Of Friends and Politics

Last weekend I caught up with Mayank (name changed), an old friend whom I was meeting after two years. Mayank was my junior at school. At the institution where we went through our paces, the juniors were kinda' non-existent - treated as invisible for all practical purposes except for when it came to getting something done out of the way. I remember, when I left school, with bag, baggage, and trunk in tow after my fifth form examinations, it was with mixed feelings. I was sad because I was leaving a place where I had spent some of the best years of life. I was excited 'coz now was the time to do things that one had heard of but never got the opportunity, or the courage to indulge. The first few months passed by in a whirl. The state of aimless wandering, however, could not have lasted long. There wasn't much joy in doing things without your usual group of friends. The familiar faces, with whom you had spent the major part of your life till that moment, are no longer around you. Instead you end up with real people in the real world, people who come from different backgrounds and environments and who unlike you have their priorities absolutely right. Anyways, that is another story to be told some other time.

A few years after leaving school I met Mayank in a different setting. He had passed his tenth and was pursuing a college degree. I was happy to see him. Because by this time, most of my classmates had dispersed and meeting up anybody from school, whether senior or junior, a bully or a siss, was special. 'Coz here was an individual, with whom you could identify, who would laugh at your old jokes 'coz he understood the context, apart from the fact that the person was a living example of 'people like us', a self-confessed tribe of superior people! When we met, Mayank still retained the school tradition of showing respect to your seniors (with hands behind the back) and was pretty cool about it. Years passed by and we were often out of touch for long durations of time.

And then I met him in Chandigarh last Friday evening. Mayank's father is a senior Cabinet minister in the BJP Government in Himachal Pradesh. So I expected a changed person - you know the kind with changed airs, a posse of security guards, and vision clouded by an air of self-importance. Mayank, however, appeared pretty cool about it - in fact I did not find any difference at all. He had got married and was working with a global bank at New Delhi. We did a bit of clubbing, guzzled beer, talked about school, laughed a lot, and generally roamed around with no specific agenda. He was very particular about his driving, seat belt pulled in place, taking care not to jump traffic lights even by mistake. I asked him, what did he plan to do next? He responded that he was on his way out from the corporate sector. He would be moving back to his village within the next three months and start working on a project aimed at social uplift. He wanted to join politics but only after enough experience under his belt. But did he fit in, a straight - talking, guileless fellow? Why not, he said. I could not help but feel amused when he said that politics needed people like him. We were standing in a busy market, simply marking time.And as we were about to leave, a posse of cars, sirens blaring, flashing beacons screaming for attention, made a stop right in front of us, in a No Parking zone. Out stepped a young guy still in his teens, surrounded by five guards. Carrying a look of invincibility, he stepped on the pavement and gave a mouthful to a shop owner for not sending the right DVD to his house. I looked at the guy and I looked at Mayank. Sure, the society would be a better place with guys like him in politics.

I could not say it then, but I wud like to say it know: Mayank, buddy, carry on and do your best. You would be doing a favor to the others around you. Politics does need people like you.

Elections remain a low key affair in Chandigarh: Windy Kumar of the Con Party Likely to Scrape Through


The Great Indian Election juggernaut rolled through the city on Wednesday. And we must thank heavens, specially the city god (we have so many of them, I am sure a city god too exists) that the marauders spared the city from turmoil, a worst kind situation, which generally comes with Elections. In fact, electioneering in the run up to the voting day has been a low key affair this year. Though party flags, flyers, buntings and other promotional stuff had been put up on the rooftops, the mad imagery of posters was missing.
I actually have a serious issue with Banta Singh's poster overlapping that of Santa Singh and Ghatiya Chand trying to sneak in between the two, as if the positioning of the posters were to decide the elections. In the past, as we got closer to the voting day the posters displayed at all prominent places, including Conveniences and zoos presented a grotesque collage of images, with Santa's moochh covering half of Banta's face and Banta's long nose jutting into the 'Vote For'slogan of another small timer. However, I attribute my dislike to the disdain shown by my three year old kid. This kind of imagery literally popping out from every nook and corner of in the city leaves the little fellow bewildered and is enough to give him creeps of the worst kind.
The polling day being a holiday, I dusted my old faithful, a Yamaha 350 cc, and set out for a small spin (or geri as it is known in colloquial) around the city - just to capture the general mood. The city was unusually quite for an election day with paid party workers being the only ones trying to attract attention. However, I soon found that it was not only me, but almost every other guy who was on a spin. The spin in their case, though, was of a different kind, what with steel glasses filled with liquor to the brim doing quick rounds at most of the places. I noticed disapproval and a look of disgust on a few faces,  and I wondered whats could be wrong with people having liquor? After all, looking at the dismal outcome of the last few Parliamentary elections, these no longer command the kind of respect, which is the hallmark of a great democratic tradition . At that moment it occured to me that the guys had every right to take a swig or two or even polish off full bottles. Afterall, isn't the The Great Indian Election the baap of all tamashas?
As for the candidates, once again it is a straight contestt between Jhootha Mal Shastri of the Bhago Jaldi Party (BJP) and Windly (Pun)sell from the Con Party. Of course, the Quixotic Sharamheen Dhawan too is contesting:  as usual from a new party.
I stopped for a smoke near one of the polling stations, thought I could caught the buzz. I overheard and too a disinterested part in a few conversations and I sensed that Windy may just about scrape through, with the slightest of margins, to have another five-year go at the free government accommodation, govrnment sedans powered by my hard earned money, and various other privileges.
Windy had his aides campaigning hard for him. It didn't come as a surprise at all, when I learnt that one of the youth leaders was in the news just an year back, after his wife was caught red-handed stealing dresses from an upmarket boutique in sector 8. The lady was pretty enterprising, and had lured one of the showroom staff to hand over the loot when the showroom remained shut on holidays.

