrupt, venal and cynical government that India has seen.

Not that Manmohan Singh was ever unhappy doing so; he was not unclear that there was only one centre of power in the Government and it wasn’t the Prime Minister. He would not countenance Baru trying to build his image, and would not even claim credit when it rightly belonged to him, not to Sonia or Rahul. And, other than the Nuclear Deal, when he staked everything and apparently threatened to quit if the party did not go along, Baru does not offer any evidence that Manmohan Singh ever felt that the office of the Prime Minister has a certain majesty necessary to its effectiveness.

So while the idea of the Prime Minister as dictator is disastrous, the Prime Minister as limpet, to paraphrase the late Rajiv Gandhi, is equally so. Parakh questions Manmohan Singh’s failure to push for urgent reforms in the coal sector, linking it not to his weak political position but to his misplaced priorities—the Nuclear Deal and FDI in retail.

5 may 2014

Shakti Sinha is a former IAS officer who worked in the Prime Minister’s Office under Atal Behari Vajpayee open www.openthemagazine.com 59

hunger Every eighth person in the world suffers from chronic undernourishment, and 75 per cent of the chronically poor are in mid-income countries such as China, India, Brazil and the Philippines

Babies and Biases Toddlers as young as 15 months exhibit racial preferences in their choice of playmates

Malthusian Food Crisis

comstock/stockbyte/getty images

science

W

hen do people start developing racial biases? According to a new study, racial biases are noticeable in toddlers as young as 15 months.

The study, published in the journal Frontiers in Psychology, found infants exhibiting racial biases in their choice of playmates. The researchers from University of Seattle found that when it came to choosing playmates, the toddlers normally chose those they considered fair in their dealings, for instance in distributing toys. But, when toddlers saw a person who favoured babies of their own race, the 15-month-old infants wanted to be playmates with that individual.

The study came about after researchers noticed, during past experiments, that infants appeared to play favourites with them, showing more inclination to share toys and play with some researchers than others.

To understand if any racial biases were at play here, two experiments were devised. In the first one, 40 Caucasian babies watched two research assistants distribute toys to two Caucasian babies, one who distributed them fairly and one who handed them out unequally.

Unsurprisingly, a majority of the 60 open

infants, almost 70 per cent of them, chose the assistant who distributed toys fairly.

Through the second experiment, however, the researchers tried to understand if infants would still chose fairness when infants of the same race stood to benefit from inequity. Similar to the first experiment, a test was conducted again.

Except this time, one of the recipient babies was Caucasian and the other Asian. A total of 80 Caucasian 15-month-old babies were made to watch one assistant fairly distribute toys and one assistant unfairly distribute toys. Half of them saw the assistant give more toys to the Caucasian toddler, while the other half saw more toys being distributed to the Asian baby. This time, the researchers found that babies picked the unfair researcher who distributed more toys to the Caucasian infant than the fair one who divided toys equally.

The researchers write in the journal, ‘These findings suggest that infants may also make social selections based on the consequences that a given individual’s behaviour may have for individuals that are of the same versus a different race as infants.’ n

The world is less than 40 years away from a food shortage that will have serious implications for people and governments, according to a top scientist at the US Agency for International Development. “For the first time in human history, food production will be limited on a global scale by the availability of land, water and energy,” says Dr Fred Davies, senior science advisor of the agency’s bureau of food security. The world population will increase 30 per cent to 9 billion people by mid-century. That would call for a 70 per cent increase in food supply. But the increases currently projected for crop production will not be sufficient to meet food demand. n

Pain Threshold and Genes

According to a new study, researchers may have identified key genes linked to pain thresholds. Researchers evaluated 2,721 people diagnosed with chronic pain for certain genes. The genes involved were COMT, DRD2, DRD1 and OPRK1. The participants also rated their perception of pain on a scale from zero to 10. The researchers found that the DRD1 gene variant was 33 per cent more prevalent in the low-pain group than in the high-pain group. Among those with moderate pain perception, the COMT and OPRK variants were found 25 and 19 per cent more often than in those with high-pain perception. The DRD2 variant was 25 per cent more common among those with high-pain perception compared to people with moderate pain. n 5 May 2014

tech&style

LG Curved OLED TV This set’s inwardly curved screen offers a unique immersive viewing experience gagandeep Singh Sapra

oled display An OLED display screen works without a backlight. Thus, it can display deep black levels and can be thinner and lighter than a liquid crystal display (LCD) screen. In low ambient light conditions such as a dark room, an OLED screen can achieve a higher contrast ratio than an LCD one

Portofino w Chronograph

Price on request

Rs 999,000

The Portofino Chronograph’s striking chronograph push-buttons are reminiscent of the cockpit of 1960s Italian sports cars. This IWC watch offers the elegance of convex sapphire glass and appliquéd Roman numerals, and is driven by the time-tested self-winding 75320 calibre with its 44-hour power reserve. Apart from alligator leather straps, there is a choice of Milanese mesh bracelets. n

Lenovo IdeaPad Flex 10

S

o what’s with LG’s Curved TV set? We had all those big TV sets with screens curved outward, then we yearned for flat TVs, and now we have a set that curves inward. Though just 55 inches in size, the LG Curved features some cool technology that gives viewers a unique immersive experience—you are surrounded by the image on screen, and its 4-colour pixel format reproduces colours very close to those found in nature.

