A clutch of terrorist and jihadi groups organize a seminar, ‘Azaadi — The Only Way’, in the heart of the national Capital. Many despicable characters, including Kashmiri separatist leader Syed Ali Shah Geelani, participate in the seminar. They air secessionist views and abuse all who stand for the nation.
Booker Prize winner Arundhati Roy, who has made it a point to befriend all scoundrel of India, said, “Kashmir has never been an integral part of India. It is an historical fact. Even the Indian Government has accepted this.” Of course, she skipped the minor details like when did the Indian Government accepted this “historical fact.” In her scheme of things, India became a “colonizing power” soon after its Independence.
Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) leader Arun Jaitley said, “The whole country was shocked when a large number of separatists groups met in Delhi under the nose of the Government and had a conference… Some misconceived representatives of civil society have advocated that these separatists were only advocating and exercising their free right to speech.”
Unfortunately, it is not only the “misconceived representatives of civil society” who are trying to pit freedom of speech against national security, as if India were ruled by some jingoistic tyrants who brook no dissent. Even the mainstream mediapersons, especially media Brahmins who love to pontificate, who are presenting it as a freedom of expression versus national security issue.
The fact is that Geelani and his buddies in the Kashmir Valley are hardcore jihadis who want to establish Shariat; they are the biggest enemies of all freedoms the modern world offers to mankind. Given a chance, they would transform the ‘paradise on earth’ into a Talibani hell, impose the most barbaric form of laws, and treat women like cattle.
Even without being in power, they have imposed partial Taliban rule in the Valley.
Besides, the Right to Freedom of Expression is meant for the citizens of India. Do Geelani, Row, and other traitors call themselves citizens of India?
Commenting on the controversy triggered off by the seminar and the demands for action against Geelani and Roy, Dileep Padgaonkar, who heads the three-member group of interlocutors for Kashmir, said “Our response should be that of a mature democracy. It should be based on cool reason and not the kind of emotional outbursts we witnessed yesterday.” Well, cool reason says that medieval morons should be dealt with firmly.
While Geelani-Roy attracted a lot of attention, the presence of Maoist sympathizers at the meeting was largely overlooked by the media. In this context, an August 2008 statement, made by Maoist spokesperson Azad who died in an encounter in July, is relevant: “The CC (central committee), CPI-Maoist, unequivocally supports Kashmiri people’s struggle for azadi and believes that one who does not support the people’s aspirations for freedom and independence can never be a democrat.”
It is not surprising that the Leftwing terrorists have a soft corner for the Kashmiri separatists—enemy’s enemy is a natural friend. The Azadi seminar presented the jihadis and the Maoists to form a deadly alliance. It also presented an opportunity to become a martyr to the cause of freedom. “Pity the nation that has to silence its writers for speaking their minds,” Roy said in her reaction to the reports that she and Geelani might be prosecuted.
The truth is that she and Geelani are no freedom fighters. The Azadi they cry about is a tirade against individual liberty and open society.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Aisha: Exhilarating
Aisha is that kind of movie which you would like to watch with your girlfriend/boyfriend, spouse, parents, friends, kids—with anybody. And at anytime—after getting a good increment or a yelling from the boss, in good mood or after a depressive phase. A blithe spirit pervades the movie, which is both exhilarating and elevating.
My only regret was that I had not read Jane Austen’s Emma on which it was based. Watching a good film made on a good novel is a great joy; I experienced this while watching Gone With The Wind and The Godfather.
Director Rajshree Ojha did an excellent job by telling a tale with great aplomb. It reminded me of the delightful romantic comedies that TCM often shows. I doubt if Sonam Kapoor would have won the accolades she has without the slick direction of Ojha. Sonam is perfectly suited for the role of a rich, somewhat spoilt, girl who overrates her own match-making skills. Ira Dubey, as a less glamorous and more caustic buddy, also does a good job.
Amrita Puri, the country lass who is a stranger in the cool and chic South Delhi, is simply charming. She fumbles and bumbles, calls polo “horse-waali hockey”; she is putty in the hands of the protagonist Aisha (Sonam), but finally rebels to the indiscretions of her new ‘maker.’ This was a high point of Sonam’s histrionic skills: she was brilliant in her portrayal of a rich girl whose belief in her skills has just been shattered; she genuinely appears nonplussed, baffled, and crestfallen.
