“‘‘Ek shahenshah ne banakar haseen Taj Mahal / Udaya hai hum garibon ka mazak’’, Sahir Ludhianvi lamented many years ago. I had always suspicions (and a bit of smug condescendence, to be honest) about an emperor’s post mortem ‘love’ for his wife who died creating progenies for him year after year, immortalized in marble bought with funds raised from poor taxpayer’s built by craftsmen whose names have been forgotten as soon as their work got done. However, our national euphoria over the Taj Mahal with frequent mentions in love poems, love notes, love songs and very recently, love sms’s refused to let me give up on it altogether. Only last night, a rather inspiring story finally cured me of India’s national ‘love’ monument completely.
This is about a man who lived with his wife in a little village over the hills in Jharkhand. One day his wife fell very ill and the nearest doctor or hospital miles away over the hill. It would take him a few days to cross the hill and so, though he tried, he lost his wife due to delay in medical care. He was sad at her leaving him, a wife he loved and cared for, so he decided to do something to remember her by. He picked up his hammer and axe and went to the base of the hill that separated his village from the local medical centre and started to carve out what seemed like the beginnings of a crude pathway. He was an old man but everyday he woke up religiously and went to the hill and worked with his simple tools to make this path. Soon people got to know and they first enquired about the truth of the story and when they found out about it they laughed at him. At his stubbornness, and his simplicity, at what he probably said was love for his wife. He said he did not want another man to lose his wife due to lack of medical attention and they laughed even louder at his dream project. Build a road through this hill? Didn’t he know what machines it required to do that/ how much money, government people, permissions, contractors, labourers? Soon this became the joke of the village but the man continued unflinchingly with his hammer and axe, everyday, picking his way through the woods, reach the hill and bludgeon away at the rocks.
That started 22 years ago. Today he has finished. There is a road now, 6 ft wide, 300 feet long through that hill connecting more than 60 villages to the medical centre on the other side of the hill.
Shahjehan – go take a break – I have found what I will swear by if I ever swear my love to someone.
Musings...
(Published in the Alumni magazine for the Mudra Institute of Communications Ahmedabad in 2008)
‘First’s are always complex experiences – first day in school, first love, first loss, first fight, first interview, first job – there are conflicting emotions of deep anxiety and delirious exhilaration, of romantic adventure and a sense of foreboding, of immense hope and equal amounts of doubt. ‘First of the MICANs’ experienced no less. It wasn’t just the fact that most of us had left home for the first time, were in a post graduate course for the first time, had to live in a hostel for the first time - we were also in an institute that had just started up – with no past glory to speak of, no lineage to fall back upon, no old boys network that would get us the jobs, just a determination to make a difference in an industry full of MBA grads. With so many firsts to deal with all at one go, the forty-two chosen ones just decided that ‘what will be will be’.
Looking back at the past eleven years one would have to agree, we haven’t done that badly at all J There are thousands of MICANs doing brilliantly well in life and work across the world, the institute is hugely prosperous with the best of faculty and facilities, there are international collaborations in place to expose students to the global paradigm and lucrative jobs at the end of their tenure here – not so bad when I think of the meeting we had just before the campus recruitment for the first batch. It was held on the staircase outside the oldest hostel block – some twenty of us, depressed and angry with ourselves for having chosen MICA – the experiment, instead of a few other more conventional options we had. The only agenda for discussion seemed to be - what if no company came to claim our souls for a package they would offer, what if no one thought we were good enough. While some tried livening our moods saying Mudra would surely come the others sneered at their naivety. It seems funny today, when MICANs face an embarrassment of riches when they choose the companies they want to work for at the end of their term.
I stepped back into the campus again after almost nine years and this time to organize an arts based course for MICANs. Walking through the campus at night I met some familiar ghosts who came out of the shadows – fights unresolved, loves lost, promises made and some undone, presentations prepared on chart-papers with rough brushes and paint, and festivals celebrated in rather high spirits. Two years and millions of moments. Only one thought haunted me – ‘I wish I could share this with the rest of my batch’. A sudden yearning to know who is where, who is doing what, what have their lives become, an almost unbearable desire to connect with a bunch of people who shared a certain very important phase of life. They say it’s a sign of reaching middle age and I humbly accept J
I am delighted to use this opportunity to announce a nostalgic project some of us have just undertaken – we want to meet again this year sometime – yes, the whole batch after eleven years and hopefully at MICA. It will be beautiful if we can, and probably heart wrenching too with all the hair loss and extra weight. But somewhere I feel it would be wonderful to continue a conversation we began here many years ago. Something inside us will always connect in a rather MICAN way.
‘First’s are always complex experiences – first day in school, first love, first loss, first fight, first interview, first job – there are conflicting emotions of deep anxiety and delirious exhilaration, of romantic adventure and a sense of foreboding, of immense hope and equal amounts of doubt. ‘First of the MICANs’ experienced no less. It wasn’t just the fact that most of us had left home for the first time, were in a post graduate course for the first time, had to live in a hostel for the first time - we were also in an institute that had just started up – with no past glory to speak of, no lineage to fall back upon, no old boys network that would get us the jobs, just a determination to make a difference in an industry full of MBA grads. With so many firsts to deal with all at one go, the forty-two chosen ones just decided that ‘what will be will be’.
Looking back at the past eleven years one would have to agree, we haven’t done that badly at all J There are thousands of MICANs doing brilliantly well in life and work across the world, the institute is hugely prosperous with the best of faculty and facilities, there are international collaborations in place to expose students to the global paradigm and lucrative jobs at the end of their tenure here – not so bad when I think of the meeting we had just before the campus recruitment for the first batch. It was held on the staircase outside the oldest hostel block – some twenty of us, depressed and angry with ourselves for having chosen MICA – the experiment, instead of a few other more conventional options we had. The only agenda for discussion seemed to be - what if no company came to claim our souls for a package they would offer, what if no one thought we were good enough. While some tried livening our moods saying Mudra would surely come the others sneered at their naivety. It seems funny today, when MICANs face an embarrassment of riches when they choose the companies they want to work for at the end of their term.
I stepped back into the campus again after almost nine years and this time to organize an arts based course for MICANs. Walking through the campus at night I met some familiar ghosts who came out of the shadows – fights unresolved, loves lost, promises made and some undone, presentations prepared on chart-papers with rough brushes and paint, and festivals celebrated in rather high spirits. Two years and millions of moments. Only one thought haunted me – ‘I wish I could share this with the rest of my batch’. A sudden yearning to know who is where, who is doing what, what have their lives become, an almost unbearable desire to connect with a bunch of people who shared a certain very important phase of life. They say it’s a sign of reaching middle age and I humbly accept J
I am delighted to use this opportunity to announce a nostalgic project some of us have just undertaken – we want to meet again this year sometime – yes, the whole batch after eleven years and hopefully at MICA. It will be beautiful if we can, and probably heart wrenching too with all the hair loss and extra weight. But somewhere I feel it would be wonderful to continue a conversation we began here many years ago. Something inside us will always connect in a rather MICAN way.
Politicians and Us: Can the "us" and "them" disappear?
