A Tryst With Villainy -- Gopal Godse

Villainy is often perceived in black and white, sans shades of grey. And the relationship between the antagonist and protagonist is almost always linear, with them at the two ends of a spectrum of good and bad. It becomes all the more dramatic when it came to legendary real-life “baddies”.

India’s mythology and national history are strewn with such supposedly diabolical characters – individuals, groups and even ideas. Ravana, Duryodhana, Taimur, Mohammed of Ghazni, Aurangzeb, the British, General Dyer, colonialism, reservation… the list is indeed long.

Dyed in such narrative wool that I was by my post graduate days (2002-04), it was with a great sense of awe that I set out to meet Gopal Godse, then the only living symbolic and real villain of the legend of Mahatma Gandhi.

After days of tracking him, I found the 86-year old younger brother of Nathuram Godse – Gandhi’s assassin – in a frugal apartment in the old quarters of Pune. He was surrounded mostly by books and a handful of loyal friends and relatives. While most in the milling crowd outside his home would hardly recall the historic figure, Godse was, however, a revered personality for some.

Dwarfed forever by his elder brother’s deed, Gopal’s own failed attempt at killing Gandhi got relegated to the footnotes of the yellowing pages of history books. Not that the man himself cared. The ultimate mission was, after all, brutally accomplished. And he was one of the infamous five convicted for the conspiracy.

As the frail old man began talking to me slowly, deliberately, spiritedly, about his ideas, he oozed conviction, however skewed. And he took off on a note that baffled.

“We all had great respect for the man (Gandhi). That is why my brother made it a point to touch Gandhi's feet before shooting him,” Godse told me, his failing eyes as steady as ever.

“What we were against were his stand on Pakistan and his appeasement of Muslims as a community. We decided he had to go if Hindus had to be saved. We did away with somebody who was not just satisfied with the creation of Pakistan; he wanted to see Pakistan progress too. He was in fact the father of Pakistan,” the cold reasoning went on, with the kind of control and confidence one would expect of him on the topic.

But if the passion was unmistakable, so was the warmth once we were off topic. Offering me refreshments, accompanied by delicious crumbs of history, Godse was impeccable in his usage of idioms and symbolism that reeked of Hindu nationalist/supremacist moorings. His dogged usage of the samskrit name “Arbasthan” for Arabia and “Sindhudesh” for Sindh said a lot about the man.

A 28-year-old storekeeper at the Indian Army barracks in Pune at the time of the January 30, 1948 assassination, Gopal Godse faced government apathy and social boycott even after his release from 16 years of jail.

But for the concern for bystanders’ lives, which stopped him from throwing a grenade at Gandhi, Gopal would perhaps have been the better known Godse brother today. Indeed, he and his fellow conspirators did detonate explosives on January 20, 1948, near Birla House where the 78-year-old Gandhi then stayed.

“We then fled the scene and I returned by train to Pune. I met my brother again in Bombay a few days later and then returned to my duties,” he recalled, speaking in impeccable English.
Nathuram then proceeded towards New Delhi for his date with destiny.

“I heard nothing more from my brother until the radio announcement of the assassination. I instantly knew I too would be hounded. I was released only after (Jawaharlal) Nehru died in 1964. If he were alive I would still have been in jail,” he said.

Godse gave me two books he had published with utmost difficulty: “Why I Assassinated Gandhi” and “May It Please Your Honour” – both based on Nathuram’s deposition in court. For all his standing in history, one couldn’t help pity the man when he said, “I am sorry I am in no position to give you these books for free. This is my only source of income.”

Till the very end, he believed Pakistan and India would one day merge into “Akhand Bharat”. His faith may sound ridiculous. But faith it was. Faith as represented by the silver urn on a pedestal that carried his brother's ash. According to Nathuram's wishes, the ash is to be thrown into the waters of the Sindhu (Indus) flowing through “Akhand Bharat”.

He rubbished the biggest fallacy about the historic killing -- that Gandhi’s last words were “Hey Ram”.

“Gandhi didn’t have the time. They were point blank shots at a 78-year-old man just recovering from a recent bout of severe fasting. Forget saying anything, he wouldn’t have had time to even think. It (the ‘Hey Ram’ twist) was a Congress gimmick to win the sentiments of Hindus,” he explained.

And just when I thought, Gopal Godse was getting into his elements, he left me stumped again with his simple but ironic message to the current crop of Gandhi-bashers: “If you have to hate Gandhi, you must understand him first. For that you should have lived in those times.”

Godse, who claimed to have been an ardent Gandhi follower before he got proselytised, said: “People who denigrate Gandhi today do not know what it is to live in turbulent times.”

I returned, all the more mystified by history. But my notions of good and bad had certainly taken a thorough beating by then.

The Mullah And I

Recently, while reading a blog by popular Pakistani columnist Nadeem F Paracha in the Dawn newspaper, I came across an interesting comment by a certain Anjum Hameed. It raised the most interesting and pertinent points.



The comment was: “Out of curiosity, I want to know WHY we can’t take on our friendly, neighborhood mullah??...you think he will ex-communicate us??...he can’t...our religion allows us to pray and worship God in our own homes, in our own corner…”



There are several aspects that Hameed’s views have highlighted. Three of them are.



1. The relationship between the general populace and ecclesiasts.

2. The difference between spirituality and religion.

3. The primordial need to belong.



Let us analyze these three in detail.



1. The Mullah and I



Why is it that I cannot voice opinion against the neighborhood Mullah? And, if I were a Christian, against the padre of my congregation?



It is not the fear that I will annoy my one-point contact with God. I am certainly saner than that. If I believe in a ubiquitous and omnipotent god, then I for sure realize that I don’t need a go between such as the Mullah or the Pandit.



The answer is that by some historical quirk of fate a handful of people assumed the right – or perhaps were inadvertently bestowed with the right – to ‘guide’/‘direct’ the flock in matters religious and spiritual. Eventually these guys also assumed the right to ‘guide/direct’ the entire community as a unit.



And now I am scared of not belonging to that community/unit, which the Mullah/Padre/Pandit is quite capable of ensuring if I do not follow his diktats.



2. Religion or Spirituality?



That brings us to the next point.



So essentially organized religion – as represented by its modern day leaders — is nothing but a tool to herd people into a single unit for political purposes. It is not very different from a political party. The only difference being that religion uses the garb of spirituality after maligning/ twisting it big time.



3. Insecurity



But the bigger question is, why should I belong to a particular community at all in the first place?



The answer is simple: Insecurity.



Human being has always found security in numbers. For all our dramatic modern achievements, human beings are frail – physically and mentally; frail, because in spite of our achievements, we are not secure in our skin.



We view each other with suspicion. If the other is of a marginally different physical and mental make-up, we completely distrust him/her. The corollary to that is our tendency to join hands with those with the same physical and mental make-up as our own.



And religion (particularly organized religion) is the biggest expression of that insecurity of ours.


In short: to hell with Organized Religion — be it the anachronistic Hinduism, putrid Islam, redundant Christianity or decadent Buddhism.

Television Discussions: Looking For Civility and Reason

Panel discussions on Indian television have come a long way from the sleepy and monotonous sessions of the Doordarshan era.

Back then the static camera and uninspired presentation of views actually killed the informed decency of the panelists.

With the media boom, the picture changed. Apart from the lively involvement of audience and the eloquence of media-savvy panelists, technology also ensured the involvement of speakers from across time zones, promising a deeper, broader and more enlightened discourse on issues.