Lisa Haydon looks gorgeous every inch. As a foreign-returned corporate executive, she appears quite authentic. The accent, the demeanor, the entire persona—everything about her is authentic and fascinating. This is a departure from the portrayal of NRIs in Hindi movies; usually, they are shown as vain, comical, or both. And she sings—well, not a Western number, some popular Hindi film song, or even a ghazal—but a traditional song. Not in Hindi, but in one of the dialects which I could not make out. The blend of the Westernized and the native was delectable; unfortunately, it did not last long.
Abhay Deol looked natural as a corporate executive. He was a typical Jane Austen hero—handsome, rich, intelligent, full of character. And brave; he doesn’t bat an eyelid before punching a heavily-muscled Dhruv (Arunoday Singh) for his dirty remark about Aisha. Singh tried to portray himself as a hunk as well as a Casanova; he does well, but it could have been better.
And then there is the inimitable Cyrus Sahukar; he is always a treat to watch. M.K. Raina, as Sonam’s father, looks exactly what he portrays: a rich businessman who dotes on her daughter despite her spendthrift ways, talks to her as a friend rather than an overbearing guardian, and surreptitiously eats halwa at night!
Much has been written, not without reason, about the brilliant production design, styling, costume designing, cinematography, etc. However, the theme of the movie has not been commented upon; it seems that the impressive gloss of craft mesmerized the reviewers who just overlooked the soul of the body of work.
Very subtly, as if believing in the adage that art lies in concealing art, Ojha tells the failure of a girl who tries to control the lives of others. Aisha is a well-meaning girl; her intentions are noble; she wants the people around her to be happy, and happily married. Only her understanding of happiness is flawed, or shallow as Arjun (Deol) tells her. Her concepts about many things, including happiness, do not exactly match with the objective reality. She thinks that the best thing for the Bahadurgarh girl would be to become a South Delhi snob; her problem is that she imposed her own concepts on the reality, and gets frustrated when the reality does not behave as per her concepts or diktats.
But she is a decent girl, willing to correct herself. And, happily, there is Arjun to help her—and help himself by taking their friendship to a greater level. He also rescues her from shallowness, the shallowness which prods our elites to take up fancy causes like animal welfare and mouth politically correct homilies.
In the end, of course, all major characters of the movie are happily married. Aisha matures and apparently reforms.
In real life, too, we have many kinds of people who want to impose their concepts on others. Some of them want women to dress ‘appropriately,’ lest they fall prey to the depredations of molesters. There are Muslim fundamentalists imposing burqa. Saffron fanatics tell youngsters not to celebrate Valentine’s Day. There are politicians and activists who want to ban smoking in movies and on television. And long goes the list of moral cops. These self-appointed guardians of society and nation want to impose their rigidities and idiocies on us. While Aisha is open to introspection and course-correction, the myriad big brothers believe that they are always right.
Normally, efforts to control people’s lives with prescription and proscription fail; in the process, however, many of us have to go through hell. For in India life is not a romantic comedy.
My only regret was that I had not read Jane Austen’s Emma on which it was based. Watching a good film made on a good novel is a great joy; I experienced this while watching Gone With The Wind and The Godfather.
Director Rajshree Ojha did an excellent job by telling a tale with great aplomb. It reminded me of the delightful romantic comedies that TCM often shows. I doubt if Sonam Kapoor would have won the accolades she has without the slick direction of Ojha. Sonam is perfectly suited for the role of a rich, somewhat spoilt, girl who overrates her own match-making skills. Ira Dubey, as a less glamorous and more caustic buddy, also does a good job.
Amrita Puri, the country lass who is a stranger in the cool and chic South Delhi, is simply charming. She fumbles and bumbles, calls polo “horse-waali hockey”; she is putty in the hands of the protagonist Aisha (Sonam), but finally rebels to the indiscretions of her new ‘maker.’ This was a high point of Sonam’s histrionic skills: she was brilliant in her portrayal of a rich girl whose belief in her skills has just been shattered; she genuinely appears nonplussed, baffled, and crestfallen.
Lisa Haydon looks gorgeous every inch. As a foreign-returned corporate executive, she appears quite authentic. The accent, the demeanor, the entire persona—everything about her is authentic and fascinating. This is a departure from the portrayal of NRIs in Hindi movies; usually, they are shown as vain, comical, or both. And she sings—well, not a Western number, some popular Hindi film song, or even a ghazal—but a traditional song. Not in Hindi, but in one of the dialects which I could not make out. The blend of the Westernized and the native was delectable; unfortunately, it did not last long.
