My first tryst with the ballot box, albeit vicarious, is one of my sharpest preteen memories. It followed from two formidable influences. The first was not really a choice: an accident of birth in India's most politically conscious state indelibly imprints one's social DNA (it also bred a marked proclivity to opinion-dissemination as my later day acquaintances would vouch)! Second, my skewed reading habits accentuated such leanings: newspapers had displaced ACK and assorted comics as lunchtime accessory, helped no doubt by having a national daily in HT set up shop in my hometown (their first venture out of Delhi).
Whatever be the fount of my hyperactive appetite for things political, fact is that the 1984 election was epochal. Its preceding event had been notoriously described by a key protagonist as "when a giant tree falls, the earth below shakes". Consequent sympathy, combined with Obamaesque 'change' appeal and youthful vitality, delivered a verdict that shattered all records. It remains possibly the strongest mandate India would hand any of her progeny. My inclinations too were firmly in line with the national pulse.
Unfortunately for me and India, this virginal promise was belied. What followed is most tellingly described by the incomparable Nani Palkhivala in his seminal We the Nation, adapting Malcolm Muggeridge to write: "never was any generation of men intent upon the pursuit of well-being more advantageously placed to attain it, who yet, with seeming deliberation, took the opposite course - towards chaos instead of order, towards breakdown instead of stability, towards destruction and darkness instead of life, creativity and light."
This is not to argue that no good came of the Rajiv years. Indeed, economic paradigm shifts that became more pronounced in the Nineties had green shoots in his regime's policy changes. Yet, the overwhelming mood in Elections 89 was one of frittered opportunities. It did not leave me untouched. Across India, the angst spilled on to the streets; with a new Mr Clean as its face. The sense of disenchantment and nascent anti-establishment spirit rang true personally too, but my feelings towards the new hero remained ambivalent. Instead, in this backdrop, my leanings had started to swing Right.
A notable reality of electoral life in those days was the scourge of booth capturing. Variously manifest in avatars like 'scientific booth management' a la Comrades in West Bengal, seething discontent of denied Dalit voice across the hinterland, or in-your-face Bahubali muscle-flexing in what became Laloo's Bihar; this malaise made a mockery of universal suffrage. Doordarshan would later run an exposé on it, a true shot in the arm for the maturing of Indian democracy (it made Nalini Singh a household name, inspiring a generation of budding journalists more than Tehelka's scandal-mongering or early-Barkha bravado that would follow). In 1989, though it ruled the roost. Despite it, that multiple close relatives of the then Bihar CM lost at the hustings, was an early lesson in the power of Demos for me.
As it transpired, the verdict was split, but writing was on the wall. VP Singh, erstwhile Congressi and Sanjay acolyte, took helm in Delhi, with forces from opposite ends of the political spectrum 'supporting the government from outside'. Beset by internal quibbling from day 1, it took but a few months for the tenuous JD sarkar to crumble, though not before the Raja of Manda contributed his pernicious bit towards social re-engineering (euphemism for vote bank creation). The forces unleashed through Mandal, little understood by that misdirected messiah, would dramatically alter the country's political landscape.
The dispensation that followed VP made PM of an old Young Turk: one who had challenged Mrs G in the 70s; and whose supporters had fought a pitched battle on camera with Shri Ram Jethmalani (trying Gandhian tactics with the warrior of Ballia over JD leadership) just months ago. As a government it was meant to bide time, which it did; and not disturb historians much, which it did not. Of course there were non-trifles like our sovereign Republic needing to pledge gold to honour debt servicing commitments, but that happenstance was too big for blame to be placed on Chandra Shekhar's footnote-in-history regime.
Elections were announced in the summer of 1991, with disillusionment over the non-Congress experiment on the rise and Mandal-Mandir working overtime to cement their respective positions in our polity. With a heart pulled strongly Right, my vote had one only other potential legatee: the original Harbinger of Hope, wizened by the decline and fall of his 411/542 government. One felt Rajiv's battle-hardened second coming, with political instinct more sharply honed, could be more potent and present.