Not only are today's newsmakers and commentators seemingly more open to instant reactions to their views, they are also well versed -- in varying degrees -- with the dynamics of live media.

However, what one very badly misses is good old civility in conversations. By ‘civility’, one does not mean mere non-use of un-parliamentary language. I mean ‘civility’ in the very basic sense; something like ‘Wait for your turn to speak’, which is taught to kindergarten children.

By nature we Indians are a garrulous lot, no doubt. The understated adjective, ‘argumentative’, which Prof Amartya Sen bestowed on us, is perhaps a quality that flows in our bloodstream. But should that stop us from having reasonable debates on TV without out-shouting each other?

I think there are two parts to the problem, besides that fact that we are inherently argumentative.

First, television news, as the cliché goes, is no more just news today. It is entertainment. It is competition. It is also often a direct response mechanism that gives panelists the first taste of public sentiments.

Given this scenario, most Indian panelists – very often regular fixtures on particular channels – look to make the most out of their 30-60 minute daily airtime quota to ensure that they are heard. For such a desperate lot, it is irrelevant whether a fellow-panelist is making a pertinent point, answering specific questions or stating facts that could give the discussion a fresh perspective.

Irrespective of the political inclination of the panelist or news channel, discussions today are generally all sound and fury.

That brings us to the second aspect of the problem. One of the primary reasons for the cacophony on television is plain bad handling by producers as well as anchors.

Why can’t it be made clear before the start of the programme that volubility will not be considered a plus point? Why can’t anchors be better trained to moderate discussions? And finally, why can’t we have better learned panelists for specific topics?

For instance, on a discussion in the aftermath of 26/11 on Times Now, we had Shobha De offering views on the tactical and strategic mistakes on the NSG and actually pitted against the NSG chief himself!

Times Now often has a certain non-entity called Rahul Easwar (at best a college level debater) to defend the hooligans of Sriram Sene and Shiv Sena. This gentleman doesn’t even get his facts right and survives debates on shrill assertions.

Twice – once on Times Now and then on NDTV – Eeaswar was censured by a fellow panelist and the anchor for making provocative statements. One such statement was actually in favour of Sati.

The other extreme of his ideology is the soft-spoken Swapan Dasgupta whose voice is often lost in the barrage of his “louder than thou” co-panelists.

Recently, on NDTV’s Left, Right and Centre, which was discussing the fuel price hike, it was Rajiv Pratap Rudy and one of CPIM’s young faces who simply outshouted folks like Business Standard editor Sanjay Baru. Rudy was audacious enough to assert that the common man doesn’t bother about economics! Rudy was promptly corrected by a lady in the audience.

But the most annoying is perhaps the anchors’ self-righteous diatribe. In the zeal to make their own view-point the most dominant one (to hell with balance or objectivity!), they often pepper other speakers’ views with irritating ‘buts’, ‘ifs’ and, if necessary, ‘you suck!’ (No, I did not make up the last example. It was used by a ‘senior’ anchor on Times Now against Arundhati Roy).

At the end of such a session, and particularly from Rudy’s statement, it was clear that the idea was never to reach out to the layman. It was just to make sure that one’s sound box was the most sought after by the pandering visual media.

'Garbhavati Ganeshotsav'

My wife tried to hand me a plate of double omlette… (Mourya Rey...) But try as I did, my stretched hand simply couldn’t reach out… (Bappa Bappa…!!) Agonizingly close yet out of reach… Meanwhile Rafisaab consoled me for not being able to have my omlette and eat it too. With deep sympathy, he offered to sing ‘Yeh Duniya Agar Mil Bhi Jaye To Kya Hai’ merely to (…Pudhyavarshi Laukarya) cheer me up… But I sullenly stepped out into Chandni Chowk and walked into Peaco’s where Seva had already ordered an English Breakfast … (…Ganpati Ka JayJaykaar)… Hungry and angry, I was just about to take my first spoon of kesari bath when a horrible sounding Indian wild ass, straight from the Rann of Kutch, barked into my ear… Garbhavati Ganeshotsav!

…and I jumped up, wide awake, bewildered. In a few moments, realising that I had a long day ahead, I sighed, even as something somewhere in me distinctly said, “Oh no, not again.”

It takes a lot for an average Mumbaikar to get annoyed. The level of tolerance we have for the otherwise intolerable is, I believe, considerably higher than the citizens of any other city.



We are okay with people, even those who ought to have better sense, peeing on the roadside in that peculiar position that pretends to not let an imagined gallery of onlookers to size them up.



We wouldn’t give the pan-chewing jerk more than a glare when he bends over us to spray his disgusting venom out of the local train window with practiced perfection.



We have never really thought much about the grey fumes emanating out of exhausts on our way to work or back home – it’s hardly on our radar.

All perhaps because everytime something annoying crosses our way, we tell ourselves, “A little more and we are home and it's bedtime.”



The soft and inviting 6”X5” corner of bedrooms is the typical Mumbaikar’s ultimate landing pad. By the end of the day we would kill (rhetorically speaking, of course) to slump into it, leaving worldly ‘pleasures’ (?!) far behind.



But it so often happens during this time of the year that our daytime battles loyally follow us into the other world, blurring the lines between the real and surreal. When that happens, you know the famed tolerance of the Mumbaikar (some funnily call it the ‘spirit of Mumbai’) is flirting with the limits. Mosquito coil-makers perhaps make a living out of keeping Mumbaikar’s patience from snapping.



The Ganesh Utsav is an annual test to verify the current irritability levels of the megalopolis’s citizenry – and if found to be amply high, to heighten it even more, whichever way possible.

Mumbaikars being Mumbaikars, one could pardon us for overdoing the circus as an antidote to the otherwise miserable lives we live. But you know the city has lost it when authorities take it upon themselves to join the madness.



As if the constant braying of loudspeakers and thumping of singularly tasteless drumbeats is not enough, the city transport service, BEST, has found an innovative way to drill the message of ‘look how annoying we can get’ into commuters’ heads. Their WMD is something called BEST TV.



Supposed to be an audio-visual medium to reach out to travelers with pious civic messages, tacky advertisements and Bollywood promos, BEST TV joined the ‘Ganpati’ celebrations this year with a programme of its own – a contest of the elephant god idols.



And the torment was let loose.



While the programme is called ‘Gharghuti Ganeshotsav 2010’, thanks to the state-of-the-art sound systems, the announcement virtually ends up saying ‘Gharbhavati Ganeshotsav – 2010’ every 15 annoying minutes, whether you like it or not. The genius who manufactured the bus (pssst… the Chinkis) or the sound system (possibly someone as technologically challenged as me) forgot to install a volume control device. But we have more. The same genius somehow managed to connect the sound system to the buses’ electronic route indicator. You dare to put off put off the audio, the indicator goes off too.



In short, the tragedy unfolds every day as I enter the bus, and plays out throughout my journey of 2 hours (one way) at the same insane volume. The excruciating exercise is interspersed with ear-blasting festival music, sloppy sloganeering and godforsaken balladry.



While I escape the visual impact by jumping into the seat facing the opposite direction, my ears and brains get drilled and chewed respectively. Actually, my ordeal with the inanities associated with Ganeshotsav began much earlier, some seven years back in Pune where I was a PG student. At that time the favourite recurring leitmotifs were a crappy bhangra number (Kala Kavva Kaat Khayega Sach Bol) and raunchy ‘item’ songs (Gur Ki Kali and Babuji Zara Dheere Chalo).