The last few days have been quite unprecedented in the manner in which people from across the country have raised their voices in frustration and anger towards the breed of politicians who represent our democracy. There are questions raised about responsibility and accountability of the political class; answers sought for their negligence and disconnect with the communities they are supposed to serve; convictions tabled about their inefficiency, corrupt practices, insensitivity and complete lack of concern for their people. All these demands are rightful and just, even if a bit late in the day. I agree with every question that is being raised today. However, I also feel that like always these questions will either be ignored or get the same rhetoric answers they have always got – empty words and empty promises. My worry lies elsewhere. While I see the seething anger I also know that only 60%of this country even votes to choose its representatives. The other 40% couldn’t care less. Even from among the 60% that does vote - how many of us really believe in the people we are voting for? Most often we vote through a routine of picking the best of the worst and that’s scary. Why do we need to pick that way? It’s because our ‘political class’ mostly consists of seventy year old veteran politicians who have mastered the art of partisan politics, horse trading and filling their own coffers over the real vocation of serving a country and its people. Idealism is so dead that even their election slogans and manifestos don’t ring a bell and seem like copies of each other. Are we saying there is no new blood in this system? Of course there is - the sons and daughters, wives and in-laws – dynasties that have made this country their own fiefdom and its systems and processes a way of wielding power and wealth. They may be young and smart, well attired and intelligent, Harvard educated and articulate - but at the core of their being there is the same lust for power. I am tired of emails and sms s, news reports and voice of the people criticizing politicians for their incompetence, inefficiency, ignorance and insensitivity. Not because they are not true but because none of this criticism makes any difference to them. We actually know the answer – why are they politicizing even this great a tragedy for their own vote banks? Because that’s what they most care about – attaining and retaining the levers of power that run this nation. No matter what we say and how we say it, over lit candles at the martyr’s grave or at heated Barkha Dutt shows - nothing’s really is going to change. Unless. Unless a large part of our citizens, men and women who wake up in the morning, go to work, make a living and come back home can actually take a step and join active politics or atleast participate in the political process of the country. We have remained in the safe distance of the apolitical ivory tower for too long. And just one of two Lead India Campaigns will not do it. It will require many, many of us to enter the system so that we can flush it from inside and flush it real well. Men and women who believe that this country needs change and the system needs to be reconstructed need to enter politics. Window dressing can be on demand but real change can only happen from the inside. Only when the people running a system change will the system itself change. And if the people running it now cant change, we will have to change the people. While we will always need the civil society and media to keep a strong vigil, question and critique, unless there is a good crop of politicians who are willing to engage with them nothing will make any difference. But before this can happen, many other things will need to change. I refer here to changes that must be brought in the way we think and live, in the manner in which we inculcate value systems and priorities. Today very few young people grow up wanting to make a difference to more than their own lives. That will have to change. Instead of only dreaming for high paid corporate jobs our children will need to dream of being useful to the larger community. But that will mean parents and teachers will have to change as well, to be able to inspire our kids to do so. Even when a young person chooses to make herself useful to the larger community, she either joins the non profit sector or probably takes on a vocation that can help the community like teaching or medicine. But no one thinks that joining politics is actually a way of serving the country. I know we have been set very bad examples but wont we need to change that too? Wont we need to change our apathy to issues of public debate, things that we think wont touch us because of our social safety networks? Will heads only roll if the blasts are by terrorists shooting down well dressed people at heritage building and not when the Kosi river dam bursting causes 2000 lives? Is tat any less an act of terror? We will need to change our attitude of blasé bliss, our constant attempt to distance ourselves to our havens of security. But imagine if we really inspired our children to educate and train themselves to become servants of the nation. Imagine if MBAs and poets, philosophers and teachers, scientists and writers joined the political system. Imagine if only we had the option of voting for someone new and young, someone with fresh ideas and idealism, someone who is not ‘working the system’ but breaking it to create anew and finally someone who believes that change can and will happen. I think I would then really get my vote to work.I can already sense the can of worms I have opened. There are many questions that appear in front of me. Will a few of these ‘new breed’ be able to change things that have been set in stone for years? Will they be able to work their way past the nexus of power and wealth? Will they remain idealist over the years? Will their idealism actually hamper their efficiency? Will the system not engulf them, co-opt them, change them into the same garbage it has been dealing with for so long? Will they really survive it all? Well, we won’t know till we try, will we? I feel that while all this anger and emotion is a good sign, a sign that people want to take things on, it needs to be channelised or else it will reduce itself into demanding carpet bombing of Pakistan. One of the strongest ways to channelise this energy is to actually become an active part of the system we want to change through powerful political will and action. Only then will we find our true voice.
Gurukul Up Close and Personal
(Written for British Council's Website to promote the Chevening Gurukul Programme)
Three months, twelve bright young professionals from diverse backgrounds, numerous lectures, debates and discussions, study tours, presentations and all this in a setting like the heart of the city of London at an institute called London School of Economics and Political Science. This was meant to be different. Enough ingredients for story telling J Let me tell a couple today since I was privileged to be one of the twelve chosen ones in the year 2005.
Scala House where we were put up was just 20 minutes walking distance (and fifteen minutes sprint distance – as some of the late risers told us) from LSE. We were shacked up two to a service apartment plush with every gadget for good living. But the very first weekend we arrived there we realized that some adjustments had to be made. Not so much with Scala House but with ourselves. Here we were set in our professional lives for ten years at least, in top positions where people listened to what we said, set in our family lives with husbands, wives and kids who accommodated our various needs, and now we thrown back again into the flurry and tentativeness of a college-hostel lives where the rules of community living had to be negotiated once again. It’s not easy to live with eleven other bright people who are as staunch in their beliefs as you are – and these beliefs sometimes being diametrically opposite to yours, as passionate about what they do and as obstinate about doing things their way. Be it the classroom or the kitchen one had to take a step back and give the other room. There were scuffles, verbal and emotional, debates which left some bleeding and some seething, wars which sometimes ended with glasses of beer at the local pub and some that went on for days in the classrooms. Yet towards the end of the programme one felt one has come a long way in understanding, coming closer to each other and to each others views. One made allies, one made friends, one learnt to speak in another’s language, swim in another’s paradigm – mostly one learnt how important it is to unlearn one’s ways mid career, mid job, mid life. How important it is to pause and breathe.
If my first story is personal, the second is about the immense exposure the course provides to British and in a sense European ways of life, business, politics, trade, social reforms, education, health, culture – a whole lot of which almost focuses on global trends and practices. Most of the faculty was brilliant and they came from all walks of life – there were bureaucrats, politicians, academics, business professionals, entrepreneurs, bilateral agency workers, all types. And this exposure was not just limited to classrooms but taken out into the field where study tours not only in London but across cities like Berlin, Geneva, Toulouse, Edinburgh and Brussels gave a very practical, hands-on experience on some of these issues. The thesis we were to do took us further to network with organizations and institutions in London. And then there were the public lectures at LSE. Any dignitary from anywhere in the world who comes to London certainly takes the time to visit LSE and deliver a lecture there. And these lectures deliver the world in a bowl in front of you. The exposure does not stop with academics either. Being in the heart of London has other advantages. The theatre, the films, the museums, the opera and dance houses, the clubs, the pubs, the music and the cuisine – London is truly international. From the popular mainstream to the marginal fringes, every type of cultural expression is performed and celebrated.