Abhay Deol looked natural as a corporate executive. He was a typical Jane Austen hero—handsome, rich, intelligent, full of character. And brave; he doesn’t bat an eyelid before punching a heavily-muscled Dhruv (Arunoday Singh) for his dirty remark about Aisha. Singh tried to portray himself as a hunk as well as a Casanova; he does well, but it could have been better.
And then there is the inimitable Cyrus Sahukar; he is always a treat to watch. M.K. Raina, as Sonam’s father, looks exactly what he portrays: a rich businessman who dotes on her daughter despite her spendthrift ways, talks to her as a friend rather than an overbearing guardian, and surreptitiously eats halwa at night!
Much has been written, not without reason, about the brilliant production design, styling, costume designing, cinematography, etc. However, the theme of the movie has not been commented upon; it seems that the impressive gloss of craft mesmerized the reviewers who just overlooked the soul of the body of work.
Very subtly, as if believing in the adage that art lies in concealing art, Ojha tells the failure of a girl who tries to control the lives of others. Aisha is a well-meaning girl; her intentions are noble; she wants the people around her to be happy, and happily married. Only her understanding of happiness is flawed, or shallow as Arjun (Deol) tells her. Her concepts about many things, including happiness, do not exactly match with the objective reality. She thinks that the best thing for the Bahadurgarh girl would be to become a South Delhi snob; her problem is that she imposed her own concepts on the reality, and gets frustrated when the reality does not behave as per her concepts or diktats.
But she is a decent girl, willing to correct herself. And, happily, there is Arjun to help her—and help himself by taking their friendship to a greater level. He also rescues her from shallowness, the shallowness which prods our elites to take up fancy causes like animal welfare and mouth politically correct homilies.
In the end, of course, all major characters of the movie are happily married. Aisha matures and apparently reforms.
In real life, too, we have many kinds of people who want to impose their concepts on others. Some of them want women to dress ‘appropriately,’ lest they fall prey to the depredations of molesters. There are Muslim fundamentalists imposing burqa. Saffron fanatics tell youngsters not to celebrate Valentine’s Day. There are politicians and activists who want to ban smoking in movies and on television. And long goes the list of moral cops. These self-appointed guardians of society and nation want to impose their rigidities and idiocies on us. While Aisha is open to introspection and course-correction, the myriad big brothers believe that they are always right.
Normally, efforts to control people’s lives with prescription and proscription fail; in the process, however, many of us have to go through hell. For in India life is not a romantic comedy.
When icons become iconoclastic
What do the believers do when the idols of their temple start talking blasphemously? They are shocked, they become incredulous, even enter the state of denial. This was, at any rate, the fate of Saeed Naqvi when he interviewed Naseeruddin Shah (NewsX, July 20).
He could not believe when Naseer, an icon of parallel cinema, said that Shammi Kapoor, Dev Anand, and Dara Singh were his favorite actors in Hindi movies. Naqvi was so stunned that he actually asked the veteran actor whether it was a tongue-in-cheek remark; but Naseer made it clear that he was not joking. Naqvi, however, remained unconvinced till the end; in the winding-up remarks, he said that Naseer “is playing the fool with us.”
At the heart of Naqvi’s incredulity lies a generation’s weltanschauung. I am talking about the sixties’ generation which had swallowed and digested not only the economy and politics of socialism but also its esthetics. There was a big problem, though: the most popular art was dominated by the people who had little time for the True Theory, which was socialism. The Raj Kapoors, the Dev Anands, the Guru Dutts, the K. Asifs, the Dilip Kumars, the B.R. Chopras, the Prakash Mehras, and other movie moguls made movies to mint money or to create great art; they never bothered to do things as per the dogmas, doctrines, or straitjackets of the Theory. This greatly frustrated the pundits; so, they dubbed the mainstream as Commercial Cinema, a term that went to signify anything that was crude, crass, escapist, kitsch. This is commerce, not art, thundered the popes of esthetics.
Thanks to the entrenchment of socialism in the 1970s, the government took upon itself to redeem, among other things, cinema (the way it ‘redeemed’ the economy is well-known; the results were shortages, black market, arrested growth, and crony capitalism, but that is another story). The consequence of state intervention in the world of movies was Art Cinema. And pinkish pundits got the opportunity to chalk out its canons.
I have always found the term, Art Cinema, puzzling for two reasons. First, it is tautological: since cinema is a form of art, the coinage has some redundancy about it. Second, most of the movies that go with it are the antithesis of art. It is difficult to find anything beautiful, elevating, or sublimating in the dreariness and boredom peddled by the masters of Art Cinema. But these incongruities did not bother the sixties’ generation, which continued to patronize the ‘socially relevant’ movies.