Actually, these songs are not bad if played in a disc or a college party. But in a Ganesh pandal? Well well...



The idea of public celebrations is itself unpalatable to me. But I abhor it when it spills over into the streets, intrudes your private space, makes sleep an improbable activity and all the time carrying absolutely no semblance of decorum associated with a religious festival.



Tilak’s intentions were noble when he sought to popularize the community celebration of Ganesh Chaturthi. He wanted to bring in a community feeling among Indians this way. Pity he didn’t prescribe an exit clause, because the community celebration of the Ganesh Chaturthi festival long seems to have lost its utility.



In today’s outrageously extravagant editions, the Ganeshotsav comes across as a gargantuan horror of sorts.



Besides eating up tonnes of money, resources and man-hours, the fortnight long celebrations are also single-handedly responsible for boosting air, water, noise and mind-space pollution levels.



As for me, this past fortnight has made me fleetingly miss the boisterous railway stations of Mumbai. Besides my double-omlettes of course.


“…Pudhyavarshi don’t Laukarya”! Please!

Obituary: Venu Nagavally, The Eternal Devdas, Sleeps

In a way, Venu Nagavally is happy now. He has finally met death, his object of affection and one of the two central characters of most of his movies. The other being destiny.

Nagavally’s persona was best portrayed perhaps by Lalettan, the lead character of Sarvakalashaala, arguably Nagavlly’s best movie. Lalettan, played by the then fantastic Mohan Lal, spends close to seven years in that one college, going through his under-graduation, graduation and post graduation.

It’s not that the lonely orphan loves studies or is ambitious about his academics. It’s just that he doesn’t want to leave his venerable alma mater -- his only support system.

Like Lalettan, Nagavally never passed out of his college days. He survived on sheer nostalgia; nostalgia for his own days of youth, when Castro and Marx were his gods and an ever expanding flock of friends his family. In the process, he kindled our memories. And how!

As an actor, he was not great. His morose and lifeless characters were almost always depressing -- the typical self-destructive devdas. He was perhaps the quintessential art-house actor.

But behind the camera Nagavally let his hair down. He loved to portray the camaraderie among friends and neighbours (and no one could beat him at that). Be it Swagatham, Ayitham, Sukhamo Devi, Kalippattam, Sarvakalashala or Hey! Auto, youthful banter and frolicking of the main characters were the high points of his movies.

Nagavally was the typical “thinking moviemaker” of the 1980s Kerala. Yet, he also was intellectually honest. We get an indication of this in one scene in Sarvakalashala.

The otherwise chirpy, impish and affable “Chakkara” — a sidekick played by Manianpilla Raju -- one fine day turns (pseudo-) serious, complete with a jubba, oiled hair, a side-bag and a thoughtful look.

When asked what the problem was, he says he wants to get serious in life. “Oru Venu Nagavally mood!” (I’m in a Venu Nagavally mood) he says. Rarely has any moviemaker made fun of himself in such a fashion and yet come out unscathed.

No single character took centre stage in Nagavally’s movies. They all played their parts. Yet they beautifully complemented the plot itself.
But wait. Of course there were central characters. Unmistakably yes. And they were destiny and death. Nagavalli’s movies were the visual manifestation of “man proposes, god/fate/destiny disposes”.

He charmed us with his witty dialogues (which he lent to other moviemakers too, like Priyadarshan) that were more or less directly lifted from the lay Malayalee’s routine conversations. But after he had lulled us this way, he would unleash the tormenting twists and turns in the plot, that left a lump in our collective throat.

Be it the accidental death of the character played by Ashokan in Swagatham or the passing away of Lal’s character in Sukhamo Devi, or the shooting of Siddhan -- the eccentric vagabound poet played by Nedumudi Venu -- in Sarvakalashaala. The dying character usually left behind so many incomplete tasks and profound thoughts that they changed almost everybody’s life overnight. Talk about vacuum.
Death indeed was the harbinger of unimaginable changes in Nagavally movies. It was the point of deflection in most of his narratives, or the culmination of the storm kicked up his other muse, destiny.

Consider the shock the mortuary van gives us when it passes by her gate just as Urvashi sets out to elope. The very person who was supposed to help her elope is lying in the van, cold dead.

Or this: Actor Sunny, Lal’s elder brother in Sukhamo Devi, reaches home on hearing of his younger brother’s death. After exchanging compulsive pleasantries with Lal’s buddies, with a quivering voice, he asks: “Enikku oru cigarette tharumo arenkilum?” (Someone give me a cigarette) And then his trembling hands cannot light the cigarette. Unmatched, till this day.

Lal Salaam, sakhavu Nagavally! May you have a good time with your beloved.
Note: Nagavally passed away in the wee hours of Thursday, September 9, 2010.

Ego, Ambition And The Genesis Of Partition

They ask, ‘What are the sacrifices of Mr Jinnah and the Muslim League?’ It is true I have not been to jail. Never mind. I am a bad person. But I ask you, ‘Who made sacrifices in 1921? Mr Gandhi ascends the gaddi (throne) of leadership on our skulls’.

--Mohammed Ali Jinnah at a Muslim League meet in Peshawar on November 24, 1945.

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I guess it has got something to do with being an Indian. The logic behind the subcontinent’s partition in 1947 has always flummoxed me. For anyone who has a reasonable understanding of Pakistan’s founding, the main argument that fuelled it comes across as merely an exercise in rabble rousing. What is more, by now even respected sections of the Pakistani media and civil society have completely trashed the bogus ‘two-nation theory’, and instead are looking for a wholly new basis of nationhood.



So, it has been my endeavour for a while now to identify that one point in time that marked the fertilisation of the idea of Pakistan. And here it is.



Simply put, there would have been no Pakistan without Jinnah. But my search for that one vital event that led Pakistan’s founder astray from mainstream India, led me to a slightly different conclusion: Without Pakistan, there would have been no Jinnah.



Though this was known in an abstract way, a comment that Jinnah made, perhaps in an unguarded moment, condensed the whole issue into that one all-important point.



Addressing a charged Muslim League crowd, he said: “They ask, ‘What are the sacrifices of Mr Jinnah and the Muslim League?’ It is true I have not been to jail. Never mind. I am a bad person. But I ask you, ‘Who made sacrifices in 1921? Mr. Gandhi ascends the gaddi (throne) of leadership on our skulls’.



In a nut shell, Jinnah had spelt out his primary grouse.



The story goes back a long time though, to the 1910s and 20s -- an era when the Congress’s most popular leaders, the Bombay triumvirate of Pherozeshah Mehta, Dadabhai Naoroji and Gopalkrishna Gokhle, were fading. The Congress itself was still a party of the elite and with membership largely confined to the urban centres of Kolkata, Mumbai, Chennai and Pune.



Gandhi was, of course, reasonably well-known world over by then. Besides he had also maintained working relations with the Congress. But he was not really in the Indian picture, let alone dominating it, till his return from South Africa in 1915.



Being a trusted lieutenant of Gokhale and heir to the Mehta-Naoroji-Gokhale line of thought, it seemed only a matter of time before the dashing Mohammed Ali Jinnah took over the reins of the Congress’s national leadership. With a thriving legal practice, stunning looks, a sophisticated mind and an inescapable elitist aura, Jinnah was popular among the who’s who of the Congress. Also, he was an ardent believer in his predecessor’s constitutional methods of negotiations and litigation to seek an increased role for Indians in governance.



In short, he was the next national leader. Or at least Jinnah believed so and was preparing for the formal ascent. Then, December 28, 1920 hit him. And hit him hard.