My last story is about what happens when the course gets over. Apart from the friends one has made and the network one has built, British Council is very keen on maintaining a relationship with the scholars. There are city chapters of scholars one might join, there are internet communities and also now a Gurukul Foundation in the making. One can be an active part of all of this. However, I must say one thing that is a specific learning from the course and thereafter. You get as much as you give. There are plenty of opportunities that are created in front of you but you must actively choose those and work with those to make this experience worthwhile and long-lasting. Or else it will be what most other courses are – just another flowery credential in your resume.
Three months, twelve bright young professionals from diverse backgrounds, numerous lectures, debates and discussions, study tours, presentations and all this in a setting like the heart of the city of London at an institute called London School of Economics and Political Science. This was meant to be different. Enough ingredients for story telling J Let me tell a couple today since I was privileged to be one of the twelve chosen ones in the year 2005.
Scala House where we were put up was just 20 minutes walking distance (and fifteen minutes sprint distance – as some of the late risers told us) from LSE. We were shacked up two to a service apartment plush with every gadget for good living. But the very first weekend we arrived there we realized that some adjustments had to be made. Not so much with Scala House but with ourselves. Here we were set in our professional lives for ten years at least, in top positions where people listened to what we said, set in our family lives with husbands, wives and kids who accommodated our various needs, and now we thrown back again into the flurry and tentativeness of a college-hostel lives where the rules of community living had to be negotiated once again. It’s not easy to live with eleven other bright people who are as staunch in their beliefs as you are – and these beliefs sometimes being diametrically opposite to yours, as passionate about what they do and as obstinate about doing things their way. Be it the classroom or the kitchen one had to take a step back and give the other room. There were scuffles, verbal and emotional, debates which left some bleeding and some seething, wars which sometimes ended with glasses of beer at the local pub and some that went on for days in the classrooms. Yet towards the end of the programme one felt one has come a long way in understanding, coming closer to each other and to each others views. One made allies, one made friends, one learnt to speak in another’s language, swim in another’s paradigm – mostly one learnt how important it is to unlearn one’s ways mid career, mid job, mid life. How important it is to pause and breathe.
If my first story is personal, the second is about the immense exposure the course provides to British and in a sense European ways of life, business, politics, trade, social reforms, education, health, culture – a whole lot of which almost focuses on global trends and practices. Most of the faculty was brilliant and they came from all walks of life – there were bureaucrats, politicians, academics, business professionals, entrepreneurs, bilateral agency workers, all types. And this exposure was not just limited to classrooms but taken out into the field where study tours not only in London but across cities like Berlin, Geneva, Toulouse, Edinburgh and Brussels gave a very practical, hands-on experience on some of these issues. The thesis we were to do took us further to network with organizations and institutions in London. And then there were the public lectures at LSE. Any dignitary from anywhere in the world who comes to London certainly takes the time to visit LSE and deliver a lecture there. And these lectures deliver the world in a bowl in front of you. The exposure does not stop with academics either. Being in the heart of London has other advantages. The theatre, the films, the museums, the opera and dance houses, the clubs, the pubs, the music and the cuisine – London is truly international. From the popular mainstream to the marginal fringes, every type of cultural expression is performed and celebrated.
My last story is about what happens when the course gets over. Apart from the friends one has made and the network one has built, British Council is very keen on maintaining a relationship with the scholars. There are city chapters of scholars one might join, there are internet communities and also now a Gurukul Foundation in the making. One can be an active part of all of this. However, I must say one thing that is a specific learning from the course and thereafter. You get as much as you give. There are plenty of opportunities that are created in front of you but you must actively choose those and work with those to make this experience worthwhile and long-lasting. Or else it will be what most other courses are – just another flowery credential in your resume.
Ninety days with a Dozen
(Published in Connecting: The British Council Magazine in September - October 2007)
I was part of the 12 professionals chosen for the Chevening Gurukul Programme at the London School of Economics funded by the Foreign Commonwealth Office in 2005. So was Pankaj Singh, the then Senior Divisional Mechanical Engineer of Eastern Railway based out of Jamalpur. A coupla coffees at Atria brought a lot of memories back of the good and not-so-old 3 months spent in the glorious Scala House, complete with Mark the smiling-sea-shell-around-his-neck receptionist who smiled at the women more frequently than the men and the its 5 minute walk down to Oxford Street.
Pankaj: So after innumerable reminiscences we have had that went unrecorded you finally want to make it all public?
Arundhati: Blame Sujata and Debanjan for it Pankaj. They have invoked the curse of the Goddess and the withering away of my keyboard skills. But I think it’s a good idea to put all this down, don’t you think?
Pankaj: I want to start off by what got me to apply. My brother who was a Gurukul scholar about six years ago couldn’t stop talking about this programme for years man! The way he kept in touch with people even after the programme was over, being an alumni of LSE, getting newsletters, meeting other scholars made me feel so envious. I don’t know about you, but I spent a considerable amount of time preparing myself for the application process. I even bought myself a new suit just before the interview. The last thing I remember asking Nita (the Scholarships Manager from British Council, Delhi) just before I went in for the interview was - should I keep my coat buttoned or not (laughs), which she promptly mentioned to the interview panel as she ushered me in. They burst into laughter and the rest of the interview was a breeze. When I met all the twelve selected scholars the next day for the briefing, what got me was the level of intelligence crackling around the room. The soft spoken smooth corporate honchos, the intense and passionate NGO professionals and the sincere and relentless bureaucrats – the best of the pack seemed to be represented. What also impressed me was the excitement and sense of adventure the organizers brought into their briefings.
Arundhati: You are right, people formed such an important part of this programme and the learnings. To begin with the dozen of us representing the entire spectrum of ideologies and philosophy between rampant capitalism and rabid socialism – so many ideas and so many interpretations, every discussion with this group was another eye opener. I loved the way I saw people sober down from their extreme beliefs into starting to listen to the other point of view as the programme progressed. Of course there were some intellectual fence sitters like you!
Pankaj: I wasn’t a fence sitter. I used to love playing the devil’s advocate in every discussion. You were of course the ‘human element’ inserter in every class and every debate. The only thing that mattered to you seemed to be human beings.
Arundhati: (Laughs) No seriously, the learnings from the group aside, the fabulous faculty that took every debate in the classroom to the most complex level, the industry leaders and people from various fields who came and shared their experiences with us – wasn’t that fantastic? I always thought spurring with brilliant minds is a worthwhile exercise on its own.
Pankaj: Talking about the classroom, you know it’s so tough to put a course like this together – what does one put in and what does one take out? It’s on Globalisation and Leadership and that’s a vast area and yet the array of topics chosen were mind-boggling. From complex finance to issues in Turkish politics, from fair trade to national health insurance, from current state of affairs in Russia to the working of the NATO – the range was truly eclectic.
Arundhati: I thought the idea of taking optional courses was fabulous too. Each one of us had the freedom to do any two graduate courses that we wanted to. People took anything that stimulated their imagination. I took gender studies and some others took Islamic studies. What was yours, urban planning?
Pankaj: Yes. But you know the study tours were what made this course extraordinary. Berlin, Toulouse, Brussels, Edinburgh, Geneva – what amazing exposure! And at each place we had meetings with organizations like NATO, WTO, UN, ILO, Transparency International, Scottish Parliament, BBC, Bank of England and many more. I never thought I could see the workings of the European system from such close quarters.