It may have been a great combination but, for a second time, it was not to be. An erstwhile misadventure returned to haunt RG fatally, an evening eighteen years ago to the day, while on the campaign trail in a dusty town on Chennai's outskirts. In classical sub-continent political drama mould, the conspiracy behind the assassination at Sripreumbudur has never entirely untangled, at least in the public domain, except affirming that an LTTE suicide squad was its instrument. Perhaps far greater than the facts, repressed or otherwise, was the tale of a tragically extinguished promise: avowed goals, provided means but missed opportunities in 1984; lessons learnt, force revitalized but a life cut short seven years later. Too soon.
PS: The principal architect of the May misfortune was killed by the bullet that he had lived much of his life by, just this past week. Not too soon.
Whatever be the fount of my hyperactive appetite for things political, fact is that the 1984 election was epochal. Its preceding event had been notoriously described by a key protagonist as "when a giant tree falls, the earth below shakes". Consequent sympathy, combined with Obamaesque 'change' appeal and youthful vitality, delivered a verdict that shattered all records. It remains possibly the strongest mandate India would hand any of her progeny. My inclinations too were firmly in line with the national pulse.
Unfortunately for me and India, this virginal promise was belied. What followed is most tellingly described by the incomparable Nani Palkhivala in his seminal We the Nation, adapting Malcolm Muggeridge to write: "never was any generation of men intent upon the pursuit of well-being more advantageously placed to attain it, who yet, with seeming deliberation, took the opposite course - towards chaos instead of order, towards breakdown instead of stability, towards destruction and darkness instead of life, creativity and light."
This is not to argue that no good came of the Rajiv years. Indeed, economic paradigm shifts that became more pronounced in the Nineties had green shoots in his regime's policy changes. Yet, the overwhelming mood in Elections 89 was one of frittered opportunities. It did not leave me untouched. Across India, the angst spilled on to the streets; with a new Mr Clean as its face. The sense of disenchantment and nascent anti-establishment spirit rang true personally too, but my feelings towards the new hero remained ambivalent. Instead, in this backdrop, my leanings had started to swing Right.
A notable reality of electoral life in those days was the scourge of booth capturing. Variously manifest in avatars like 'scientific booth management' a la Comrades in West Bengal, seething discontent of denied Dalit voice across the hinterland, or in-your-face Bahubali muscle-flexing in what became Laloo's Bihar; this malaise made a mockery of universal suffrage. Doordarshan would later run an exposé on it, a true shot in the arm for the maturing of Indian democracy (it made Nalini Singh a household name, inspiring a generation of budding journalists more than Tehelka's scandal-mongering or early-Barkha bravado that would follow). In 1989, though it ruled the roost. Despite it, that multiple close relatives of the then Bihar CM lost at the hustings, was an early lesson in the power of Demos for me.
As it transpired, the verdict was split, but writing was on the wall. VP Singh, erstwhile Congressi and Sanjay acolyte, took helm in Delhi, with forces from opposite ends of the political spectrum 'supporting the government from outside'. Beset by internal quibbling from day 1, it took but a few months for the tenuous JD sarkar to crumble, though not before the Raja of Manda contributed his pernicious bit towards social re-engineering (euphemism for vote bank creation). The forces unleashed through Mandal, little understood by that misdirected messiah, would dramatically alter the country's political landscape.
The dispensation that followed VP made PM of an old Young Turk: one who had challenged Mrs G in the 70s; and whose supporters had fought a pitched battle on camera with Shri Ram Jethmalani (trying Gandhian tactics with the warrior of Ballia over JD leadership) just months ago. As a government it was meant to bide time, which it did; and not disturb historians much, which it did not. Of course there were non-trifles like our sovereign Republic needing to pledge gold to honour debt servicing commitments, but that happenstance was too big for blame to be placed on Chandra Shekhar's footnote-in-history regime.
Elections were announced in the summer of 1991, with disillusionment over the non-Congress experiment on the rise and Mandal-Mandir working overtime to cement their respective positions in our polity. With a heart pulled strongly Right, my vote had one only other potential legatee: the original Harbinger of Hope, wizened by the decline and fall of his 411/542 government. One felt Rajiv's battle-hardened second coming, with political instinct more sharply honed, could be more potent and present.