On that day, at the Congress’s Nagpur plenary session, Gandhi moved the historic non-cooperation resolution -- a new and revolutionary brand of protest. Jinnah, an out and out believer in maintaining the British connection, was loath to do anything unconstitutional or mass-based.



But he didn’t realise the extent to which Gandhi, in the five years since his arrival, had touched India’s grassroots. His unconventional message, put in simple language, had stirred the masses.



At Nagpur, when Jinnah arose to speak against the resolution, he began his address with “Mr. Gandhi…” Instantly, the conferences erupted into catcalls, hoots and angry “No. Mahatma Gandhi”! While he stood his ground and continued with “Mr. Gandhi”, an utterly humiliated Jinnah painfully realised that Gandhi had stolen a march over him – ‘stepping on his skull’.



Unwanted, his dream of national leadership in ruins, Jinnah left Nagpur by the very next train. Soon, the hopeless barrister quit Congress forever. In early 1921 he withdrew completely from the political stage, which till the other day he thought naturally belonged to him, to concentrate on his flourishing legal practice.



However, he had his pound of flesh 27 years later – in Pakistan.



It is tragic that despite being an ardent believer in Hindu-Muslim unity, a secular patriot and a brilliant tactician, his ego and ambition led Jinnah, in his desire for revenge and power, to trick an entire people.



It shows why, till his very end, Jinnah was not sure what exactly Pakistan meant or stood for. He just needed his turf. There is evidence that till as late as April 1947 he was ready to compromise on Pakistan and agree to a united India -- as long he was given that turf and acknowledged as a leader of consequence.



Jinnah was first blinded by his inability to gauge the national mood in 1920 and then, most importantly, by his ambition. For the latter, Pakistan was the sole balm, and posterity’s bane.

Friendly Neighbourhood

The two most decisive human emotions, apart from greed, that have played a role in shaping mankind’s evolution are “love” and “hatred”. Love/like and hatred/dislike can be of two kinds: instant and built up.

Any entity can evoke instant hatred or love from us, irrespective of whether it is really worthy of that emotion.

Take, for instance, one’s attitude towards an overflowing sewer laden with the most gross of the city’s waste. One need not think too much to react in a particular way in this case. Similarly, the sight of a new born elephant calf in all its joyful impishness brings overwhelming feelings of tenderness to our hearts.

But, sometimes the feeling is built across a period of time – often through indoctrination (though not in the negative sense here). Our general view of Adolf Hitler is a case I point. Communal hatred too has such roots.

Most of us are prisoners of such attitudes, particularly the latter kind, which become a part of an individual’s socialisation process. One could, however, add a third category here – the love-hate relationship. One loves and hates the same entity or idea with more or less the same intensity but for evidently different reasons.

This third category is what the Indian subcontinent’s inhabitants have towards each other; all the more so if it is Indians and Pakistanis. Indians love as well as hate Pakistanis with the same degree of acuteness. Pakistanis, essentially of the same nature as Indians, reflect this attitude.

The vice-like grip of mutual mistrust that has bedeviled the relationship between the two countries is often coupled with the fondness for each others’ pop culture. Their decades-old quest for peace is pock-marked by wars and skirmishes.

Destiny also often plays a role and comes up with strange opportunities to reinforce either of these attitudes. History is dotted by instances where world statesmen have grabbed opportunities provided by fate with both their hands and that one act ended up being the game changer.

Tony Blair’s visit to the US in the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks – the first by any foreign dignitary to the US post attack – was an ultimate gesture in friendship. It reinforced the UK’s image in the US as THE ‘friend in need’ and reversed the drift in US-UK relationship.

In 1962, immediately after India’s defeat at the hands of the Chinese PLA, Pakistan gifted to China nearly 5,000 sq km of land in Pakistan-Occupied-Kashmir. Sensing an opportunity to form an alliance against India, it was a masterstroke by Pakistani President Ayub Khan and remains the bedrock of its all-weather friendship with China.

The Indian Navy’s timely assistance to Sri Lanka during the December 2004 tsunami did a world of good to a relationship traditionally marred by the ethnic Tamil issue. The navy rushed to the Indian Ocean nations, particularly Sri Lanka, with 19 warships, 11 helicopters and four aircraft for rescue, relief and reconstruction on the very day the tsunami struck. This not only dramatically boosted India’s image in these countries, but also gave it strategic leverage among these states, something even China could not manage.

In such a context, India’s almost non-existent reaction to recent events in Pakistan is nothing less than astonishing.

Here is a country that is struggling with one of the worst floods in nearly 80 years, with 14 million displaced – more than the cumulative figure for the 2005 Kashmir earthquake, the 2004 tsunami and the 2010 Haiti earthquake -- and billions worth of property lost.

Apart from the $900 million that the World Bank has committed, the international community has not been really forthcoming with help. Only the US, for strategic reasons, has been of any substantial help.

Given such a scenario, one wonders what would have been the impact on the common Pakistani, if India had made a gesture of unilateral help for the ravaged country, keeping aside for the moment the current chill in relationship.

It would, of course, be preposterous to say that it would have annihilated overnight the years of vitriol. But it would certainly have touched the Pakistani’s heart – which is where everything begins.

Irrespective of whether the Pakistani state accepts such an offer, I strongly believe the lay Pakistani would have thought, “Wow, when the world community virtually left us high and dry, India extended its hand of friendship? That is something.”

If India could extend $1 billion in soft loans to Bangladesh, what stopped it from helping Pakistan during such a catastrophe? Especially, when the Indian government itself is led by a supposedly humane Prime Minister, whose vision it is to permanently mend ties with the long-standing rival.

I guess, the government’s attitude is also reflective of the general mood in this country. Consider the coverage of the devastation in the Indian media. According to the Mint, dated August 13, Total prime time news coverage of the Pakistani floods among Indian television channels between August 1 and 11 amounted to a pathetic 13 minutes and 55 seconds.

The leading Hindi news channel, Aaj Tak’s, share? 0 minutes.

Leave aside the fact the country in question is Pakistan or the strategic import. Does this kind of indifference make any journalistic or humanitarian sense?

But then, history can also be portrayed as a series of missed opportunities. At least in India’s case.

If Jawaharlal Nehru had heeded Vallabhai Patel’s words and waited till the army finished its job of ousting the Pak-backed tribals from Kashmir before taking the issue to the UN, we probably wouldn’t have the Kashmir problem as we know it today.

Had India accepted the big powers’ offer of permanent membership in the UN Security Council when it was formed, instead of gifting it away to China, the dynamics of India’s role in the world would in all likelihood have been be qualitatively different today.

If India had not contemptuously rejected the membership to Asean when it was formed and offered, we wouldn’t have had to beg to be part of it today.

“If” is history’s biggest redundancy. Yet, I am left wondering.

Greatness Rediscovered...

Reverence can be blinding, rendering us incapable of viewing the subject impartially. All the more so when he or she is the primary symbol of an entire system of indoctrination.

The original and valid reason for the veneration is often forgotten with time, and only the residual aura and larger-than-life image remain. Long years of strife, sacrifice, discipline, determination and meticulous strategizing – they all degenerate into comic book heroism.

It is human tendency to place on a pedestal a person of superior qualities. If the ‘superior’ person is of any social relevance, a glass comes free with the pedestal. The transformation of a flesh-and-blood human being into a myth is, thus, complete.

Once the real, flesh-and-blood person gives way to the mythical hero, the next stage of the downfall begins.