Besides the three primary colours—red, green and blue—LG has added white as a fourth pixel. The pixels are independently lit, allowing finer control of their luminance and offering life-like picture clarity while getting a contrast ratio that is currently beyond conventional measures. It can go from blazing white to the darkest black with a greater sense of realism, and all this so quickly that 5 may 2014

fast action scenes have a beautiful smooth motion to it.

To ensure high-quality sound, LG has incorporated a two-channel speaker system, but this time round uses ceramic film speakers that allow it to make a thinner TV without compromising sound quality. The ceramic film speakers can reproduce both the highs and lows of music crisply, but if you want to boost it, my recommendation is to add an LG Sound Plate at Rs 39,990.

And to my delight, LG seems to have taken a cue from Apple TV’s remote, with a simple remote handset that uses gestures and pointing, and has universal control too.

Overall, a great TV set with an unconventional screen—and an eyepopping price tag to go with it. n

Rs 25,990

Running on Intel’s Quad Core Pentium processor, the IdeaPad from Lenovo is taking the brand’s Yoga line to a new level. For regular keyboard intensive work, the Flex 10 works best in the classic laptop mode, but for touch applications, web chatting, or enjoying a video, the screen can be flipped 300 degrees to ‘stand’ mode. The Flex 10 features a 10.1-inch screen and a 500 Gigabyte hard disk drive. It runs on Windows 8 as its operating system.

There is a 720p webcam, USB 2.0 and USB 3.0 ports, as well as an HDMI output to hook it up to a TV or projector. n Gagandeep Singh Sapra is The Big Geek at System3. He can be reached at gadgets@openmedianetwork.in

open www.openthemagazine.com 61

CINEMA

Man of reel Transcendence is the directorial debut of cinematographer Wally Pfister, who has been director of photography for every Christopher Nolan film since Memento in 2000, including Inception and the Batman series. Pfister shot Transcendence entirely on 35 mm film and finished it photochemically

2 States An operatic film with a high emotional quotient that is touching despite its melodrama ajit duara

o n scr een

current

Transcendence Director Wally Pfister cast Johnny Depp, , Rebecca Hall,

Paul Bettany, Morgan Freeman Score ★★★★★

att poor, Alia Bh Cast Arjun Ka an rm va shek Director Abhi

T

his film has a high emotional quo-

tient, and there are many moments that leave you in tears. It is occasionally maudlin and has cliches about North and South Indians, as also situations that are not entirely believable, but the movie still manages to touch a whole bundle of nerves. This is unsettling— because on one hand you recognise it as the melodrama it is, and on the other, it tears your heart apart.

It is not the love story that’s so moving, though that is well done. The film is about the Indian family, and how difficult it is to hold it together in these testing times. Krish Malhotra (Arjun Kapoor) and Ananya Swaminathan (Alia Bhatt) meet at college and fall in love. She is Tamilian and he is Punjabi, and the cultural divide affects both families negatively. 2 States is about how hard they fight to make adjustments in their lives so their parents accept that the world has changed and caste and community no longer matter.

62 open

Krish comes from a difficult home with unhappily married parents.

Ananya’s parents are in a more stable marriage, but her father (Shiv Kumar Subramaniam) is miserable in his job and this affects his sense of well-being.

He makes monosyllabic comments and has a general sense of apathy towards the world around him. Krish talks to him and tries to make an emotional connect with this lonely middle-aged man. These scenes are genuinely touching; it is moving to see a young man reach out across a generation with such sensitivity.

We also notice how the temperaments of the young couple are shaped by the level of happiness they see in the lives of their parents. The two start becoming as inflexible as their parents, until, at the last moment, they recognise this trait in themselves and change, gently nudging their parents to change with them.

This movie is operatic. n

In concept, Transcendence is a thinking person’s film. This science fiction movie asks if human consciousness can transcend life and exist beyond death in some form or another.

Dr Will Caster (Johnny Depp) is an Artificial Intelligence expert whose consciousness is downloaded by his wife (Rebecca Hall) in digital form before he dies. Miraculously, she can now talk to her dead husband on the computer.

What the movie wants to say is that one’s consciousness is not something static and quantifiable but is constantly shaped by one’s experiences of life. But Dr Caster, now inside a computer, has no such life experiences. The only thing he has is the internet, and that is artificial. Quickly, he turns into a terrifying consciousness that draws its entire experience of the world from cyberspace. Even his wife sees him as a scary stranger.

It is a fascinating idea, but unfortunately, the makers fail to turn the concept into a workable narrative. This is a painfully slow film that alternates between long winded conversations on the computer and occasional bursts of action triggered by the usual suspects—a revolutionary organisation that wants to stop such interference with human consciousness, and, of course, the FBI. The last hour of the film puts you to sleep. n AD

5 May 2014

Not People Like Us

R aj e e v M asa n d

Bollywood’s Own ‘Fairytale’

By the time you read this, chances are we’ll have had an overdose of celebrities tweeting their good wishes to Rani Mukherjee for tying the knot with producer Aditya Chopra on Monday night in Italy. This confirmation from the actress herself finally puts to rest months of rumours that the couple had already secretly tied the knot.