Art Cinema flourished as long as the government funded it; and, in the same manner as an unviable public sector undertaking goes sick when the government stops financing it, the Art Cinema business got bust when the winds of liberalization hit the Indian shores in the 1990s. The Shyam Benegals and the Govind Nihalanis came to terms with the new reality and made films with mainstream stars. But, interestingly, the canons and myths of Art Cinema did not fade away with time; in fact, they have got entrenched in public discourse and common parlance.
It is not unusual to read a film review which tells us that this movie has a message (and is therefore is good movie) or that one does not have any message (and therefore is just entertaining). A movie, as per the accepted code of film critics, is good if it has a socially relevant message. A filmmaker ought to be a postman, apart from his mastery over the craft, to be a considered a good one. Such are the consequences of having a public discourse immersed in socialist-collectivist-tribalist ethic. Everything and everybody are good so long as they serve their utility to a collectivity.
It is a measure of not only the prevalence of collectivist ethic but also of shabby elitism and general mendacity that when any intellectual or a cinema person with intellectual pretensions is asked about their favorite film directors, they talk about Satyajit Ray, Mrinal Sen, Bimal Roy, Eisenstein, or some other high-sounding names. Many, if not most, of them relish Johny Mera Naam and Sholay, but they discuss only Pather Panchali.
I am yet to come across a person who has named, say, Vijay Anand and Raj Khosla. Naseer had the courage to call Dev Anand starrer Guide and Jewel Thief (both directed by Vijay Anand) as great movies. In fact, Naseer says that Guide is among the best movies ever made in the world.
Given this socio-cultural milieu, it was indeed courageous―brazen, some would say―on the part of Naseer to call Shammi Kapoor as his favorite actor, to say that he grew up on his movies. But it was not unnatural for a man who was born in 1950 to say that. As a teenager and as a young man, and as a person with deep interest in cinema, Naseer could not have avoided Kapoor or Dev Anand. In fact, the two are not just among the handsomest and most Westernized heroes but they also represented all that was stylish, elegant, graceful, and blithe in contemporary India. Quite obviously, the champions of social realism found little worth in the two stars of yesteryears.
Even if Naseer had called Raj Kapoor his favorite, it would have been grudgingly accepted, for Raj sold sugary socialism and sexy altruism for decades.
But Naseer is talking about Shammi, Dev sahib, and―horrors― Dara Singh in superlative terms! Worse, he has nothing good to say about Shyam Benegal; despite Naqvi’s prompting to call him as his favorite director, Naseer refused to do that; instead, he went on naming Shekhar Kapoor, Gulzar, and Sai Paranpai as his favorites. It will be very difficult to put the three in the Art Cinema camp. Paranjpai actually made delightful and thoroughly entertaining movies Chashm-e-baddur and Katha; she can scarcely be thrown in the company of those who portrayed the sordid, the morbid, and the unlovely on celluloid.
What blasphemy! Naseer has no regard for the high priests of Art Cinema and the votaries of Theory. No wonder, Naqvi, a sixties’ generation representative, was incredulous.
He could not believe when Naseer, an icon of parallel cinema, said that Shammi Kapoor, Dev Anand, and Dara Singh were his favorite actors in Hindi movies. Naqvi was so stunned that he actually asked the veteran actor whether it was a tongue-in-cheek remark; but Naseer made it clear that he was not joking. Naqvi, however, remained unconvinced till the end; in the winding-up remarks, he said that Naseer “is playing the fool with us.”
At the heart of Naqvi’s incredulity lies a generation’s weltanschauung. I am talking about the sixties’ generation which had swallowed and digested not only the economy and politics of socialism but also its esthetics. There was a big problem, though: the most popular art was dominated by the people who had little time for the True Theory, which was socialism. The Raj Kapoors, the Dev Anands, the Guru Dutts, the K. Asifs, the Dilip Kumars, the B.R. Chopras, the Prakash Mehras, and other movie moguls made movies to mint money or to create great art; they never bothered to do things as per the dogmas, doctrines, or straitjackets of the Theory. This greatly frustrated the pundits; so, they dubbed the mainstream as Commercial Cinema, a term that went to signify anything that was crude, crass, escapist, kitsch. This is commerce, not art, thundered the popes of esthetics.