When an image is portrayed across several generations as ‘perfect’, the resurfacing of relatively minor defects (which were a publicly-accepted part of the real life), can be devastating. This is because, the edifice of infallibility is usually not based on any in-depth study or understanding of the subject. It is based on a staple diet of legends, quotations and hearsay.

Add to this hype, the machinations of some who use the subject to further their own agenda and you have the stage set for the crumbling of any great image, and, sadly, the real personality too.

In short, the easiest way to make man’s achievements supremely un-repeatable is to turn that person into god. And the easiest way to pull that god down is to reduce his/her entire lifetime of fantastic achievements into myths and to portray the relatively unimportant failures as supreme flaws.

I, like most other Indians, have grown up in a system where, besides the 33,000 crore Hindu gods and a handful of non-Hindu ones, the society also thrust upon me a bunch of political gods.

So, when in my 20s I saw, heard and felt a new social wave assaulting these, by now brittle, characters for some compelling and otherwise mostly flimsy reasons, I was forced into a deepers understanding of these gods – call it modern theology, if you please!

Needless to say, Mahatma Gandhi, was on the top of that list.

The two most distinctive personalities I came across in my small-scale quest to understand Gandhi were Rabindranath Tagore (through his books of course) and Gopal Godse through his brother, Nathuram Godse’s writings, and personal tete-e-tetes.

Gopal Godse, for starters, was one of the five convicted in the Gandhi assassination case and the younger brother of Nathuram Godse, the man who shot Gandhi.

Tagore, who according to me had a better vision for mankind than Gandhi, was both a great critic as well as admirer of Gandhi. He joyfully welcomed Gandhi’s attempts to awaken the teeming masses of the subcontinent, who, till then, had been left in the cold by the political currents of the day. Tagore, however, decried Gandhi’s use of nationalism and religion as platforms for the process.

The ‘Mahatma’ title is said to be bestowed by the poet-philosopher, although according to records, Gandhi had received that title much before. In South Africa to be precise.

Godse, whom I met a few times as a post-graduate student in Pune, on the other hand, was obviously a virulent critic of Gandhi. An innate hatred for non-Hindu identities and a myriad image of past Indian glory had conviced him – contrary to stark facts – that Gandhi was out to defang ‘Hindus’ virility.

Both, Tagore and Godse, had the advantage of having spent a good part of their adult lives in the Gandhian era.

However, neither had the advantage of hindsight in forming their first impressions of the Mahatma. Neither, I will argue, did they have a deeper understanding of Gandhi’s mundane life and involvement in the humdrum of the politics of the day.

At best both Tagore and Godse had an overall view of Gandhi’s personality through his own speeches, media coverage and, worst of all, hearsay. In Godse’s case, one is compelled to believe that a strong ideologically-coloured perceptive filter played a major role (something Tagore was arguably bereft of).

That is where Mohandas – A True Story Of A Man, His People And An Empire scored a march over other critiques of Gandhi.

If meticulous research, uncomplicated language, and making full use of hindsight is the hallmark of a good biography, ‘Mohandas’ has just one word to describe it: “Brilliant”.

The author (whose name I would leave for the end) traverses the tedium that the reticent boy from Porbandar goes through in the process of transforming into one of the mightiest personalities of all times. I use the word “tedium” here because that is what the biographer chooses to highlight in this book -- the dull details that eventually added up into exhilarating upheavals.

For those looking for the ‘whys’ behind most of Gandhi’s decisive moves and acts – particularly the controversial ones – ‘Mohandas’ is a treasure-trove. Rarely is there any justification given for Gandhi’s thoughts. Most often, only the thoughts are presented.

Be it the better-known ones such as the Khilafat move, his troubled relationship with his eldest son Harilal, his experiments with Brahmacharya, his last fast or lesser understood ones like his relationship between Vallabhbhai Patel and Jawaharlal Nehru or his relationship with his wife Kastur, or his understanding of non-violence and Gita, ‘Mohandas’ cleared most of my doubts.

Those who think they know everything there is to know about the above list will be in for quite a few surprises.

The author attempts to gauge the man that Gandhi was, the human being that the Mahatma was, the mere mortal that the demi god was. The irritability, sadness, biases, prejudices, desperation and frustrations that went into the making of the Mahatma are curved out in delicious detail.

The most poignant aspect about being the Mahatma was that throughout his nearly 60-year career as a mass leader, he was constantly spending himself out emotionally. Yet, rarely did anyone realise that he too needed emotional replenishment. The great man too suffered pain, hurt and agony during the course of his interactions with the people around him – relatives or otherwise.

Trust me. The picture of Gandhi that emerged at the end of the biography was much more sober and humane. Nevertheless, at least for me, his humanity was all the more inspirational.

At the end of the book, I came to this conclusion: “I do not believe that Gandhi, with his credo of non-violence and truth, was a modern day god or demi-god on the lines of a Christ, the Prophet or Buddha. But I am increasingly convinced that the Prophet, Christ and Buddha were the Gandhis of their respective eras. The deficiencies of technology of their day and age elevated them to the status of gods.”

The author of the biography is Rajmohan Gandhi, the grandson of the protagonist. Now, before anyone is tempted to say, “No wonder”, let me just quote what M V Kamath of the Organizer – the RSS mouthpiece – has to say about the book:

“The only word to describe this work is ‘fabulous’. Literally scores of people have written on Mahatma Gandhi…But…Mohandas will henceforth be remembered as the last word on the subject.”

Maybe. Maybe not. Because -- despite being written about so much -- Gandhi remains one of the least understood of Indian national icons. But for sure, Rajmohan Gandhi’s Mohandas is a masterful contribution to those who are looking for the man behind the Mahatma.

My Close Encounter With A Communal Spark

7.30 p.m.
Monday, 16.11.2009
Central Mumbai

"Phod Dalega, Saala. India Se Baahar Phenk Dega Tere Ko, Ra*&wa Saala."

Roughly translated, sans the unparliamentary expressions, it means, "I'll bludgeon you... will throw you out of India."

Travelling in the comfort of an AC bus -- a newly launched government service that many of us here have found to be a god’s gift to our battered souls – we were startled to hear these words yesterday evening.

On an average day, Mumbai's peak-hour traffic is anybody's nightmare.

Taut nerves. Frayed tempers. Edgy people.

In these conditions, people take to fracases and altercations like a chain smoker takes to a cigarette after hours of abstinence.

The frustrating traffic, the stifling train crowd or the desperation to get home as early as possible – any or all of these in various combinations could be the spark that sets off ugly face-offs and, sometimes, brawls.

So, under ordinary circumstances, we in the bus should have forgotten the incident within minutes and gone back to observing the madness just outside on the road from the cushy closed confines of our bus.

But that was not to be.

I could sense a vague uneasiness among passengers following the vitriolic comments.

The incident that sparked the furore in one of our fellow travelers itself was forgettable.

As we approached King’s Circle in central Mumbai’s Matunga locality, vehicles struggled to move at a snail's pace.

I don’t know what exactly happened. Suddenly we heard the bus driver arguing with a biker. Within minutes, a few passengers were already by the driver's side trying to defuse the situation and prodding the biker to move . Hell, we didnt have time to indulge in silly heated exchanges.

But before we knew, an elegantly dressed Maharashtrian burst forth with his acerbic verbal diarrhea, part Hindi, part Marathi.

Besides getting the message from the angry shoving of hands and irritated facial expressions, I am sure the biker, who had a woman – presumably his wife – riding pillion, didn’t hear a word of what the bus passengers were. We, inside the bus, too knew that.

