Farewell to a Leader

Death of an ailing 96 year old would not be expected to push regular headlines into the obscurity of the middle pages yet the demise of Jyoti Basu has evoked memories from both admirers and detractors which dominate national dailies this Monday. Though thoughtful in nature these obituaries only serve the purpose of bolstering the belief that 'the man' would not be forgotten in a hurry - a welcome reassurance considering the quality of public memory being ruefully 'short' in our country.

While regrets resound on "what could have been" had "the best Prime Minister India never had" had actually led the United Front government the spectrum of mass opinion never deny his rightful place as one of the most respected leaders the nation ever had. Much admired for his administrative prowess and ability to expedite consensus inside a party bound by Spartan principles his critics found his open Anglophilism and general insouciance for political opposition unacceptable. As children we grew up in Calcutta in times when the police were only heard of when they were bloodying their batons breaking up some opposition rally or the other. Mamata Banerjee, Basu's bete noire turned admirer, bore the brunt of such political arrogance on many occasions in that period. The image of Jyoti Basu which dominates most minds from our generation, growing up in the nineties, to be that of an old patriarch, reclusive in nature, reluctant in ushering revolution - the very plank that defined him in his prime. Still he strangely maintained that iron grip over proceedings in the Secretariat and the heart of the people who renewed his mandate in spite of vicious hand-wringing at many of his decisions. This generation still believe Bengal's unenviable skill at strangling industry is his legacy for us to bear. They willingly overlook the "land reforms movement" which installed Communists in the first place and line up arguments which make the "Comrades" look too power-drunk to have seen their own downfall coming. And not surprisingly Basu became the face of that unchallenged government over the years.

But amidst all the frustrations one must be reminded that it was Basu who invited Telecom and IT industries to the state later taken up with gusto by Buddhadeb Bhattacharya, the present incumbent. His intentions were reformist in nature but with time his actions increasingly bore the seal of circumspection seen in aging patriarchs. A permanent status quo seemed to be the writ from the Writers'. Considering the hurdles Bhattacharya finds himself grappling with presently Basu's stand comes off as one of wise inertia in hindsight. May be his understanding of the very people he ruled prompted his decisions and made him the longest serving Chief Minister of any state ever. With the death of able organisers like Anil Biswas, Harkishen Singh Surjeet and now Jyoti Basu the present party leadership has some very big shoes to fill and going by their recent show at the hustings things can only spiral down from here. On the same note it seems poetic justice for someone like Prakash Karat who blocked Basu's way to the PM's post and now finds himself explaining every drubbing that his policies have ensued. Given the loaded possibility of the Communists falling in a heap in the coming 2011 Assembly Elections one cannot ignore the curious coincidence of the sun setting on the Hammer & Sickle Flag within a year of the last sunset in Jyoti Babu's long and illustrious life.

photo: googleimages

Late Night Calls

Launching a blistering attack which might leave The Bad P ( i.e. Pramod Muthalik as against the good P i.e. our own Pronob babu) quaking in his dhotis Renuka Chowdhury has questioned the kind of upbringing he might have undergone as a child. Applying Freudian deductions and Jungian principles of psychoanalysis she has successfully come to the conclusion that Muthalik's early childhood was deeply influenced by females who believed in "All hail the male!" rather than the then-dubious-now-ubiquitous slogan of "Why should boys have all the fun?". Still the very little gaps that her theory suffers from she intends to eliminate by arranging a tête-à-tête with the saffron stal-wart's mother.

"We'll have to ask her where he gets his attitude", she says.

We wish her all the luck with the interview.


In other news, a L.K Advani comment has just erupted onto the scene which should bring more cheer to the healing hearts at 7, Race Course Road than the sagging shoulders at 11, Ashok Road.
In his characteristic manner, that of a practiced raconteur, Advani has compared Narendra Modi to Atal Bihari Vajpayee. As if the old man was not suffering enough already, Advani had to compare the great statesman to someone who is not even a whimpering apology for Atalji's political acumen, stature, charisma and presence. And to be reminded that both of them made for the Krishna-Sudama of Indian politics till a few years back. Some lasting ties of friendship there, Mr. Advani! Some glowing tributes! Jai ho!