Cut to the present. Amidst the general confusion, I watched the guy in question. He had an impressive demeanor, appearing as if an incarnate of truth itself had landed in our midst. The guy had his best smile on (despite the crooked tooth, which was acting as the only spoiler to the otherwise pleasing stretch), stood with hands permanently folded, back slightly bent, and showed off an ultra fast mouth trap that yapped away incessantly, uttering niceties to all and sundry; as if he was meeting relatives back from dead. And why shouldn't he? For he knows his time will come, and if he plays his cards right, he could be the leader supreme of City Beautiful.

The day that happens,we will adjust,'coz thats the Indian way of life. But I am sure Le Corbusier for one would be doing some furious turning in his grave. Looking at the way things are deteriorating in the city, I won't be surprised if he springs out from his grave and have a nice go at the public servants or netas, whose only agenda has been to serve themselves...and leave the city to deteriorate at its own pace! 

Narender Modi: the 'Fascist' Gets It Right

Its finally official.
The ‘fascist, the strongman, the merchant of murder, chhapan chhati Narendra Modi has romped home to victory. That he was going to win was never in doubt, except in the minds of so called experts, who bored us, monopolizing and choking the air waves with their non-stop gibberish in the run up to the result day. The media pundits had got it all wrong the last time they attempted to predict the outcome of Gujarat Assembly elections. And they seem to be making a habit of it predicting spectacular gains for Congress, where none existed, this time around. Modi, the man whom everyone loves to hate: the media, the political parties, and even the majority among his own party notably BJP National President Rajnath Singh, BJP fringe organizations like the RSS, the VHP and the Bajrang Dal, Modi had served humble pie to all his detractors. Rajnath Singh sounded hollow crediting the Gujarat BJP party set up for the victory. It was apparent. Even as Singh lauded the party machinery, the expressions on his face were that of a man who knew that he is dealing with falsehoods.

For it was an out and out Modi show. The Chappan Chhati, the man with his own set of immortals moving about in Modi masks, did not even want any other leader to canvass for him in the state. The likes of Sushma Swaraj and her ilk, adept at polished speech but low on delivery were totally ignored. You must have noticed that none of the BJP star campaigners took part in the electioneering the way they normally do in a BJP state going to elections. Modi, the true follower of Machiavilli had it all figured out. Just take a quick glance at Machiavelli’s political treatise, The Prince, and you will realize the extent to which Modi and his minions were influenced by the work.

With his win, Modi has now set the cat among the BJP pigeons. His credible performance automatically catapults him on to the national stage. Modi, the man of soiled speech, considered a third-rung leaders only a few years back, is now the most recognizable face of the party. God help us!

In the final analysis, these elections were never about development, non-development, Sonia Gandhi’s remarks, the weakness or strengths of Congress (sadly, by fielding BJP dissidents from a number of seats, the Congress once again proved what it is: a party of double standards). Modi won because he had his ears to the ground. The former RSS pracharak never lost his touch with the people, the masses who actually go out and vote. And whenever he felt that leaders from RSS, VHP, or even the BJP were coming in the way, he never lost a moment to show them the door. Despite his background as a rabble rouser and a communalist, he has to be credited for his single-mindedness, his sense of purpose and his conviction to carry it through. And this despite the high flown theories of the idiot-box intelligentsia. Me and you, we heard them talk, day after day. But Modi took no notice of these ‘wise’ men. And he WON!