Thanks to the entrenchment of socialism in the 1970s, the government took upon itself to redeem, among other things, cinema (the way it ‘redeemed’ the economy is well-known; the results were shortages, black market, arrested growth, and crony capitalism, but that is another story). The consequence of state intervention in the world of movies was Art Cinema. And pinkish pundits got the opportunity to chalk out its canons.
I have always found the term, Art Cinema, puzzling for two reasons. First, it is tautological: since cinema is a form of art, the coinage has some redundancy about it. Second, most of the movies that go with it are the antithesis of art. It is difficult to find anything beautiful, elevating, or sublimating in the dreariness and boredom peddled by the masters of Art Cinema. But these incongruities did not bother the sixties’ generation, which continued to patronize the ‘socially relevant’ movies.
Art Cinema flourished as long as the government funded it; and, in the same manner as an unviable public sector undertaking goes sick when the government stops financing it, the Art Cinema business got bust when the winds of liberalization hit the Indian shores in the 1990s. The Shyam Benegals and the Govind Nihalanis came to terms with the new reality and made films with mainstream stars. But, interestingly, the canons and myths of Art Cinema did not fade away with time; in fact, they have got entrenched in public discourse and common parlance.
It is not unusual to read a film review which tells us that this movie has a message (and is therefore is good movie) or that one does not have any message (and therefore is just entertaining). A movie, as per the accepted code of film critics, is good if it has a socially relevant message. A filmmaker ought to be a postman, apart from his mastery over the craft, to be a considered a good one. Such are the consequences of having a public discourse immersed in socialist-collectivist-tribalist ethic. Everything and everybody are good so long as they serve their utility to a collectivity.
It is a measure of not only the prevalence of collectivist ethic but also of shabby elitism and general mendacity that when any intellectual or a cinema person with intellectual pretensions is asked about their favorite film directors, they talk about Satyajit Ray, Mrinal Sen, Bimal Roy, Eisenstein, or some other high-sounding names. Many, if not most, of them relish Johny Mera Naam and Sholay, but they discuss only Pather Panchali.
I am yet to come across a person who has named, say, Vijay Anand and Raj Khosla. Naseer had the courage to call Dev Anand starrer Guide and Jewel Thief (both directed by Vijay Anand) as great movies. In fact, Naseer says that Guide is among the best movies ever made in the world.
Given this socio-cultural milieu, it was indeed courageous―brazen, some would say―on the part of Naseer to call Shammi Kapoor as his favorite actor, to say that he grew up on his movies. But it was not unnatural for a man who was born in 1950 to say that. As a teenager and as a young man, and as a person with deep interest in cinema, Naseer could not have avoided Kapoor or Dev Anand. In fact, the two are not just among the handsomest and most Westernized heroes but they also represented all that was stylish, elegant, graceful, and blithe in contemporary India. Quite obviously, the champions of social realism found little worth in the two stars of yesteryears.
Even if Naseer had called Raj Kapoor his favorite, it would have been grudgingly accepted, for Raj sold sugary socialism and sexy altruism for decades.
But Naseer is talking about Shammi, Dev sahib, and―horrors― Dara Singh in superlative terms! Worse, he has nothing good to say about Shyam Benegal; despite Naqvi’s prompting to call him as his favorite director, Naseer refused to do that; instead, he went on naming Shekhar Kapoor, Gulzar, and Sai Paranpai as his favorites. It will be very difficult to put the three in the Art Cinema camp. Paranjpai actually made delightful and thoroughly entertaining movies Chashm-e-baddur and Katha; she can scarcely be thrown in the company of those who portrayed the sordid, the morbid, and the unlovely on celluloid.
What blasphemy! Naseer has no regard for the high priests of Art Cinema and the votaries of Theory. No wonder, Naqvi, a sixties’ generation representative, was incredulous.
Heroism, fake and real
Naveen Jindal is a young parliamentarian and industrialist. At the age of 40, the Congress leader represents the Kurukshetra constituency of Haryana in the Lok Sabha for the second time. Scion of a leading business house, he looks after the rail, steel, and power businesses of the Jindal Group.
He has had his education at the best institutions—Hansraj College of the University of Delhi and the University of Texas. He lives in one of the best localities in New Delhi; his bungalow is worth Rs 137 crore or $31 million.
In the past, he successfully campaigned for the citizens’ right to carry the national flag, a feat that made him a media darling; he has often been portrayed as a young icon, a committed politician, an earnest leader.
In short, he has access to the best in the world, and he is exposed to a variety of influences—presumably, also, the influences of modernity, individual liberty, and the rule of law. And what does he do? He makes out a case for khaps, the caste councils in Haryana and adjoining areas which act as kangaroo courts and dispense with barbaric justice, including lynching!
