"My name is Karl. And I am not a Marxist"

Mamata Banerjee is no stranger to controversy. Conspiracy, it seems though, is what really bothers her. Well, personally I have run out of jokes on her conspiracy theories regarding crib deaths, censuring newspapers, and labelling rapes as orchestrated by her detractors. And now she had to go and remove references of Karl Marx and Fredrick Engels from the state higher secondary syllabus. And more recently—which is actually a day old—she got a professor arrested for circulating a “malicious, and derogatory” cartoon of her on the internet.

It was rather hilarious, until the Marx bit. But now, I’ve hit saturation point. I mean, there is a limit to how many times you can tweet about one person on Twitter. And like I said, I was running of jokes.

From a probashi (diaspora) point-of-view, I’ve always imagined how life in WB would’ve been like. I mean, apart from my annual trips to my ancestral home, and the two-day stay at Calcutta, I have never really explored the culture there, and nor have I had a chance to understand the politics of the state—at least, in a way I understand it back home, considering the Saffron legacy in Bombay and Maharashtra. Now, however, I am not too sure. I think being a distant commentator (and thus, far away from Mamata’s jurisdiction) is what I would prefer. Heck, I’m even trying to contemplate under what section she could charge me (to the utter horror of my dad). The thing is, honestly, I know that the politics of the Trinamool are fed by paranoia and paranoia alone; their ideology, so to say, is an anti-ideology—violently negating every (seemingly oppositional) belief system, be it political, ethical, cultural or moral.

So, without taking on the Trinamool and Mamata directly (mostly, because I don’t wish to recycle Arnab Goswami’s profound critiques) I think I should give a little thought to the ‘real’ victims of the Didi’s vendetta: Marx and Engels.

My first tryst was Marx was in the 10^th standard, when I first wished to read Das Kapital, as much as I wanted to read Rousseau, or Jefferson—because back then, history had a way of inspiring the mind of a fifteen year-old, and the idea that I could bask in the ideas of these great men, ideas which inspired revolutions, was just fascinating.

Fast forward four years, when I’ve actually read quite a bit of Marx, well enough to see the naivety and sheer stupidity of Mamata’s move. And I don’t think Mamata’s solely responsible for this—the more widespread outlook on Marx, and Marxism, are often very crass and diluted versions of Marx’s original ideas. For example, almost everyone—every layperson at least—would equate Soviet Communism with Marx. While Marx’s vision of the Revolution did indeed encapsulate the establishment of a communist stage,[1] but he never envisaged a communist state—which is a contradiction in terms.[2] The later works of Marx are often his more scientific one; that is, his vision of the revolution isn’t merely a utopian one, but a scientific and logical one, which is rooted in the class inequalities and exploitation of the capitalist political-economy.[3]

The Communist Party of India’s (Marxist) attempts have also been an ideological corruption of several of Marx’s core arguments; the bourgeoisie social location of its top leaders, like Karat, Yechury and their well-rehearsed arguments against the neo-liberal economics, are examples of a few. However, the real issue here is not the CPI(M), but the problem of putting a Marxian ideology (once again, a contradiction in terms, insofar as Marx’s works are concerned)[4] in the multiparty political scene in India.

I’ve had the privilege of learning under teachers who’ve presented both the strengths and weaknesses of the bulk of Marx’s works, and under them, I’ve had the confidence to engage with (and critique) some of his ideas, which I wouldn’t have, had I not been interested in the philosopher as a naïve 15 year-old. And by removing the reference to Marx (for, they’re exactly that: references to Marx and Engels, in context of the Russian and Industrial Revolution, where they all but mention Marx for a mere paragraph or two) she’s sending out a very wrong, and erroneous message to the to-be intellectual van guard of tomorrow: the fact that someone else gets to choose and thus, to shape what we would learn; the ideology of the state, an ideology of paranoia. I agree with Derek O’brien when he says equal weightage has to be given to Mahatma and Mandela. But is Marx any more, or less, important? I don’t think so. For, as a friend of mine put it, in education, balancing is not synonymous with deletion.   