Arundhati: And it was a good idea that our batch stuck together and over weekends explored these great cities on our own. The food, the museums, the history, the street life and the flea markets– we did not leave anything out. It was good that the stipends were good enough for us to do all this. Though we constantly cribbed about being paupers, we kept getting ‘good deals for students’ all the way.
Pankaj: (Laughs) Yes, and to be considered students after a decade for most of us…
Arundhati: Talk about yourself, I’m not so ancient.
Pankaj: But wasn’t it great? We, with our backpacks and student ids exploring a wide new world?
Arundhati: You make it sound like an adventure. You are right though. Living right in the heart of Westend, five minutes from the British Museum, ten from Covent Garden and a yard from Soho meant something else man. I could never get enough of the paintings and jazz nights and musicals. Had heard so much about the fringes and mainstream living side by side in the cultural life of London. Finally got to experience that. And to come back to a fancy, furnished apartment a minute from Goodge Street tube station was unthinkable as part of student life. I shall never forget the tube and the jokes we cracked about “mind the gap”. It became our war cry.
Pankaj: Didn’t the campus of LSE seem like international territory to you? The day they had the enrolment for clubs, I was astonished at the representation of every colour, creed, nation, politics, hobby and interest there. I would sit at the café and find one Estonian, one Moroccan and one American sipping coffee right next to me. More than fifty percent of the crowd at LSE is from outside Europe. I even spotted Monica Lewinsky.
Arundhati: But that way London itself is a vibrant international city which represents almost everything one can think of. And LSE is situated right in the heart of it, not an academic ivory tower set aside in a pristine environment away from ‘life’ and its hustle bustle. I liked the fact that it exists with the business houses, with the shops along the Thames and the office crowd and rowdy football crowd in the pubs.
Pankaj: You know my final take away from this course was the wide spectrum of ideas and points of view that were made available to us to choose from, to side with, to debate, mould and critique. I think Howard, our course co-ordinator was the true polymath, a Renaissance man who embodied the very spirit of this programme.
Arundhati: And somehow I had thought it was a cliché when they told us that life might go through a makeover after this programme. Surprisingly, for a lot of us it has. Just look at it, Thillai chose a profession in academics, Rohit is today the Private Secretary to the Finance Minister, Binoy is setting up his Development Channel and Arumugam…Arumugam actually found his life partner at LSE!
Pankaj: Yes, and as a batch we keep in touch, are there for each other as much as the hectic pace of life allows us. You don’t make such friends often so late in life. It has certainly opened us up for new possibilities. What can be more rewarding than that?
Arundhati: Cheers to that!
I was part of the 12 professionals chosen for the Chevening Gurukul Programme at the London School of Economics funded by the Foreign Commonwealth Office in 2005. So was Pankaj Singh, the then Senior Divisional Mechanical Engineer of Eastern Railway based out of Jamalpur. A coupla coffees at Atria brought a lot of memories back of the good and not-so-old 3 months spent in the glorious Scala House, complete with Mark the smiling-sea-shell-around-his-neck receptionist who smiled at the women more frequently than the men and the its 5 minute walk down to Oxford Street.
Pankaj: So after innumerable reminiscences we have had that went unrecorded you finally want to make it all public?
Arundhati: Blame Sujata and Debanjan for it Pankaj. They have invoked the curse of the Goddess and the withering away of my keyboard skills. But I think it’s a good idea to put all this down, don’t you think?
Pankaj: I want to start off by what got me to apply. My brother who was a Gurukul scholar about six years ago couldn’t stop talking about this programme for years man! The way he kept in touch with people even after the programme was over, being an alumni of LSE, getting newsletters, meeting other scholars made me feel so envious. I don’t know about you, but I spent a considerable amount of time preparing myself for the application process. I even bought myself a new suit just before the interview. The last thing I remember asking Nita (the Scholarships Manager from British Council, Delhi) just before I went in for the interview was - should I keep my coat buttoned or not (laughs), which she promptly mentioned to the interview panel as she ushered me in. They burst into laughter and the rest of the interview was a breeze. When I met all the twelve selected scholars the next day for the briefing, what got me was the level of intelligence crackling around the room. The soft spoken smooth corporate honchos, the intense and passionate NGO professionals and the sincere and relentless bureaucrats – the best of the pack seemed to be represented. What also impressed me was the excitement and sense of adventure the organizers brought into their briefings.
Arundhati: You are right, people formed such an important part of this programme and the learnings. To begin with the dozen of us representing the entire spectrum of ideologies and philosophy between rampant capitalism and rabid socialism – so many ideas and so many interpretations, every discussion with this group was another eye opener. I loved the way I saw people sober down from their extreme beliefs into starting to listen to the other point of view as the programme progressed. Of course there were some intellectual fence sitters like you!
Pankaj: I wasn’t a fence sitter. I used to love playing the devil’s advocate in every discussion. You were of course the ‘human element’ inserter in every class and every debate. The only thing that mattered to you seemed to be human beings.
Arundhati: (Laughs) No seriously, the learnings from the group aside, the fabulous faculty that took every debate in the classroom to the most complex level, the industry leaders and people from various fields who came and shared their experiences with us – wasn’t that fantastic? I always thought spurring with brilliant minds is a worthwhile exercise on its own.
Pankaj: Talking about the classroom, you know it’s so tough to put a course like this together – what does one put in and what does one take out? It’s on Globalisation and Leadership and that’s a vast area and yet the array of topics chosen were mind-boggling. From complex finance to issues in Turkish politics, from fair trade to national health insurance, from current state of affairs in Russia to the working of the NATO – the range was truly eclectic.
Arundhati: I thought the idea of taking optional courses was fabulous too. Each one of us had the freedom to do any two graduate courses that we wanted to. People took anything that stimulated their imagination. I took gender studies and some others took Islamic studies. What was yours, urban planning?
Pankaj: Yes. But you know the study tours were what made this course extraordinary. Berlin, Toulouse, Brussels, Edinburgh, Geneva – what amazing exposure! And at each place we had meetings with organizations like NATO, WTO, UN, ILO, Transparency International, Scottish Parliament, BBC, Bank of England and many more. I never thought I could see the workings of the European system from such close quarters.
Arundhati: And it was a good idea that our batch stuck together and over weekends explored these great cities on our own. The food, the museums, the history, the street life and the flea markets– we did not leave anything out. It was good that the stipends were good enough for us to do all this. Though we constantly cribbed about being paupers, we kept getting ‘good deals for students’ all the way.
Pankaj: (Laughs) Yes, and to be considered students after a decade for most of us…
Arundhati: Talk about yourself, I’m not so ancient.
Pankaj: But wasn’t it great? We, with our backpacks and student ids exploring a wide new world?
Arundhati: You make it sound like an adventure. You are right though. Living right in the heart of Westend, five minutes from the British Museum, ten from Covent Garden and a yard from Soho meant something else man. I could never get enough of the paintings and jazz nights and musicals. Had heard so much about the fringes and mainstream living side by side in the cultural life of London. Finally got to experience that. And to come back to a fancy, furnished apartment a minute from Goodge Street tube station was unthinkable as part of student life. I shall never forget the tube and the jokes we cracked about “mind the gap”. It became our war cry.