It may have been a great combination but, for a second time, it was not to be. An erstwhile misadventure returned to haunt RG fatally, an evening eighteen years ago to the day, while on the campaign trail in a dusty town on Chennai's outskirts. In classical sub-continent political drama mould, the conspiracy behind the assassination at Sripreumbudur has never entirely untangled, at least in the public domain, except affirming that an LTTE suicide squad was its instrument. Perhaps far greater than the facts, repressed or otherwise, was the tale of a tragically extinguished promise: avowed goals, provided means but missed opportunities in 1984; lessons learnt, force revitalized but a life cut short seven years later. Too soon.
PS: The principal architect of the May misfortune was killed by the bullet that he had lived much of his life by, just this past week. Not too soon.
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3 comments:
Dear Bandhu,
Here is another take on the seemingly tragic events of the subcontinent. But I would like to take you further back, twenty years from 1991, when our young man's mother won a famous victory and Bangladesh was created. In three years, the whole of India was in flames. Corruption had been an issue before too, but why was this happening in the wake of 1971? On the other side of the border, the gallant Banga Bandhu, one of the greatest political leaders this subcontinent will ever see, was murdered in cold blood, just four years after India had crowned him king. What was going on? My take is, Mrs. Gandhi had upset the calculations of two hungry dogs, one in North America and the other in North Asia. So they had to do something to upset the applecart. Bangladesh was easy pickings- bribing a few disgruntled armymen was enough, India was more difficult- hence the Emergency et al. But the end result was still achieved- Mrs. Gandhi, the Invincible, lost power. Cut to 1984, Mrs. Gandhi dies, and a relative greenhorn comes to power. But Lo and behold, the greenhorn can actually think! In the five years that he is in power, he brings in initiatives that India is still reaping benefits from: National Telecom Mission which was the harbinger of our IT and Telecom revolution, STI PCOs and what not (during my work in Rajasthan, there were places you would not think of getting water, which still had the ubiquitous yellow trapezium), the Panchayati Raj amendment (about which the wretched Press had said this will be the way the PM will directly bribe the Sarpanches, and yet, which I have personally seen how it is bringing empowerment to the grassroots), Zonal Cultural Centres, National Watershed Mission, Shatabdi trains, the various accords- Punjab, Assam, Nagaland and so on, the vision of Indian Navy as a blue water navy...the list goes on.
In come the followers of Sun Tzu, according to whom the best way to fight your enemy is not to fight him directly. Hence the use of LTTE to do the dirty work. If Rajiv Gandhi had come back, the biggest loser would have been our barbaric northern neighbour, in their inexorable march towards world domination, towards the restoration of the Middle Kingdom. I call them barbaric because the Cultural Revolution has removed any semblance of culture that they might have had, on account of their ancient civilization. My point is, whenever India has moved towards greater political stability, forces have worked conspiringly to take it in the direction opposite. To me, 1971 and 1984 in that sense have eerie similarities, Baba Palkhiwala's lamentations notwithstanding. Think about it, Bandhu. Now I do not laugh at Rajiv Gandhi / Foreign hand jokes anymore. I feel sad at having participated in the political assassination of a good man at the hands of the media. A good man who loved his country, and to whom his country owes so much.
P.O.L.I.T.I.C.S.... In spite of utter disinterest, distrust and above all my denseness towards this 8 letter word, I thoroughly enjoyed every word - each & every word - word when clubbed with the rest put down by you, depicted, erstwhile happenings of Indian Dominion. Your narration drove my thoughts back when I was spending summer holidays at my favorite Aunt's house in Delhi, it was early morning, early enough for a rowdy 10 year old to wake up while holidaying ... someone on the television was yapping about a suicidal bomb blast in which Rajiv Gandhi was killed ... I spent the entire day questioning Ma, as to why would someone kill Rajiv Gandhi and that if she was sure about his demise. On being reassured by her and multiple sources I couldn't resist the tear drop which I was holding back since morning, even decided to forgo the evening frolic in the neighboring park with my Favorite Kins … Kins, whom I haven’t seen in ages and a Leader, whom I still miss at times.
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