Then there is Chandrapati, a countrywoman who was widowed 18 years ago and who lives in her soldier-husband’s home in Karora village, Haryana. The 56-year-old woman has two daughters and a son; she had one more son who worked as a mechanic, Manoj. He married a girl of the same gotra (lineage or clan), Babli. For this, his wife’s family murdered the couple in 2007 on the diktat of a local khap. For years Chandrapati fought heroically for justice, which resulted in the first-ever court conviction in an honor-killing case.
The unassuming peasant woman had to face apparently insurmountable problems. Society, the local administration, the countless departments devoted to the cause of welfare state, myriad ‘civil society’ bodies—nobody came to her rescue. She was alone in her crusade against injustice and medievalism. Between one and none, wrote Nietzsche, lies an infinity; but it can also be infinite courage. A nondescript countrywoman from a nondescript village showed just that.
She told an interviewer in The Times Of India (April 4), “First, there was the village boycott. Everyone watches us, nobody comes, nobody speaks to us. We have no relatives in this village either. There was a time when it was difficult to get rations and milk even. The hostility was tremendous. We can’t step out of home without the police. I had to run from pillar to post simply to file the FIR.
“Even after I filed a case against the murderers, the panchayat came to bargain. They wanted to pay us off and offered Rs 1 crore. They said they’d sell land if required. Then they said, ‘You have daughters, we’ll do things to them.’ So the pressure was always there. It’s been three years of living in fear. They can do anything, any time. We face it. We live through it. There is no choice. And it’s not over or anything. I will see this through to the Supreme Court, if it reaches that point.”
No two persons can be as different as Chandrapati and Jindal. While she had the courage and gumption to take on the mightiest, our young parliamentarian decided to make a covenant with the forces of medievalism and barbarity. “I just feel, because they [khaps] are part of my parliamentary constituency, I have told them, they wanted to come and meet me and they wanted me to take the views to the government, to which I said, ‘Yes, I am duty-bound, so I would listen to you and I would take your views to the government’,” Jindal said.
What, pray, are the views of khap leaders? They want ban on marriages between same gotra. Their argument is that tradition does not allow such marriages; the Government should respect the customs of the country; therefore, same-gotra marriages should be legally prohibited. The argument is backed with force—brutal force. And the warning to youngsters is simple: you had better comply, or else…
Khaps say that exceptions were made in the Hindu marriage law, allowing union where customs said so. If local customs were earlier taken into account, they should be done now as well.
The fact is that the existing provisions expand the sphere of individual liberty, by letting marriage between certain tradition-sanctioned relations. Khaps, on the other hand, are hell-bent on shrinking that sphere by limiting people’s choice. And Jindal is “duty-bound” to take their retrograde views to the quarters that matter! So much for the ‘vision’ of our ‘young icons.’
Another, and bigger, icon is Rahul Gandhi who, in the words of Prof. Ravinder Kaur, is “fascinated by caste arithmetic, perfecting the art with modern technology and databases.” Is it moral progress if a cannibal uses spoon and fork? And is it a crusade for liberty if apparently modern, Westernized, and suave politicians masquerade their power-lust and Mandalite means with PR varnish?
He has had his education at the best institutions—Hansraj College of the University of Delhi and the University of Texas. He lives in one of the best localities in New Delhi; his bungalow is worth Rs 137 crore or $31 million.
In the past, he successfully campaigned for the citizens’ right to carry the national flag, a feat that made him a media darling; he has often been portrayed as a young icon, a committed politician, an earnest leader.
In short, he has access to the best in the world, and he is exposed to a variety of influences—presumably, also, the influences of modernity, individual liberty, and the rule of law. And what does he do? He makes out a case for khaps, the caste councils in Haryana and adjoining areas which act as kangaroo courts and dispense with barbaric justice, including lynching!
Then there is Chandrapati, a countrywoman who was widowed 18 years ago and who lives in her soldier-husband’s home in Karora village, Haryana. The 56-year-old woman has two daughters and a son; she had one more son who worked as a mechanic, Manoj. He married a girl of the same gotra (lineage or clan), Babli. For this, his wife’s family murdered the couple in 2007 on the diktat of a local khap. For years Chandrapati fought heroically for justice, which resulted in the first-ever court conviction in an honor-killing case.