Pankaj: Didn’t the campus of LSE seem like international territory to you? The day they had the enrolment for clubs, I was astonished at the representation of every colour, creed, nation, politics, hobby and interest there. I would sit at the café and find one Estonian, one Moroccan and one American sipping coffee right next to me. More than fifty percent of the crowd at LSE is from outside Europe. I even spotted Monica Lewinsky.
Arundhati: But that way London itself is a vibrant international city which represents almost everything one can think of. And LSE is situated right in the heart of it, not an academic ivory tower set aside in a pristine environment away from ‘life’ and its hustle bustle. I liked the fact that it exists with the business houses, with the shops along the Thames and the office crowd and rowdy football crowd in the pubs.
Pankaj: You know my final take away from this course was the wide spectrum of ideas and points of view that were made available to us to choose from, to side with, to debate, mould and critique. I think Howard, our course co-ordinator was the true polymath, a Renaissance man who embodied the very spirit of this programme.
Arundhati: And somehow I had thought it was a cliché when they told us that life might go through a makeover after this programme. Surprisingly, for a lot of us it has. Just look at it, Thillai chose a profession in academics, Rohit is today the Private Secretary to the Finance Minister, Binoy is setting up his Development Channel and Arumugam…Arumugam actually found his life partner at LSE!
Pankaj: Yes, and as a batch we keep in touch, are there for each other as much as the hectic pace of life allows us. You don’t make such friends often so late in life. It has certainly opened us up for new possibilities. What can be more rewarding than that?
Arundhati: Cheers to that!
Personal Histories
(Published in Tehalka in May 2007)
My parents have shifted to Bangalore recently. They have sold their house in a small industrial township called Asansol, 200 kms from Kolkata, where they spent about 35 years of their working life, and moved to an indifferent, impersonal Bangalore. They have retired from their respective medical careers and grown old and lonely. I didn’t want them to live so far away from where I live and work. It’s selfish. It’s protective. It’s perhaps role reversal. I moved out of home when I was 15. And 20 years later, we are back again, in the same city. These days I often drop into my parents’ apartment to have some hot chai. While talking to them about much mundane stuff like the antics of a neighbour’s dog or the last date for the LIC premium, I often see my mom staring at me over her cup. Asking her brought a rather strange response. “We have not done you justice. You should have had more supportive parents,” she said.
After having waged wars with everything conventional including parental guidance and approval towards leading a ‘secure, financially stable and comfortable life’, I was confused and amused at the same time at my mother’s remark.
It was rather difficult being the only daughter of well-to-do medico parents, especially since I was tagged in school for being the best all round student. Expectations built up. My parents wanted to see me as a famous doctor or a powerful IAS officer or at least a well groomed academic with a train of letters against my name. My teachers, friends, their parents, almost everyone in the smallish living-out-of-each-other’s-home kind of township expected me to make them proud. In the only ways they knew. Every eye followed me, every tongue eager to wag at my slightest stumble. It wasn’t just people, my entire world demanded me to be someone I was not too eager, earnest or convinced I should be. And mostly I waited, to cut my leash.
I took the first opportunity that came my way. Fleeing to Presidency College Calcutta to study Economics had more to do with running away from being a doctor than a love for the subject. My parents never forgot the betrayal but hoped (more because of their faith in the reputation of the college than on my intentions) that I would at the least turn out to be a scholar or a bureaucrat. I certainly doubted that. I wanted a taste of the real world. I was writing, watching films, doing theatre, painting, conversing with people with the intensity that only a Calcutta milieu could sustain. My involvement with the Students’ Union increased. I fell in love. This opened my eyes further. The war at home became bloodier. My family approved of nothing I did. The more angry they got, the fiercer got my resolve to do all that ‘shouldn’t be done’. Precisely why I picked up smoking. Girls weren’t supposed to. Much later did I realize it to be a rather silly reason to get stuck with a habit I don’t really like anymore. But at that age I knew only so many ways to protest. Everything was personal.
It’s not that I knew what I wanted. But I did want to spend some time finding it out. I could become a film maker. Or a writer. Upset with me for throwing away a career in medicine, my dad clearly told me that he would not fund any of my ‘radical artistic’ pursuits. While they were alright as hobbies, he was certain that they spelt doom if chosen as a ‘life’ option. He was concerned. He was being protective. He would not listen to me. And I saw that as unfair. The battle lines were drawn clearly. Funding would stop if I did not tow them.
There are some moments where life presents you with crossroads. The route you take probably creates your destiny. I could have taken the option to leave home; chase my dreams. Or listen to my parents; do exactly what they told me. I did neither. I decided to take the CAT, get into an MBA school, make loads of money and then quit and fund my dreams. Yes, I was naïve. Yes, I did not know what exactly these dreams were. I was unaware that on every road you take roots grow under your feet quite inevitably.
To my surprise and some disappointment, the MBA experience was quite all right. I was good at it; I even liked it. The dreams temporarily seemed to fade away. When placement put me in the top advertising agency in Bangalore, I was excited, ready to conquer this new world.
Management was a creative job, they said. I loved it initially and did my work like I did everything else in life: with intensity and passion. But in three years the business started stifling me. Developing yourself meant moving to the next position, learning meant knowing how to get around your clients and growth meant bigger pay packets. There was no intellectual stimulus, no creative inspiration. I suffered, with most of my colleagues, from an ailment nicknamed SSDD, ‘Same Shit Different Day’. I changed a few jobs, moving from advertising to marketing to starting a new company but the questions did not go away, nor did the vacuum that was slowly engulfing me. I made more money but I would come home every night wondering what I was doing with my life, to my life. Seeing myself ahead of the others in my batch did not please me (which I am told is a serious symptom of corporate illness!). End of the day, I was just making profits for pockets already heavy. I made no difference to anybody’s life. I had no voice, no shadows. Only a never ending ladder stared me in the face and here I was clinging on to rungs in the middle, fighting with a host of others to move ahead. I felt like a bonsai, stunted.
People around were full of advice. I needed a holiday. I could take yet another job. Sell clothes instead of tea; software instead of tiles. But none of these seemed to be what I wanted. Unhappy, struggling with a lack of identity and purpose in the corporate world, I was searching for a different space.
That’s about the time I heard of the India Foundation for the Arts (IFA), a funding agency for arts and culture projects. They needed a person with marketing skills to start a fundraising unit. I started working with them, a bit gingerly at first, getting paid a quarter of what I used to earn. I knew nothing about the not-for-profit world or about the state of the arts in India. I only knew that I was passionate about the arts and I could sell.
The response of my family to this shift ranged from silence, sometimes stunned, sometimes surly, to a concerted effort to make me realize my folly. This was not a career option at all in India. Where was the sector that I was talking about? Where were the ‘other’ jobs I could shift to? Where was the possibility of higher pay, loftier designations? To be honest I asked these questions too. But this time instead of alienating me, the difficulty of the questions drove me deeper into trying to understand the nature of my work and the environment I was working in.
