India: another tryst with destiny
Today, 18
May 2014, may well go down in history as the day when Britain finally left
India. Narendra Modi's victory in the elections marks the end of a long era in
which the structures of power did not differ greatly from those through which
Britain ruled the subcontinent. India under the Congress party was in many ways
a continuation of the British Raj by other means. The last of midnight's
children are now a dwindling handful of almost 70-year-olds, but it is not the
passing of the independence generation that makes the difference.
The India
those men and women lived in was one that, like its predecessor, was
centralised, garrisoned, culturally constricted, and ruled by a relatively
small English-speaking elite whose attitude toward the masses was alternately
benevolent and exploitative but never inclusive. Universal suffrage gave
Indians a vote but not, at least for much of the time, a voice. When that voice
was occasionally heard, as it was in 1977 in the elections that followed the
disastrously unpopular Emergency declared by prime minister Indira Gandhi,
there could be a sudden sense of its almost volcanic capacity to remake the
political landscape, but such moments were rare.
Is Modi the worst thing to happen to India? Two friends discuss
An expat returns to find whether his beloved country has been overtaken by fascism.
Suleiman
Khan returned to India from Saudi Arabia
last week. He was apprehensive. Suleiman confided his fears to his friend Anwar
Shaikh: "Nayantara Sahgal, Jawaharlal Nehru's niece, says that things in India are worse
today than they've been since the partition riots in 1947."
Anwar
replied grimly: "Yes. They are. The government tells us what to eat, what
to read, what to watch. They even blackened Sudheendra Kulkarni's face before
Khurshid Mahmud Kasuri's book launch. What next? It's intolerable."
The two
friends turned to the local newspapers. The headlines shocked Suleiman.
"Everyone is returning their awards and resigning from the Sahitya
Akademi," he exclaimed.
"And,"
Anwar added pointedly," the Shiv Sena didn't let Ghulam Ali saab perform
in Mumbai. It's good we have secular politicians like Akhilesh Yadav, Arvind
Kejriwal, Nitish Kumar and Mamata Banerjee who've invited Ghulam Ali saab to
sing in Lucknow, Delhi, Patna and Kolkata."
Suleiman
spent the next week in trepidation. Was India, as Nayantara Sahgal said, even
worse than the 1975-77 Emergency when her cousin, Indira Gandhi, then prime
minister, had stifled dissent, thrown the entire opposition, including
Jayaprakash Narayan, in jail, censored newspapers and locked up activists and
journalists?
Suleiman
had left India
in 1976, at the age of 21, during the Emergency. He remembered Sanjay Gandhi's
forced sterilisation campaign of Muslims in Turkman Gate in Delhi where he used to live.
The next
morning, in Mumbai, Suleiman scanned the newspapers for signs of the imminent
collapse of Indian democracy. He was surprised to read the headlines.
"Everyone is condemning the prime minister!" he told Anwar. "I
thought Modi was stifling dissent. But in every newspaper editorial and column,
his government is the target of mockery and criticism. How can that be?
Nayantara Sahgal said this was the worst period for Indian democratic discourse
since partition in 1947. Worse than the Emergency when you couldn't criticise
the PM, much less abuse her. Lalu Prasad Yadav even called Modi a demon and
monster the other day. And Ruchir Joshi abused Modi in The Economic Times last
Wednesday in vile language. Why hasn't Modi acted against them? "
Anwar tried
to explain to his friend: "Suleimanbhai, you left India during the Emergency nearly 40 years ago
and have never returned to India
until now. Mrs. Gandhi was kind enough to revoke the Emergency in March 1977.
She freed all the prisoners - journalists, opposition leaders, activists.
Everybody. After 1980 we've had 28 years of Congress or Congress-supported
governments. They gave us complete cultural freedom. Our Sahitya Akademi and
other cultural bodies were filled with those who backed the secular, liberal
and pro-poor ideology of Nehru and his extended family."
"Ah,"
said Suleiman, his face lighting up. "That's why Indians are still so poor
and the media is so liberal and Hindus are so secular. What a legacy!"
They were
now in a bus passing by Dharavi, Asia 's
biggest slum where the movie Slumdog Millionaire was shot by Danny Boyle.