Has political expediency got the better of a respected leader like him or has the corporate coterie finally had its way, one wonders. The investments, both domestic and foreign, which are pouring into Gujarat cannot hide the hideous past of hate and divisive politics that thrived under the garb of "good governance". If Mr. Advani is still calling the shots from the helm he needs to keep track of the past and chalk maps for the future keeping in mind the larger picture rather than playing to the Hindutva gallery. A Vibrant Gujarat under Modi is as much a palpable reality as was Uttam Pradesh under Mulayam Singh Yadav and the day Modi is put in charge of the nation would indeed be a sad day for our democracy.

- For some things are better not forgotten and some people better not compared.

Terror's Happy Hunting Ground

We, bloggers, write mostly when the dust has settled and the blood has dried on the sleeves. 

The news-channels go into their habitual mode of manic over-drive to televise "breaking news" of blood being  spilled and flesh being ripped "while they actually happen".

Our leaders call for "restraint" in "such times of crisis".

Police officials promise "prompt action" and "return to order".

Conflicting claims owning responsibility for the strikes surface.

And we rue the sorry state of our country while warming the sofas of our bedaubed drawing-rooms, letting out that occasional sigh of resigned helplessness over a cup of luke-warm tea before moving onto  some other channel with brighter things on offer. 

Days pass and we forget.

And that is precisely the most terrible curse that an overpopulated nation like ours face

 -  The Curse of Collective Forgetfulness. And the value of human life becomes gradually more trivialised. 

While Mumbai turns into a veritable battlefield and people all over the nation are left wondering "where next?"  a grotesque spectacle of terrorism unfolds before our very eyes.

No more RDX, no more detonations from a distance. Their war has now decidedly come down to "hand to hand combat". But, how can "terror" gain visibility if only the security forces are engaged. How can it strike fear and further its "noble cause" if the corpses don't pile up on the streets. No act of terror is complete without few innocents getting slaughtered, and so we have the count pegged at 100 and till reports last came in they were still counting. This time the casualties have nothing in common between them. Some were inside plush hotels, some on roads earning their daily wages, some in taxis and some waiting on railway platforms. The purveyors of death have made their disregard for social strata apparent with their bloody statement. 

" No class. No mercy. "

And we have taken note.

As NSG commandos storm their posts, bringing them down one by one, and defense analysts join the political bandwagon in dissecting their 'modus operandi' and 'objectives', it is time that we, as a nation wake up to the realization that its about time that our leaders put "petty politics" behind them to avenge this resounding slap on the face of our continued policy of tolerance. It does not matter if "they" were Hindus or Muslims, Deccan Mujahideens or Kashmiri Fidayeens; it does not matter if there was the usual "foreign hand" behind these attacks or something entirely indigenously orchestrated. Fire can only be fought with fire and there are no two ways about it.

Too many lives have been lost already and someone must sound the bugle now. If not, popular outrage might soon consume the last vestiges of whatever is considered 'civil' in our society and a protracted reign of violent vigilantism might soon ensue. Unlike the political and military posturing in the wake of the '2001 Parliament Attack' concrete action is the call of the hour. An Advani or a Gandhi visiting the blast-sites when the muzzles have all gone cold is not good enough now. If they want to send a message to the millions that they need not panic in their homes, that must show in their work, not words. It is needless to say that every Indian city now awaits its turn in the terror turn-table with bated breath, that every ordinary citizen now stations himself in a crowded market-place relying more on faith than the "IB information" that is always over-looked before the blasts and highlighted only after they occur unhindered. I admit that it is very convenient to play the blame-game sitting in the comfort of one's study, reading news-portals and venting righteous ire but these are only cultured reflections of the emotions of an exasperated majority, who, if given a chance, would put it with much more vehemence and scorn. 

It will be inappropriate right now to speculate on the possible political stances that might emerge in the coming days, ones which might already be underway in the corridors of power, but any more "politicising of terror" at the expense of innocent lives and we will have a "bigger, graver situation" on our hands. Soon.

Then, mere 'storming the gates' might not be of much help.

links: rediff.com

Witness to a Death

By now people must have read it in the newspapers. I doubt if it figured in the bold significance of the headlines or just occupied a nondescript corner of the 'news snippets' or did it just miss everyone's eye.

The death of a poor bus-driver.