On one hand, I was interacting with artists who passionately believed in what they did and on the other I was negotiating with sharp, focused business professionals who knew exactly what they wanted. Creating the bridge was my job. I was learning and speaking different languages from different worlds often introducing ideas from one to the other. I was osmosis!
Fundraising started becoming an area of focus in IFA. I was helping to set up systems for running high profile art events to raise money, figuring out ways to create an endowment campaign and getting the Board of Trustees to engage with fundraising in new ways. And I was learning every day.
I was witnessing how the arts express, question, dialogue and interpret. This reflected in me. I was reconnecting to myself. I was developing a sense of value for things around me in a manner I had never known before. I was learning to be more patient, channelising my passion to feed in to a purpose larger than myself. A sense of self and identity I always searched for was beginning to grow inside me.
I did have my share of failures in a field that was nascent, underdeveloped and unrecognized. Raising money for the arts can be quite frustrating in India where myriad other more ‘deserving’ causes push the arts outside the periphery of most funding agenda. Corporates either keep their charity kitties reserved for the whims of the Chairperson’s wife or divert the funds to callously thought-out CSR policies. Foundations seldom fund culture. Individuals have their own notions of what needs support. But I was competing with myself now. There was in front of me no ladder or race; just a wide expanse of the world with challenges to be met, barriers to be broken and opportunities to be created.
So here I am five years later, continuing to work for IFA. Each day is a bright new challenge. Failures open new doors. I am richer today, in every way I define wealth. My family still worries about my future, my security; about what this choice of mine might hold for me ultimately. They are probably also coping with the fact that needs, aspirations, dreams and destinies mean different things for different people.
But for me, my journey today is more meaningful in itself and I don’t really care about the destination any more. To quote Constantine Cavafis, a Greek poet from his piece Ithaca, “You arrive not expecting more wealth, than the riches you have gained along the way”. And my mother smiles at me more often over her cup of tea.
My parents have shifted to Bangalore recently. They have sold their house in a small industrial township called Asansol, 200 kms from Kolkata, where they spent about 35 years of their working life, and moved to an indifferent, impersonal Bangalore. They have retired from their respective medical careers and grown old and lonely. I didn’t want them to live so far away from where I live and work. It’s selfish. It’s protective. It’s perhaps role reversal. I moved out of home when I was 15. And 20 years later, we are back again, in the same city. These days I often drop into my parents’ apartment to have some hot chai. While talking to them about much mundane stuff like the antics of a neighbour’s dog or the last date for the LIC premium, I often see my mom staring at me over her cup. Asking her brought a rather strange response. “We have not done you justice. You should have had more supportive parents,” she said.
After having waged wars with everything conventional including parental guidance and approval towards leading a ‘secure, financially stable and comfortable life’, I was confused and amused at the same time at my mother’s remark.
It was rather difficult being the only daughter of well-to-do medico parents, especially since I was tagged in school for being the best all round student. Expectations built up. My parents wanted to see me as a famous doctor or a powerful IAS officer or at least a well groomed academic with a train of letters against my name. My teachers, friends, their parents, almost everyone in the smallish living-out-of-each-other’s-home kind of township expected me to make them proud. In the only ways they knew. Every eye followed me, every tongue eager to wag at my slightest stumble. It wasn’t just people, my entire world demanded me to be someone I was not too eager, earnest or convinced I should be. And mostly I waited, to cut my leash.
I took the first opportunity that came my way. Fleeing to Presidency College Calcutta to study Economics had more to do with running away from being a doctor than a love for the subject. My parents never forgot the betrayal but hoped (more because of their faith in the reputation of the college than on my intentions) that I would at the least turn out to be a scholar or a bureaucrat. I certainly doubted that. I wanted a taste of the real world. I was writing, watching films, doing theatre, painting, conversing with people with the intensity that only a Calcutta milieu could sustain. My involvement with the Students’ Union increased. I fell in love. This opened my eyes further. The war at home became bloodier. My family approved of nothing I did. The more angry they got, the fiercer got my resolve to do all that ‘shouldn’t be done’. Precisely why I picked up smoking. Girls weren’t supposed to. Much later did I realize it to be a rather silly reason to get stuck with a habit I don’t really like anymore. But at that age I knew only so many ways to protest. Everything was personal.
It’s not that I knew what I wanted. But I did want to spend some time finding it out. I could become a film maker. Or a writer. Upset with me for throwing away a career in medicine, my dad clearly told me that he would not fund any of my ‘radical artistic’ pursuits. While they were alright as hobbies, he was certain that they spelt doom if chosen as a ‘life’ option. He was concerned. He was being protective. He would not listen to me. And I saw that as unfair. The battle lines were drawn clearly. Funding would stop if I did not tow them.
There are some moments where life presents you with crossroads. The route you take probably creates your destiny. I could have taken the option to leave home; chase my dreams. Or listen to my parents; do exactly what they told me. I did neither. I decided to take the CAT, get into an MBA school, make loads of money and then quit and fund my dreams. Yes, I was naïve. Yes, I did not know what exactly these dreams were. I was unaware that on every road you take roots grow under your feet quite inevitably.
To my surprise and some disappointment, the MBA experience was quite all right. I was good at it; I even liked it. The dreams temporarily seemed to fade away. When placement put me in the top advertising agency in Bangalore, I was excited, ready to conquer this new world.
Management was a creative job, they said. I loved it initially and did my work like I did everything else in life: with intensity and passion. But in three years the business started stifling me. Developing yourself meant moving to the next position, learning meant knowing how to get around your clients and growth meant bigger pay packets. There was no intellectual stimulus, no creative inspiration. I suffered, with most of my colleagues, from an ailment nicknamed SSDD, ‘Same Shit Different Day’. I changed a few jobs, moving from advertising to marketing to starting a new company but the questions did not go away, nor did the vacuum that was slowly engulfing me. I made more money but I would come home every night wondering what I was doing with my life, to my life. Seeing myself ahead of the others in my batch did not please me (which I am told is a serious symptom of corporate illness!). End of the day, I was just making profits for pockets already heavy. I made no difference to anybody’s life. I had no voice, no shadows. Only a never ending ladder stared me in the face and here I was clinging on to rungs in the middle, fighting with a host of others to move ahead. I felt like a bonsai, stunted.
People around were full of advice. I needed a holiday. I could take yet another job. Sell clothes instead of tea; software instead of tiles. But none of these seemed to be what I wanted. Unhappy, struggling with a lack of identity and purpose in the corporate world, I was searching for a different space.
That’s about the time I heard of the India Foundation for the Arts (IFA), a funding agency for arts and culture projects. They needed a person with marketing skills to start a fundraising unit. I started working with them, a bit gingerly at first, getting paid a quarter of what I used to earn. I knew nothing about the not-for-profit world or about the state of the arts in India. I only knew that I was passionate about the arts and I could sell.
The response of my family to this shift ranged from silence, sometimes stunned, sometimes surly, to a concerted effort to make me realize my folly. This was not a career option at all in India. Where was the sector that I was talking about? Where were the ‘other’ jobs I could shift to? Where was the possibility of higher pay, loftier designations? To be honest I asked these questions too. But this time instead of alienating me, the difficulty of the questions drove me deeper into trying to understand the nature of my work and the environment I was working in.