Yet, a strange uneasiness crept into our minds once this madman began venting out his hatred.

That hatred was focused. It was not the hatred for the chaos . It was not the frustration of a man stuck in unending lines of vehicles.

It was purely and unabashedly aimed at the biker. At his white skull cap. At his flowing beard. At his wife’s black burqa.

It was aimed the Muslim. The “other”.

"Phod Dalega, Saala. India Se Baahar Phenk Dega Tere Ko, Ra*&wa Saala."

The rest, spoken in Marathi, was clearly was aimed at everyone else. Every non-Maharashtrian.

Am I losing hope?

Women in Shabarimala: Legends, dogmas and hypocrisies

The 2006 controversy involving a yesteryear actress' claim of entering the Shabarimala shrine–hitherto proscribing women's entry–exposed some redundant but deeply entrenched dogmas and hypocrisies of the society, particularly that of Kerala.

Although it could be a harbinger of a more in-depth understanding of the social and emotional involvement of the society with religion, the actress' claim can itself be safely said to be wishful thinking.

To begin with, it is practically impossible for her to enter the shrine's premises, let alone touch the presiding deity's feet, which in any case is placed inside a single door structure with three footsteps and scores of lamps in between the idol and the devotee.

However, the larger question involved here is this: So what if Jaimala – an adult woman – did enter the temple?

In a day and age where 'equality' - irrespective of religion, gender, caste or creed – as an ideal in the society, the shooing away of sexually active women from places of worship is simply anachronistic.

While some of the arguments to bar women inside the temple could be understood to be a result of the social construct of a bygone era, others are manifestations of sheer hypocrisy and misogyny.

The temple – located at a place called Sannidhanam - is nestled in the heart of the Western Ghats in Pathanamthitta district of south Kerala. The area trekked by the pilgrims is densely foliated, which even now is full of scary giant centipedes and leeches.

One can imagine why women were not "advised" to go for the trek that lasted weeks in the olden days when the jungle was probably infested with wild animals.

Women in that age perhaps were never conditioned for the physically draining climb up several hills. But it sounds stupid today when we have women in the defence forces and in space.

Perhaps another argument that could be accepted to a certain extent as being scientific is that women, who undergo hormonal changes during their periods, are not in a mental state to be spiritually active.

But spirituality, ultimately being a purely personal issue, should be left to one's reason and discretion.

The main reason behind the barring of women in that temple is that Ayyappa, the presiding deity of Shabarimala, would have his chronic bachelorhood defiled by the presence of grown up women.

Is it not belittling the character of a god by considering it so fragile that it would be shattered by the simple presence of a woman?

Secondly, the legend of Ayyappa says he had promised to marry goddess Malikappuram - who resides just few metres away from the main temple - the year no new devotee visits him.

In fact there is an elaborate ritual observed every year at Shabarimala where the goddess checks the number of new devotees who have visited the temple that particular year and regularly returns disappointed.

So technically he would marry Malikappuram if the flow of devotees comes down, which in practicality doesn't seem to be happening though.

The most obnoxious bit in this argument, however, is that focused on menstruating women. How can a woman's reproductive functions be considered defiling? There is no reason to believe that the menstrual fluid is any more "unclean" than human faeces or urine.

This in a state whose citizens also patronize a menstruating goddess at the Kodungallur temple in Trissur district, for whom the most important gift taken by the devotees is the 'bharanippaattu' - a series of rhyming verbal obscenities crudely naming sexual organs and acts.

But what does expose the hypocrisy of the devaswom board and the society is the insistence on observation of 'age–old rules' and 'pious norms'!

By that standard a great section of men, who are supposed to observe a 41-day period of penance before going there – beginning with the ceremonial wearing of the beaded chain and coarse black material for clothes - should also be barred.

This is apart from the rule that debars non-vegetarian food, alcohol, sex and contact with menstruating women for the 'Ayyappa Swamis' as the pilgrims are called during the penance!

A good section of of men – at least in Kerala - hardly observe any of these rules. In fact people enter penance just a week before the trip - many a times a day before the trip. Perhaps "instant penance" is the buzzword here.

The night before the wearing of the beads and black cloth is one of festivity in most homes with a generous serving of booze and non-vegetarian food.

The 'swamis' are not supposed to shave their beard and wear footwear. But it rarely happens, particularly among the working class, who conveniently bow to their professional codes of dressing.

The biggest attitudinal change is that no attempt, whatsoever, is made to do all this in a hush-hush manner. These are all well accepted practices in Kerala now.

If all this is not a hindrance to the entry of 'impure' men, then the ban on women is just a nauseating joke.

The most compelling argument, however, women in Kerala themselves are against opening the temple for their fellow beings.

This is not surprising, as for ages, women in Kerala, as in other parts of the world, have been conditioned to think they are impure during their periods.

This has been used as a subtle but effective tool to subjugate the female psyche in god's own country, which ironically prides in having one of the country's best sex ratio and a much-hyped matri-lineal society.

All said and done the age-old norms cannot be changed overnight. The authorities could make a good beginning by opening the doors for women who are not going through their monthly cycles.

Ultimately "god or gods do not discriminate" is a message that the society must inculcate if it has to progress.

'50s & '60s: Mere Nostalgia or India's Peak?

Some say the hour produces the 'Hero'. The era creates the legend. Something of that sort perhaps happened to the generation that peaked to its creative and productive best in the 1950s & '60s in India (some of my friends, US citizens, with strong faith in the US's founding principles too agree about the US on this).

Be it art, political leadership, scientific benchmarks, entertainment, music, agriculture or any possible field. Something stirred the country that led to the creation of a generation that either brought out the best in particular fields or laid the strong foundations for the future.

Of course, I'm sure people will disagree with me and say that every generation has its heroes, who edify that values and aesthetic sensitivities of that era. I am none to disagree. In fact, I would strongly agree with it.

But what would distinguish other eras from the 50s & 60s (+ or - 3 years, so say from 1947 to 1973), is the sheer fecundity of these years in producing the best of the genus and the very fact that so many of the high-fliers and pioneers (in almost every field) together peaked during the years.

The primary reason, as I have understood, is the uprooting of the British from the country. Suppressed for centuries, the creative and productive energies of a people was let loose in 1947.

1947 itself was, for instance, some kind of “Khul Ja Sim Sim” for Indian cinema. As India awoke in 1947, its tinsel dreams too got a providential thrust that year with the likes of Raj Kapoor, MGR, Lata Mangeshkar, Uttam Kumar and Dilip Kumar either making their debut or finally finding limelight with their first hit.

We all know what these folks went on to do in the next 20-30 years. For details visit http://taarezameenpar-pullaratimes.blogspot.com/

This, of course, is merely a glimpse of an area I am familiar with. However, such stories are not few in other areas.

C Subramaniam, Nehru, Homi Bhabha, Periyar, the Godse brothers, Shastri, Gen Thimayya, Manekshaw, Sukumar Sen, J R D Tata, M S Subbalakshmi, M S Swaminathan, Verghese Kurien, Kushwant Singh, Kuldeep Nayyar, R K Lakshman, R K Narayan, M F Hussein, Vikram Sarabhai, Ustad Bade Ghulam Ali Khan, Ramu Karyat… the list is simply endless.

None of these names can be replaced. Each has had a profound and lasting impact on India.

Of course, many will say that India is yet to peak. It is on its way there. I dare not disagree.