I along with three of my friends were busy fending off the rain from under the shade of a tea-shop yesterday when I saw this huge Krishnachura tree fall over the roof of a passing bus. It fell with a great thud and to my horror I saw the bus ripped into two from the middle.
The impact was so great that the bus stopped within 10 yards of the spot of the accident. We ran towards it. It was a horrible sight to see an otherwise menacing bus in shambles. The front half of the bus had not much left of it. The few people that were inside the bus were making their way out through the back door. I asked one of them if more people were trapped inside. He seemed to be in a daze and replied he didn't notice. There could be many more inside the wreckage. The sight of the mangled remains told us if the ladies' seat at the left and behind the driver's seat were occupied there was slim chance of them having survived. I was surprised to notice a middle-aged woman come down from the wreck and board the next passing bus with unnerving nonchalance. As if nothing had happened.


The rain was pelting down with more ferocity and before long we were headed back to our shelter in the vague assurance that not much harm had been done. The bus was not carrying too many people. Then a person came running along and said the driver had died on the spot. His lifeless limbs were hanging from his seat. That news was jarring. We all were left in a state of shock at having witnessed a death. A death of a fellow human being who knew nothing about his grim fate till a few moments back. How much of a compensation will his family get? Will the Unions look after their needs? Will the bus-owner be generous? No one knows.

Life is just so fragile. And one was snuffed out just yesterday in front of my very own eyes.

A Reply to Remember

As the presentation ceremony metamorphosed from the effects of a somber farewell to fevered celebrations three remarks by three different men clung to the back of my mind to be later analyzed in this very post.

"Magic ride", "Outplayed" and "My team".


The first was the way Adam Gilchrist, arguably the finest wicket-keeper batsman of all times, decided to describe his cricketing career. There were no visible signs of emotion fluttering across his face as he bid the final goodbye to his millions of fans and followers around the world unlike the previous time when a choked voice betrayed his softer shades. Though composed and speaking in a matter-of-fact voice there was every bit the sincerity that had marked every minute of his stay on the field all these years. The very words, "magic ride", he chose for the occasion showed the innate humility ingrained in this great sportsman even though he leaves a Himalayan task for his successors to match up to. One of the better examples of a great sports person acknowledging that 'the Game is always bigger than the gamesman'.
The second was how Ricky Ponting decided to put the Indian victory in the tri-series finals. Looking every bit the disappointed leader of a team robbed off its tag of Invincibility his statement was precise at the least and honest at the most. In his words there was a sense of acceptance of the Great Australian Juggernaut feeling the pangs of mortality all of a sudden. That he acknowledged how his team was thoroughly ''outplayed'' in the finals was an attestation to that realization. The very fact that the victory elicited such a comment of resignation from the Australian Captain was also a fitting rejoinder to the viral outbreak of allegations that were made against the Indian players Down Under. Harbhajan could have all the Bhangra he needed to give vent to his sense of hurt and vindication. This was indeed his time.
The knowledge that his scalps included both Symonds and Hayden in such momentous and memorable a victory could only raise the tempo of the revelries, a reminder of divine justice being handed out. The justice seemed to have been furthered with reports that Symonds might be penalized for assaulting a streaker on-field. But, though the score looks settled the Australians would come back strong at Team-India the next time, desperate to salvage soiled pride and reinstate lost honor. Heres wishing them an unhappy comeback and a unsafe recovery.
The third remark was the one that stuck with me for a while and prodded my otherwise inactive brain to put its analysis-lobes into an ill-timed over-drive. The words used by the Indian Captain, Mahendra Singh Dhoni. "My Team". Some might say it was a way of expressing the essence of 'the sense of belonging' running through the team at the moment which on the podium found the services of the young captain's lips to manifest itself. To me, it gave off a naked arrogance which could mean one of the two things. One, this pompousness born as an immediate consequence of The Great Victory was here to stay in Indian cricket as an antidote to ages of abject surrenders to the brow-beating of superior teams on and off the field. Two, the apparently innocuous statement had in its garb the peremptory import of an imminent siege. The seige of the Youth-Brigade. Dhoni has proved himself as an able leader with a cucumber composure under pressure situations over the last couple of series. The T-20 World-Cup win and now the Tri-series victory would affirm to his credentials as a resourceful captain in full command of his charges. His insistence on dropping senior players for this series has been vindicated by this imperious victory. But, let's not forget it was none other than SachinTendulkar, the old war-horse of numerous battles, that indefatigable genius of the craft of batting on whose consummate skills the finals were tilted in our favour. Dhoni can very well have his 'say' in getting the team he wants. The young turks hold dazzling promise but one cannot deny the necessity of mentors in shaping them for the future. Its heartening to see Indian aggressiveness getting the better of strong oppositions but I hope the recoil of such shoot-outs are not felt back home.



photos: rediff.com