Their relationship, of course, was Bollywood’s worst kept secret, what with photographs of the actress spending Holi and Diwali at Aditya’s parents’ home finding their way into tabloids annually. Moreso, Rani had been openly stepping out for public events with Aditya’s mum Pam Chopra, further fuelling rumours that she’d moved in with the family.

Describing her life as a ‘fairytale’ in a statement thanking her fans for their good wishes, Rani added: ‘Now as I enter the most important chapter in my life, the fairytale continues.’

It’s an appropriate word to describe their relationship too, some would say, given that it was Aditya Chopra who spotted Rani in the 1997 dud Raja Ki Aayegi Baraat and recommended her to his buddy Karan Johar for his debut film Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, which turned out to be Rani’s breakout hit.

Charming, or a little creepy? You decide.

Imran Introspects

Imran Khan recently shot for a commercial with his Ek Main Aur Ekk Tu director Shakun Batra, but he probably won’t be in Shakun’s next feature. No, the director hasn’t ditched his buddy while the latter’s going through a rough patch professionally; it’s just that Shakun needs an older actor for his new film.

The next project is reportedly a light-hearted drama involving two brothers and a coming-out experience, and insiders say Shakun and his producer Karan Johar are currently in talks with Saif Ali Khan to take the older sibling’s part. For the younger role, the makers will likely lock one of the newer actors from the bunch that have descended on Bollywood in the last two years—think Sidharth Malhotra, Varun Dhawan, Aditya Roy Kapoor, or Arjun Kapoor.

Imran, for his part, will go into Nikhil Advani’s next, a jumping-timeline love story that’s currently in search of a leading lady after the makers decided original choice Ileana D’Cruz may not suit the part after all. His friends say Imran is currently in a conflicted state of mind follow5 may 2014

ing the success of 2 States, which was originally offered to him, but which he turned down so he could work with Vishal Bhardwaj on Matru Ki Bijlee Ka Mandola. While Vishal’s film tanked last year, 2 States took a sizeable opening at the box-office, prompting the actor to examine his choices.

A Take Too Late

Once a prominent star, this stylish Bollywood actor continues to land supporting parts thanks mostly to the goodwill he has acquired over the years. Consistently non-controversial, cucumber cool, and not in the least bit competitive even at his prime, he counts most of his co-stars and contemporaries as friends because they never saw him as a threat.

Not long ago, the producers of a small-budget spiritual movie had a brainwave to cast the former A-lister in the titular role of a revered saint. Turns out it was a genius idea.

The actor certainly bore a passing resemblance to the spiritual guru, and the casting announcement itself made headlines. But the shoot was no smooth sailing... The makers complained that the moody star usually turned up on time but didn’t leave his make-up room for hours, locking himself in and smoking up till he was high.

The significance of playing a character as iconic as this had hit the actor late in the day, and he was working himself to a sweat getting into character, his staff would inform the impatient crew that was growing increasingly restless. Each time the director urged the actor to get into costume and come to shoot his scenes as the entire unit was on standby, he’d politely but firmly insist: “Abhi andar se aa nahi raha, bhidu. Thoda time de.” (I’m not feeling inspired yet, brother. Give me a little time.)

Somehow the makers managed to complete the shoot, they say, but the film didn’t exactly make a splash the way they’d hoped. Although devotees of the saint were curious about the film, they didn’t throng cinema halls the way they had years ago when an earlier incarnation of the story had been produced for the big screen. The actor, while accepting responsibility for the poor audience turnout, then asked the makers if they’d give him another chance to play the same part... in a second movie, if they might. Naturally, they didn’t return his calls. n Rajeev Masand is entertainment editor and film critic at CNN-IBN open www.openthemagazine.com 63

open space

Inflammatory Screech

by r i t e s h u t ta m c h a n da n i

A man leaves a petrol pump in Vijayawada after noticing that it has been sealed by the Election Commission for a violation of conduct. Though the exact nature of the violation is unclear, it seems the pump was sealed by the police and a joint collector on the night of 3 April, after it had filled the tanks of several motorcycles in a Telugu Desam Party procession for the municipal elections earlier that day. Employees there say they had no indication or warning that this was not permitted. The pump was one of three to be sealed in the area

64 open

5 May 2014

THE ESSENCE OF BRITAIN Made in Switzerland by BREITLING

British chic, Swiss excellence: Breitling for Bentley combines the best of both worlds. Style and performance. Luxury and accomplishment.

Class and audacity. Power and refinement. Perfectly epitomising this exceptional world, the Bentley B05 Unitime houses a Manufacture Breitling calibre, chronometer-certified by the COSC (Swiss Official Chronometer Testing Institute), the highest benchmark in terms of precision and reliability. It is distinguished by its exclusive crownadjusted worldtime system featuring revolutionary user friendliness.

A proud alliance between the grand art of British carmaking and the fine Swiss watchmaking tradition.

breitling for bentley.com

BENTLEY B05 UNITIME