On one hand, I was interacting with artists who passionately believed in what they did and on the other I was negotiating with sharp, focused business professionals who knew exactly what they wanted. Creating the bridge was my job. I was learning and speaking different languages from different worlds often introducing ideas from one to the other. I was osmosis!
Fundraising started becoming an area of focus in IFA. I was helping to set up systems for running high profile art events to raise money, figuring out ways to create an endowment campaign and getting the Board of Trustees to engage with fundraising in new ways. And I was learning every day.
I was witnessing how the arts express, question, dialogue and interpret. This reflected in me. I was reconnecting to myself. I was developing a sense of value for things around me in a manner I had never known before. I was learning to be more patient, channelising my passion to feed in to a purpose larger than myself. A sense of self and identity I always searched for was beginning to grow inside me.
I did have my share of failures in a field that was nascent, underdeveloped and unrecognized. Raising money for the arts can be quite frustrating in India where myriad other more ‘deserving’ causes push the arts outside the periphery of most funding agenda. Corporates either keep their charity kitties reserved for the whims of the Chairperson’s wife or divert the funds to callously thought-out CSR policies. Foundations seldom fund culture. Individuals have their own notions of what needs support. But I was competing with myself now. There was in front of me no ladder or race; just a wide expanse of the world with challenges to be met, barriers to be broken and opportunities to be created.
So here I am five years later, continuing to work for IFA. Each day is a bright new challenge. Failures open new doors. I am richer today, in every way I define wealth. My family still worries about my future, my security; about what this choice of mine might hold for me ultimately. They are probably also coping with the fact that needs, aspirations, dreams and destinies mean different things for different people.
But for me, my journey today is more meaningful in itself and I don’t really care about the destination any more. To quote Constantine Cavafis, a Greek poet from his piece Ithaca, “You arrive not expecting more wealth, than the riches you have gained along the way”. And my mother smiles at me more often over her cup of tea.
And the Cookie Crumbled: Elections in India 2004
As it always happens, it happened again - “in hind sight”. Even before the ink has dried on the printed exit poll results, the pundits are busy extricating themselves out of their predictions of a landslide BJP victory. There is the usual routine buzz about what could have gone wrong and where, the glorification of the will and anger of the people in the largest democracy and how one can never take them for granted, and finally the criticisms about policies and actions taken by the BJP in its tenure, long after we thought they were dead and buried.
What I am reading and listening to from the experts of politics and economics, industrialists and fund managers, vox populi and social scientists, psephologists and statisticians, I should have heard long before the elections and the so called “unexpected” results. What was so unexpected, I wonder. The fact that the pundits too got co-opted by the hype generated by BJP’s smart talking smug and savvy party leaders and their media machines is not a valid enough reason to excuse their myopia. Or I should just submit to the fact that the so called social observers themselves have a very limited and urban view of society!
To me the results are not unexpected. It’s just that one did not know one could place this amount of faith on democracy. The signs were quite clear as to why the cookie had to crumble. It’s just that one did not know exactly how.
Post Gujarat one was ashamed to be in a country which had the same elected government as the one that provoked and aided the carnage in the state. The ever compromising Prime Minister’s Delhi outcry against the massacre was quickly blown away by his Goa justification of the situation as the post Godhra backlash. Then to find our revolutionary poet PM fondly slap the back of the Hindutwa scion Modi and sharing the stage with him was repulsive to say the least. One wondered when the political verdict would come from the people. Stunned by the 2002 Gujarat results one seemed to lose faith in the fairness of democracy and said “this country probably deserves the government it gets if it can’t decipher the difference between nationalism and religious fascism”. The BJP forgot that no matter how hard it tried to portray the image of being the creators of the development agenda just before the elections, people remembered their core connections with Hindu fascism. But somewhere one was waiting for things to add up.
Inspite of our very isolated living in the metros where reading the newspaper happened over weekends to check what movies have hit the screens or which pub was showcasing a new DJ flown in from Crete, one did hear the angry rumblings of our agrarian brothers living in villages not more than 50 kms away from the city’s swankiest nightclubs. While one debated on whether BPO and Biotech IPOs will yield more than the IT stocks one could not avoid the daily reporting of thousands of suicides that happened among small farmers. No amount of press releases on cloud seeding took the fact away that as one was calculating the industry average of peers and comparing it with one’s own to feel either better or worse, people somewhere close by were very angry that basic amenities like water and electricity were hard to get. And there was no damage control. The parallel presence of utter dismay and amazing opportunity has always been a unique reality in India. And one is used to it. But not yet desensitized about it. What came to light during this phase was the BJP led NDA’s insistence of increasing the divide, unaware in their smugness that a chasm large enough would devour the very creator of that abyss. One was waiting for things to add up.
In the cities too one wondered where all the talk about reforms was going. While the Sensex climbed notches not everyone considered that the only measure of wellbeing. Friends who lost jobs and were finding it difficult to get new ones and inspite of the repeated reassurance of everything being hunky dory, one sensed not all was well. Then India Shining hit us unsuspecting victims of the media blitz. The smiling faces of farmers wearing gold chains talking on the mobile could not somehow erase the images of the suicide victims. Cheaper mobile phones did not seem to bring an end to the drought situation and the promised Golden quadrangle did not seem to justify the repeated price hike of electricity and fuel. Except the minute IT sector, there seemed to be no growth of opportunities in any other. The campaign and the NDA leaders’ smugness about the campaign and what it would do only predicted the fact that people would see the divide even more clearly. NDA failed to take account of another factor. The ones in their voting lists who found themselves on the feel good side of the divide cared very little about the polls and the ones that felt wronged were always the ones who make the difference during elections, the 70% of our rural agrarian population. Things were adding up.
While one often commented on how the PM had perfected the art of coalition one also pondered over why a party that was looking after its allies well could not handle the infighting. From the Gujarat feud between Kesubhai and Modi to the hankering for prominence and competition to be in the limelight between stalwarts of the BJP government like Sushma Swaraj, Jaswant Singh, Arun Jetley and Pramod Mahajan, the party stank of internal power plays.
The BJP in the beginning had given rise to a new breed of politicians as one thought. Smart, savvy, laptop tucked under arm, speaking a language the metros understood, they seemed to be managers more than politicians. One felt, finally Indian politics has come of age. Together with that, one got updates about how Promod Mahajan “worked out” in his multigym every morning and Arun Jetley stuck to healthy organic food. Our politicians were just becoming hip and happening. One would almost call them “dude”. But voila, as preparations began for elections, suddenly one felt that the makeup of pseudo chic ness was scraped off and one saw the ugliest face of vulgarity in thought and language. Whether it was about an opponent’s place of origin or accented Hindi, the group attacked their opponent and her children as a pack of wolves forgetting that even in Bollywood superstars have made decade old careers for themselves as the underdog! And especially if the underdog went about his or her work unflustered undeterred and making no attempt to give an eye for an eye. The BJP leaders with their unsavoury thoughts and crass language stunk of a sense of arrogance which surprised and then distanced the public. Things added up.
And so the cookie that had to crumble did. Somehow our ex PM looks so much more at peace with himself now. Probably because now he does not feel so compromised anymore. None of the top leaders are talking about where they think they went wrong. The nation is anxious post giving its new verdict. With the fund managers and investment guys sitting in their offices in Wall Street, the nation too is waiting to see what the changed new government will deliver, how much and how fast. It is clear that the country had not voted against reforms. It has just made itself heard that reforms have to be for the majority. And the needs of the majority do not stop at cheaper chips for cheaper mobile phones or inflated salaries for 0.01% of the population.