However, as much as I agree with it, I also feel the progress – if at all -- we are yet to see in the country would not be as “personality-driven” or “leadership-driven” as it was during the ’50 & ’60s. It would be more a macro-level change, brought about less by pioneering efforts and more by an interplay of economics, technological advance (bedrock of which was laid in my favourite era I believe) and political environment.

What was it, other than the newfound political freedom, that created wave after wave of talent in the country during those years and since then?

Like they say, they don’t make like them anymore!

Organised Christianity, a fraud played in the name of Christ?

Himself an atheist, the English philosopher Bertrand Russell, in his book "Why I Am Not A Christian", asked what the true meaning of being a Christian was.

The gist of his question was whether to be a follower of Jesus meant being a good, truthful and god-fearing (in its most honest sense) human being or was it merely to follow a set of age old dicta.

Russell in all likelihood used "Christian" as a blanket term for organised religion. So the question obviously is universally applicable.

In the context of Christianity, which this article is concerned with, it becomes pertinent to ask that question as it has often been accused of being used as a tool of social engineering and furthering the numbers-game of an ecclesiastic institution rather than bring solace to mankind as claimed by most of its proponents.

Christianity in India is a case in point.

Going by legend, the onset of Christianity on the Malabar Coast, seeds of which were famously laid by the blessed St Thomas by pin-pointing flaws in rituals practiced by Namboodiri Brahmins, itself is flawed.

Little realising that Hindu rituals are mostly symbolic - or perhaps knowing it very well and hence using subterfuge – he played on the Brahmins' ignorance of their own religion to make inroads into the subcontinent, using that most widespread of all rituals: baptism.

A Hindu-dominated country, India harboured Christ's followers since the days when the religion had not even reached Europe and, even lesser, the Americas. Antagonism for the cross arose only with the advent of aggressive missionary activity during British era.

The Goa Inquisition didn't do a great favour either.

So, in a nutshell the cause for animosity boils down to that one practice – (aggressive?) conversions - a Semitic trademark.

It brings us to the fundamental attitude of Christian philosophy with regards to non-Christians: "Our religion is the sole path to His kingdom. Every other alternative is flawed!"

Now, when one of the basic tenets of Christianity is that all God's creatures are equal, isn't that attitude incongruous?

Or is it that non-Christian's are expected to demurely admit that all "believers" are first among equals like people who claim `In God they trust'?

Further, it would not be wrong to say that in the discourse between missionaries and non-Christians there is little philosophy and depth than use of rose-tinted imagery of the Christian west, tall metaphysical claims and inexplicable and ridiculous miracles, apart from monetary and other material trappings.

In simple terms, they appeal to the baser senses and not higher ones.

And this leads us to the fact that they appeal to mostly to the lowest strata of Hindu hierarchy – Dalits and tribals – both least educated and thus least enlightened in the society.

Most anti-conversion laws passed by Indian states – particularly those in Tamil Nadu – claim to target the `fraudulent' means of influencing vulnerable sections.

Now, if missionaries do not indulge in malafide methods for conversions what do they fear?

Isn't the concept of a Dalit-Christian, a negation of Christ's ideals? The "Pariah" Church of Kerala is a slap on the face of the Son of God.

Lal Jose's Malayalam movie "Achhanurangaatha Veedu" (2006) made pointed observation about the distinction between the Pentecoastal Church and "higher" denominations, noting that the former was a congregation of "dark" Christians and the latter of "fair" ones.

Was it pure love for humanity and grandiose designs to better the lives of tribals that brought Graham Staines and his family all the way from Australia to India, leading to his indeed abominable murder by Hindu fanatics?

If yes, perhaps he should have chosen a much easier and less risky route to God by tending to the " Stolen Generation" - the Australian Aboriginal children forcibly removed from families by the government and church denying the rights of parents between 1900 and 1969.

Meanwhile, the Church in India shows traits of a typical MNC giant.

Why is Christianity consciously projected as being synonymous with Western values and culture, even though the West, let alone the Vatican, has nothing to do with Christ?

Why are preachers/missionaries invariably in elegant ties, suites and blazers and not in a dhoti?

For some inexplicable reason the "Father" in mainstream Indian cinema – the most influential of the country's media - is always the calm, upright and benevolent soul, clad in white.

Vinod Pande's "Sins" (2005) sparked a furore when that holier than thou image was tampered with.

And yet Kerala-based evangelist M G Mathew had enough vitriol in his book "Haqeeqat", where he made claims like:

1. "Sita was abandoned in the forest as per Ram's wishes... Ram later asked Lakshman to kill Sita. In the end, Ram frustrated with life, drowned himself in Saryu. Such are the teachings of half-naked rishis who are praised by Hindutvawadis." (Page 100)

2. "(Lord) Krishna had a despicable sex life." (Page 391)

The state government, according to Wikipedia, has uncovered evidence of the Baptist Church of Tripura's support to National Liberation Front of Tripura, a violent separatist group that has attacked and killed Hindus in the region and has banned Hindu festivals by force.

The machinations reached a crescendo recently when temple authorities at Tirupati Tirumala in Andhra Pradesh found missionaries promoting the gospel inside the temple premises, allegedly egged on by a significant Christian section among employees of the devaswom board (as reported by NDTV and Indian Express in July, 2006)!

Why is it that no Church of any denomination, who claims to be righteous in its activities and upright in its conduct, has uttered a word against these and other instances of contrivance?

Further, does the Church approve of the unabashed drivel shown by the likes of Miraclenet and God TV? If not, why is no voice is raised?

Apart from deftly marketing the religion, the Church also seems to spearhead the spread of insecurity among native believers by raking up controversial issues where there are none.

The recent "Da Vinci Code" issue, for instance, was a point in case.

On a mere political level, what was the aim of the protest against the movie – screened without as much of a whimper in Christian countries?

More importantly what is wrong if Christ was married and showed traits of a human being?

A true Christian's (The author himself claims to be one thanks to the space provided by Hinduism) love and respect for him should leap manifold if Christ did all that he did being a mere mortal, clearly showing that his kind of "miracles" are not beyond human reach.

But alas, the Church faced with this kind of thinking is, ironically, exactly like the Roman Empire faced with Christ's ideas.

Blasphemous?!

History's little drops of poison

Communalism has been alive and kicking in India ever since the arrival of the Europeans... India has been invaded by several armies through millennia... but these invasions were viewed through the religious lens... Invasions by Muslim chieftains like Chengiz Khan, Mahmoud of Ghazni and others were just part of life during those ages...

Because, within India too Hindu kings invaded each other regularly, and plundered and looted each others' wealth. So those rampages by Muslim armies were not given the communal hue by natives... They were just another set of looters and invaders.

But things changed with the arrival of the Europeans, and if I may add, the accompanying Christian missionaries. The reason why I think so is simple. The Europeans arrived with the idea trade and then graduated to creating captive markets and raw material sources. This later acquired hues of racism, brought about by the brutal use of gun powder to subjugate the natives.

The moment the Indo-European relationship inculcated identity issues, there arose the need to in racial comparison and subsequently the need to show the White as superior... Thus began a systematic and diabolical programme of reinforcing identities along with generous doses of inferiority complexes and insecurities (Kipling's "White Man's Burden" et al.).

In the Indian context, this process was accompanied by the need to split the society into smaller parts so that each could be handled sperately. Religion was the easiest available social unit that could be seprated into meaningful entities. "Divide and Rule" was born.