"See how the BJP government has packed the censor board and the FTII with
RSS types," Anwar said. "They want to ban movies, books, everything.
Even eating beef."
Suleiman was
puzzled. "But, Anwarbhai, I saw a DVD of Haider and PK. They make fun of
Hindu idols and criticise the Indian army in Jammu & Kashmir (J&K). Yet
both movies were shown in Indian theatres and were huge hits. Why didn't this
government censor them?"
Anwar
changed the subject. "Hungry, Suleiman?" he asked his friend. They
were passing an al fresco restaurant. They sat down and ordered a burger. On
the next table they saw a couple tucking into a hot dog, mayonnaise dripping
out of the bread-encased sausage.
Suleiman's
eyes opened wide."They are eating pork, Anwarbhai! We are eating buffalo
meat in our burger. Back home in Saudi, pork is hard to come by. You might get
100 lashes for eating it in public."
Anwar shook
his head. "Don't compare Saudi Arabia with India. Look what happened to
that poor Indian woman who had her arm chopped off in Saudi. Backward country.
We're not like that. We're a liberal, secular democracy."
The two
friends discussed the horrific murder of a young Muslim man in Dadri over beef.
"Modi's statement was inadequate," said Anwar. Suleiman agreed.
"He should have condemned it directly and set an example."
That
evening, Suleiman and Anwar put on their TV set. Surfing English and Hindi news
channels, they heard guests and anchors in debate after debate condemning the
Modi government. One elderly gentleman called Anand Patwardhan was spewing
venom on the Modi government, in effect calling it fascist. "I recognise
him," exclaimed Suleiman, pointing excitedly to Patwardhan. "I've
seen his films - have they been banned after he abused Modi?"
Anwar shook
his head slowly.
"But
why is he allowed to say such things on national TV?" Suleiman asked Anwar
in genuine bewilderment. "Nayantara Sahgal said dissent was being stifled.
If Patwardhan had said such nasty things about Indira Gandhi in 1976, when I
left India during the Emergency, he'd have been jailed. And Nayantaraji says
that things are worse today than during the Emergency. Is Patwardhan in
jail?"
Anwar was
embarrassed. "Actually, he's right now in another TV studio saying the
same things."
The two
friends returned to Delhi the next morning. The newspapers were full of the
attack on Sudheendra Kulkarni before Kasuri's book launch in Mumbai and of
writers returning awards or resigning from the Sahitya Akademi. "Who gave
them these awards or appointed them on the Akademi?" Suleiman asked
Anwar.
"Well,
most like Ashok Vajpeyi, Nayantara Sahgal and Satchidanandan were awarded or
appointed by the Congress. Some like Sarah Joseph are members of the Aam Aadmi
Party (AAP)."
Suleiman
nodded. "But Anwarbhai, did so many artistes and writers return their
awards when 4,000 Sikhs were killed in 1984 or when four lakh Kashmiri pandits
were driven out of the Valley in 1989?"
Anwar shook
his head again. "No, they didn't," he said. "You see, the
Congress was in power in 1984 and 1989. It's a secular party, after all."
That
evening the two friends strolled down Lodhi Gardens in Delhi. It was Sunday.
The muggy monsoon heat had given way to a pleasant early-October autumn.
Suleiman spotted familiar faces jogging or walking in the tree-lined park. One
was a famous lawyer who, Anwar told Suleiman conspiratorially, "charges Rs
40 lakh per appearance in the Supreme Court. He's currently defending top
Congress leaders in a case involving the alleged National Herald scam."
Another
portly gentleman trotted by. "That's also a senior lawyer," said
Anwar. "He's fighting a case in the Supreme Court against the government
over the Aadhar biometric card whose use the court wants to restrict."
Suleiman
was now thoroughly confused. "How is this possible, Anwarbhai? Can't this
fascist government just throw all these people in jail like Indira Gandhi did
when I was last in India in 1976? All of them should be in jail - opposition
leaders, activists and journalists who condemn the government in newspapers and
on TV, lawyers who file cases against the government, writers and filmmakers
who call the government fascist. How is such leniency allowed? Why isn't
dissent being stifled like Nayantaraji said?"
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