The unassuming peasant woman had to face apparently insurmountable problems. Society, the local administration, the countless departments devoted to the cause of welfare state, myriad ‘civil society’ bodies—nobody came to her rescue. She was alone in her crusade against injustice and medievalism. Between one and none, wrote Nietzsche, lies an infinity; but it can also be infinite courage. A nondescript countrywoman from a nondescript village showed just that.
She told an interviewer in The Times Of India (April 4), “First, there was the village boycott. Everyone watches us, nobody comes, nobody speaks to us. We have no relatives in this village either. There was a time when it was difficult to get rations and milk even. The hostility was tremendous. We can’t step out of home without the police. I had to run from pillar to post simply to file the FIR.
“Even after I filed a case against the murderers, the panchayat came to bargain. They wanted to pay us off and offered Rs 1 crore. They said they’d sell land if required. Then they said, ‘You have daughters, we’ll do things to them.’ So the pressure was always there. It’s been three years of living in fear. They can do anything, any time. We face it. We live through it. There is no choice. And it’s not over or anything. I will see this through to the Supreme Court, if it reaches that point.”
No two persons can be as different as Chandrapati and Jindal. While she had the courage and gumption to take on the mightiest, our young parliamentarian decided to make a covenant with the forces of medievalism and barbarity. “I just feel, because they [khaps] are part of my parliamentary constituency, I have told them, they wanted to come and meet me and they wanted me to take the views to the government, to which I said, ‘Yes, I am duty-bound, so I would listen to you and I would take your views to the government’,” Jindal said.
What, pray, are the views of khap leaders? They want ban on marriages between same gotra. Their argument is that tradition does not allow such marriages; the Government should respect the customs of the country; therefore, same-gotra marriages should be legally prohibited. The argument is backed with force—brutal force. And the warning to youngsters is simple: you had better comply, or else…
Khaps say that exceptions were made in the Hindu marriage law, allowing union where customs said so. If local customs were earlier taken into account, they should be done now as well.
The fact is that the existing provisions expand the sphere of individual liberty, by letting marriage between certain tradition-sanctioned relations. Khaps, on the other hand, are hell-bent on shrinking that sphere by limiting people’s choice. And Jindal is “duty-bound” to take their retrograde views to the quarters that matter! So much for the ‘vision’ of our ‘young icons.’
Another, and bigger, icon is Rahul Gandhi who, in the words of Prof. Ravinder Kaur, is “fascinated by caste arithmetic, perfecting the art with modern technology and databases.” Is it moral progress if a cannibal uses spoon and fork? And is it a crusade for liberty if apparently modern, Westernized, and suave politicians masquerade their power-lust and Mandalite means with PR varnish?
Taking stock of Mr. Singh
When Prime Minister Manmohan Singh started his second term a year ago, there was considerable optimism in the air: Voters had marginalized small parties with petty, parochial agendas; the opposition Bharatiya Janata Party was in disarray; and Mr. Singh’s Congress Party had a strong political mandate. Given Mr. Singh’s profession as an economist and his role in India’s 1991 big-bang economic reforms, hopes were high that he would continue the reform agenda.
A year later, the government has produced only marginal action. The long-awaited third-generation mobile-phone spectrum auctions finally took place; disinvestment in public-sector companies is on track; and the national highways program, which languished under Congress’s first-term government, has been revived. Mr. Singh, to his credit, has laid special emphasis on fixing the country’s terrible infrastructure.
But, regrettably, little has been done in the spirit of real liberalization—that is, to roll back state from economy and increase the influence of the private sector in the economy. For instance, the government is selling minority stakes in state-run companies to dress up fiscal figures, not actually privatizing them, as its predecessor BJP-led government did. Major industries, such as banking and energy, remain largely state-run.
Nothing has been done to eliminate the residual legacies of the pre-1991, socialist past. India’s labor laws are antiquated and need to be made more flexible so that companies can react to changing market conditions. During Mr. Singh’s first term in office, he could never have contemplated reform in this area because of his alliance with the Communist Party. Yet now he’s ditched that alliance and still hasn’t touched this important area of reform.
Nor has Mr. Singh strengthened property-rights protection, either in the physical or intellectual sense. Farmers, especially in tribal areas, still have little right to transfer land they occupy and till. Companies, both domestic and foreign, struggle to protect their intellectual property. In one recent example, the Supreme Court denied Novartis a patent on a major cancer drug on the grounds that it wasn’t a major “innovation.” The company is appealing the decision, but the message to foreign investors has already been sent.