There is the anxiety of how the Congress government will manage the coalition, how the left will review the reforms, how taxation laws will change and how the stock market will respond to the ruling out of the disinvestment ministry. But with all the anxiety there is also hope. Hope that the people’s verdict will drive some sense into our political system and the people who manage it. About how not to take the electorate for granted, a lesson one thought they would have learnt in the last 52 years of governing the largest democracy in the world. About how end of the day hype is just hype and people will ask for results of what has been done. About how in a country like India playing with religious fanaticism can be more dangerous in the long haul, than it seems to be beneficial in the short term.
The new government should realise that it owes its victory to anti incumbency votes rather than pro congress ones. This is a chance given to the new leadership to see what they can do. If this government has to change that status they will have to live up to the promise they have made to the people and make them see the difference. The nation has voted for change and unless that vote fructifies into tangible results, the people would change their minds again.
What I am reading and listening to from the experts of politics and economics, industrialists and fund managers, vox populi and social scientists, psephologists and statisticians, I should have heard long before the elections and the so called “unexpected” results. What was so unexpected, I wonder. The fact that the pundits too got co-opted by the hype generated by BJP’s smart talking smug and savvy party leaders and their media machines is not a valid enough reason to excuse their myopia. Or I should just submit to the fact that the so called social observers themselves have a very limited and urban view of society!
To me the results are not unexpected. It’s just that one did not know one could place this amount of faith on democracy. The signs were quite clear as to why the cookie had to crumble. It’s just that one did not know exactly how.
Post Gujarat one was ashamed to be in a country which had the same elected government as the one that provoked and aided the carnage in the state. The ever compromising Prime Minister’s Delhi outcry against the massacre was quickly blown away by his Goa justification of the situation as the post Godhra backlash. Then to find our revolutionary poet PM fondly slap the back of the Hindutwa scion Modi and sharing the stage with him was repulsive to say the least. One wondered when the political verdict would come from the people. Stunned by the 2002 Gujarat results one seemed to lose faith in the fairness of democracy and said “this country probably deserves the government it gets if it can’t decipher the difference between nationalism and religious fascism”. The BJP forgot that no matter how hard it tried to portray the image of being the creators of the development agenda just before the elections, people remembered their core connections with Hindu fascism. But somewhere one was waiting for things to add up.
Inspite of our very isolated living in the metros where reading the newspaper happened over weekends to check what movies have hit the screens or which pub was showcasing a new DJ flown in from Crete, one did hear the angry rumblings of our agrarian brothers living in villages not more than 50 kms away from the city’s swankiest nightclubs. While one debated on whether BPO and Biotech IPOs will yield more than the IT stocks one could not avoid the daily reporting of thousands of suicides that happened among small farmers. No amount of press releases on cloud seeding took the fact away that as one was calculating the industry average of peers and comparing it with one’s own to feel either better or worse, people somewhere close by were very angry that basic amenities like water and electricity were hard to get. And there was no damage control. The parallel presence of utter dismay and amazing opportunity has always been a unique reality in India. And one is used to it. But not yet desensitized about it. What came to light during this phase was the BJP led NDA’s insistence of increasing the divide, unaware in their smugness that a chasm large enough would devour the very creator of that abyss. One was waiting for things to add up.
In the cities too one wondered where all the talk about reforms was going. While the Sensex climbed notches not everyone considered that the only measure of wellbeing. Friends who lost jobs and were finding it difficult to get new ones and inspite of the repeated reassurance of everything being hunky dory, one sensed not all was well. Then India Shining hit us unsuspecting victims of the media blitz. The smiling faces of farmers wearing gold chains talking on the mobile could not somehow erase the images of the suicide victims. Cheaper mobile phones did not seem to bring an end to the drought situation and the promised Golden quadrangle did not seem to justify the repeated price hike of electricity and fuel. Except the minute IT sector, there seemed to be no growth of opportunities in any other. The campaign and the NDA leaders’ smugness about the campaign and what it would do only predicted the fact that people would see the divide even more clearly. NDA failed to take account of another factor. The ones in their voting lists who found themselves on the feel good side of the divide cared very little about the polls and the ones that felt wronged were always the ones who make the difference during elections, the 70% of our rural agrarian population. Things were adding up.
While one often commented on how the PM had perfected the art of coalition one also pondered over why a party that was looking after its allies well could not handle the infighting. From the Gujarat feud between Kesubhai and Modi to the hankering for prominence and competition to be in the limelight between stalwarts of the BJP government like Sushma Swaraj, Jaswant Singh, Arun Jetley and Pramod Mahajan, the party stank of internal power plays.
The BJP in the beginning had given rise to a new breed of politicians as one thought. Smart, savvy, laptop tucked under arm, speaking a language the metros understood, they seemed to be managers more than politicians. One felt, finally Indian politics has come of age. Together with that, one got updates about how Promod Mahajan “worked out” in his multigym every morning and Arun Jetley stuck to healthy organic food. Our politicians were just becoming hip and happening. One would almost call them “dude”. But voila, as preparations began for elections, suddenly one felt that the makeup of pseudo chic ness was scraped off and one saw the ugliest face of vulgarity in thought and language. Whether it was about an opponent’s place of origin or accented Hindi, the group attacked their opponent and her children as a pack of wolves forgetting that even in Bollywood superstars have made decade old careers for themselves as the underdog! And especially if the underdog went about his or her work unflustered undeterred and making no attempt to give an eye for an eye. The BJP leaders with their unsavoury thoughts and crass language stunk of a sense of arrogance which surprised and then distanced the public. Things added up.
And so the cookie that had to crumble did. Somehow our ex PM looks so much more at peace with himself now. Probably because now he does not feel so compromised anymore. None of the top leaders are talking about where they think they went wrong. The nation is anxious post giving its new verdict. With the fund managers and investment guys sitting in their offices in Wall Street, the nation too is waiting to see what the changed new government will deliver, how much and how fast. It is clear that the country had not voted against reforms. It has just made itself heard that reforms have to be for the majority. And the needs of the majority do not stop at cheaper chips for cheaper mobile phones or inflated salaries for 0.01% of the population.
There is the anxiety of how the Congress government will manage the coalition, how the left will review the reforms, how taxation laws will change and how the stock market will respond to the ruling out of the disinvestment ministry. But with all the anxiety there is also hope. Hope that the people’s verdict will drive some sense into our political system and the people who manage it. About how not to take the electorate for granted, a lesson one thought they would have learnt in the last 52 years of governing the largest democracy in the world. About how end of the day hype is just hype and people will ask for results of what has been done. About how in a country like India playing with religious fanaticism can be more dangerous in the long haul, than it seems to be beneficial in the short term.
The new government should realise that it owes its victory to anti incumbency votes rather than pro congress ones. This is a chance given to the new leadership to see what they can do. If this government has to change that status they will have to live up to the promise they have made to the people and make them see the difference. The nation has voted for change and unless that vote fructifies into tangible results, the people would change their minds again.
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