This is not to say that Muslims did not carry the sense of superiority or Hindus were devoid of it. The imposition of Jaziya by most Muslim kings proves otherwise. But almost always they were minimal measures to split the society. And almost always the goal was to bring about a harmony in -- be it by the Mughals or Tipu Sultan or various artistes (Ghalib, Faiz, Khusrau, Kabir et al)... they all sought to evolve a syncretic culture...

Like almost everything in this country, the Indian polity has inherited divide and rule in unhealthy measures too.

After the British policies led to the country's dismemberment in 1947, India took a more courageous, long-sighted and sane path as compared to Pakistan. Yet, despite Nehru's unflenching, dedicated and visionary approach towards democracy, secularism and liberalism, the one misake he committed was not breeding leadership in the Congress--perhaps the one and only bastion of the ideals of India's founding fathers.

Lack of leadership--the Nehruvian variety--led the way to his daughter Indira getting into his saddle. Though cast in the same secular, patriotic dye as her father, Indira lacked his democratic vlaues. She shunned criticism, destroyed opposition, sought ultimate control.

It is not surpising that the deterioration of the Congress into a bootlicking party, decaying of the process of appointment of Congress chief mininsters in the states, seeping of corruption into the Indian judiciary etc coincide in their timing with Indira's rise.

While this was happening to the Congress and its spirit, it was the communal forces that were gaining. 1975 could be considered the watershed year for Indian secularism when Indira, with the Congress's deterioration into an autocratic entity, succumbed to the temptaions of emergency and within two years the rightwing, cobbling up a rag tag coalition with the Congress rebels, for the first time made their presence felt in Indian politics.

Ever since it has been a cat and mouse game of who outmaneuvres the other in religious pandering, often nuanced, often not. The rise of Bhindrenwale in Punjab, the devastating effects of the Shah Bano case, the attempted counterbalancing move of opening up the Babri Masjid for the rabid Hindus etc have acted like individual drops of poison.

The populist version of the Hindu righwing's ideals--The Ramayana and the Mahabharata--were "benevolently", and inadvertantly if you please, transmitted via airwaves by the Congress on Doordarshan! But what has exacerbated the communal atmosphere of India are the global changes.

With the unleashing of LPG forces, Indians, as any other nationals, got sucked into the churning of identities that accompanied LPG in 1991 (actually mid 1980s). With an already heavy plate of various communal "starters", the "maincourse" of globalisation simply overawed India.

And, as in the case of almost all other nationals, many Indians began to find refuge in their traditional identities. Hindus being the overwheming majority in India did the biggest damage by getting on to this bandwagon of hardening identities.

Today every aspect of history is looked at by many Indians as a religious issue.

J N Dixit once rightly said, "India is secular because of its Hindus."

If majority Hindus cease to be genuinely secular in future, we can say goodbye to India as we know it.

I may have omitted several issues and for that reason whatever I have written may sometimes feel disjointed or illogical and even biased... Its purely my understand, which itself is, I hope, still evolving...

Tibet and the torchbearers of humanity

Years back, a friend began an article for a college-magazine, with the words: "Free, is all I want to be."

Every time human bondage, liberation et al, are topics of discussion (often passionate), these words invariably ring in my ears. Thus, the sudden dust-storm kicked up by Tibet too took me back momentarily to those yellowing pages of our "Zero".

Of course, from Dalai Lama and Hu Jintao to Bajirao Ghorpade and Vetrivel Munichami--everyone has a take on Tibet and its politics.

So do I.

A section of the world--of course, backed by Tibetans themselves--has gone ballistic about liberation of the plateau from the crippling control of a COMMUNIST China (emphasis very important). Tibetan culture getting plundered, indigenous populace being wantonly undermined and, not the least, the annexation/invasion of Tibet itself being on the tips of tongues of those immersed in the spirit of human liberation.

A section of my countrymen, the self-proclaimed torchbearers of human morality and ethics in politics ever since independence, are as usual out there in the battlefront. My media comrades are not far behind either.

Sure, China's for long been just the communist world's imperialist face. Tibet was indeed annexed, or, if you please, invaded. Many Tibetans do live lives of the worst case refugees across the world. And it is definitely a worthy cause to take up and fight for, not just by the Tibetans but also civil societies across the world.

But, certainly our desi crusaders of human rights would do right to start off with some "home-work".

A few small bits about India.

A) Over 1.4 million displaced from their ancestral land and deprived of traditional livelihoods in just four states in India in the drive for economic growth, according to Action Aid, the Indian Social Institute, and Laya. The states: Andhra Pradesh, Chhattisgarh, Jharkhand and Orissa, all rich in natural resources and with a large population of indigenous tribal people.

B) The Andhra Pradesh Irrigation II scheme claimed it would displace 63,000 people. When completed, it displaced 150,000 people. The Gujarat Medium Irrigation II scheme displaced 140,000 people instead of 63,600. The revised estimate of the number of people to be displaced by the Upper Krishna irrigation project in Karnataka is 240,000 against its initial claims of displacing only 20,000.

C) The Bombay High Court has ruled that some 1,000 acres in and around the Sanjay Gandhi National Park in Mumbai--the city's all-important urban lung--is forest land and all constructions in these areas are illegal.

This affects a mere five lakh people, who own flats in these areas or stay there on rent. Yet, instead of pursuing the demolition of these structures and returning fast depleting greenery to the already emaciated city, the govt has actually promised these folks that they will be bailed out some way or the other.

Wonder why the GENERAL GOOD OF THE SOCIETY principle is not being applied here. Oh I forgot, residents here are mostly well-to-do, politically powerful, middle class Mumbaikars.
The counter often comes swiftly: "Human bondage is and suffering is the same everywhere and Narmada and Tibet can go parallel."

Yeah, so how about a bit on the brutal rule of the Junta in Myanmar (thanks Cb!). Apart from the jaded Jawaharlal Nehru prize for international something something that Aung Sang Su Kyi was given years ago, the Indian state and, even better, activist Indians hardly have more than a word or two for them.

Which brings us to a few quintessential qualities of pro-liberation activism.

1. Repression in the non-free world or that part of the world where the free world has no special interest is ... repression indeed.

2. Those under friendly autocrats (often men of character a la Musharraf), ruthless monarchies of the Gulf is just maintenance of stability.

3. (For Indians, particularly the India Shining variety) Repression in China is bad. Our own folks rotting is just a passing phase. Before India turns into the land of milk and honey, there's got to be some sacrifice, right. So let these unwanted soles take up that unwanted role.

4. (Again for Indians, particularly the India Shining variety) Don't we want all those folks to return from the oil-rich medieval Islamic states?

Talking simply in terms of China, we Indians suffer from a deep victim-complex. The 1962 humiliation still runs in our blood and we are, despite all our lofty denials, waiting for a chance to avenge ourselves.

But to think of it, what have we done for our own northeastern states?

"Kya Aap Apne Hi Desh Mein Mehmaan Bankar Khush Rahoge?"

"Will You Feel Happy Being Considered A Guest In Your Own Country?" is a poignant yet telling query made by a northeasterner in the latest Shah Rukh Khan flick Chak De India.

Well, "guest" would be an unimaginable word for those women of Manipur who, after publicly stripping themselves some years ago, invited the defence forces to rape them. Thjyangam Manorama now remains just a ghost of another such guest.

Another friend of mine commented yesterday: "Many Tibetans in Tibet now perhaps lead better lives than those exiles living in India."

I countered: "Tibetans in India perhaps live better lives than the Tehri and Narmada evictees."