If anything, the Congress Party-led government has worked against the spirit of economic reforms. The most prominent example of this is the National Rural Employment Guarantee Act, created during Congress’s first term in office. The scheme guarantees the rural poor 100 days of work at the taxpayer’s expense. Apart from bleeding the public fisc to the tune of Rs 40,000 crore, the Act is creating conditions for permanent serfdom, with the Indian state as the feudal lord and millions as dependents. Congress has also expanded the state’s remit in education and is considering passing a Right to Food Act, which would further increase deficit.
Politics remains the major impediment to reform. Mr. Singh is unelected to his own parliamentary seat and has no political base of his own. The real power in the Congress is chairwoman Sonia Gandhi, who reigns as what the BJP policy makers like to call a kind of “super-prime minister.” She takes care of the political affairs of the party and the ruling coalition, while Mr. Singh takes care of the day-to-day running of government. Her most recent intervention was in favor of a caste-based census, a backward-looking suggestion that the BJP also supports.
India can’t afford this kind of left-leaning governance. The world’s most populous democracy is still a very poor country, with hundreds of thousands of people lacking even the most basic necessities. So long as New Delhi tries to solve all problems with the state, the slower growth will be—and the more people will be confined to poverty. A weak state also can’t confront the growing internal and external security threats the country faces; in particular, Maoist violence which has killed hundreds over the past year over vast swathes of the country.
Mr. Singh isn’t an economic neophyte; he understands what needs to be done. But will he stand up to Mrs. Gandhi and push reform? If he doesn’t, the drift will only continue and deepen.
This article was published in Wall Street Journal Asia on May 27, 2010
A year later, the government has produced only marginal action. The long-awaited third-generation mobile-phone spectrum auctions finally took place; disinvestment in public-sector companies is on track; and the national highways program, which languished under Congress’s first-term government, has been revived. Mr. Singh, to his credit, has laid special emphasis on fixing the country’s terrible infrastructure.
But, regrettably, little has been done in the spirit of real liberalization—that is, to roll back state from economy and increase the influence of the private sector in the economy. For instance, the government is selling minority stakes in state-run companies to dress up fiscal figures, not actually privatizing them, as its predecessor BJP-led government did. Major industries, such as banking and energy, remain largely state-run.
Nothing has been done to eliminate the residual legacies of the pre-1991, socialist past. India’s labor laws are antiquated and need to be made more flexible so that companies can react to changing market conditions. During Mr. Singh’s first term in office, he could never have contemplated reform in this area because of his alliance with the Communist Party. Yet now he’s ditched that alliance and still hasn’t touched this important area of reform.
Nor has Mr. Singh strengthened property-rights protection, either in the physical or intellectual sense. Farmers, especially in tribal areas, still have little right to transfer land they occupy and till. Companies, both domestic and foreign, struggle to protect their intellectual property. In one recent example, the Supreme Court denied Novartis a patent on a major cancer drug on the grounds that it wasn’t a major “innovation.” The company is appealing the decision, but the message to foreign investors has already been sent.
If anything, the Congress Party-led government has worked against the spirit of economic reforms. The most prominent example of this is the National Rural Employment Guarantee Act, created during Congress’s first term in office. The scheme guarantees the rural poor 100 days of work at the taxpayer’s expense. Apart from bleeding the public fisc to the tune of Rs 40,000 crore, the Act is creating conditions for permanent serfdom, with the Indian state as the feudal lord and millions as dependents. Congress has also expanded the state’s remit in education and is considering passing a Right to Food Act, which would further increase deficit.
Politics remains the major impediment to reform. Mr. Singh is unelected to his own parliamentary seat and has no political base of his own. The real power in the Congress is chairwoman Sonia Gandhi, who reigns as what the BJP policy makers like to call a kind of “super-prime minister.” She takes care of the political affairs of the party and the ruling coalition, while Mr. Singh takes care of the day-to-day running of government. Her most recent intervention was in favor of a caste-based census, a backward-looking suggestion that the BJP also supports.
India can’t afford this kind of left-leaning governance. The world’s most populous democracy is still a very poor country, with hundreds of thousands of people lacking even the most basic necessities. So long as New Delhi tries to solve all problems with the state, the slower growth will be—and the more people will be confined to poverty. A weak state also can’t confront the growing internal and external security threats the country faces; in particular, Maoist violence which has killed hundreds over the past year over vast swathes of the country.
Mr. Singh isn’t an economic neophyte; he understands what needs to be done. But will he stand up to Mrs. Gandhi and push reform? If he doesn’t, the drift will only continue and deepen.
This article was published in Wall Street Journal Asia on May 27, 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)