In one sociology class, we were debating the relevance of Marxian thought, one side of the argument stating that Marx’s works have lost their relevance now that the revolution he predicted never happened, and that even universities abroad don’t study Marx. Then again, on the other hand, modification of Marxian thought, like the new-Leftism of the Frankfurt School,[5] and very recent movements against neo-liberal economics, like ‘Occupy Wall Street’ have showed that the central arguments of Marx’s works will always be relevant, because of their deep engagement with the struggles of humanity. And as long as the debate rages, young people will find one way or another to read up on Marx, and by god, we need educational institutions which can guide students without corrupting the core ideas of an intellectual tradition. 

Marx’s sociology was, in many ways, incomplete. But which theory is otherwise? I think (arguably) his most central idea—that of economic determinism, has been proved wrong by both his critics as well as his successors.[6] But that only enhances his relevance, not diminishes it. In a country like ours, until we’re able to tackle the most basic, and human issues, the German philosopher would continue to influence as well as intimidate, many like me and my peers. But I cannot see a reason why Didi should be so bothered. I mean, by the extension of her logic, the next step would be to ban left-lane driving in West Bengal. Then again, to those of you familiar with WB traffic, there is hardly any lane driving, in the first place.

Endnotes

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[1] Marx essentially sees history as dialectic, that is, it moves through stages with different competing interests between social groups; the stages he refers to are: primitive communism, where everyone owned everything; slave mode of production where the slaves had no rights; the feudal mode, where the serfs were tied to their lands; capitalistic mode, where the capitalist owned resources, including the labour of the workers; and, the stage of communism, where the capitalistic economy was dismantled, or overthrown.

[2] For the revolution to be successful, Marx predicted, it was necessary that the state, which is an apparatus to favour the capital-owning class, to “wither away”.

[3] In a capitalistic political-economy, it was in the state’s benefit to favour the capital-owning class as it ensured greater profits for the state. The population, for Marx, was effectively divided into the bourgeoisie and the proletariat (haves and have-nots, respectively) and the latter were exploited by the former. Class struggle was thus, the basic premise of the revolution, for Marx.

[4] For Marx, ideologies or the “superstructure” (e.g. religion, political systems etc.) stemmed from the “base”, viz. the material or the economic sphere, i.e. the relationship of man to the means of production.

[5] By the mid-twentieth century, proponents of Marxian thought were disillusioned with the Soviet state’s practice of ‘corrupted’ Communism, and the blatant capitalistic economies of the West. Thus, a new wave in Marxian thought emerged, of which one of the most well-known is the Frankfurt Institute (1930s to 1960s).

[6] The Frankfurt School, for example, used the ideas of another sociologist, Max Weber, and argued against the economic reductionism of traditional Marxian thought, saying that ideologies and ideas were equally important as, and not entirely dependent on, the economic sphere of life.

End-of-the-year-ramblings and a tribute to democracy

They say the year 2011 was the year of protests and revolutions; Time Magazine namedthe anonymous, face half-covered protester the Person of the Year. The Arab world witnessed what many have called the Arab Spring and the Jasmine Revolution. Wall Street was occupied by anti-capitalist protesters—the “99 percent”, as they call themselves. Back home, many claim that we witnessed the “second freedom struggle”, this one against corruption—of what kind, though, remains ambiguously unanswered. It seems that people were happy rallying around a messiah figurehead, and chanting anti-government slogans. “Politicians are thieves!” said millions of voices. This year has been one where our concepts of democracy, governance and freedom have been tested, challenged, changed and, rather paradoxically, taken for granted even.

A great year for democracy, a great year for revolutions—only, like always, there’s a catch.

About a year or so back, I scribbled these lines in a notebook, unaware of its significance in the context of last year’s protests. It goes like this: 
‘neither am I a son of a politician, nor an influential anywho...I am a voice in the crowd...one silent for too long...decided to speak up now. The kind of voice you should be afraid of. Very, very afraid.’

When I saw images of hundreds of thousands assembling in Tahrir Square in Cairo, in Tripoli, in Sanaa, in Damascus, I realised the profoundness of these otherwise meaningless lines. Democracy, it seemed then, was being salvaged from a deep, dark slumber it had fallen into in these regimes of tyranny and decadency. Today, while I still hold that romanticised perspective, I confess, I am a tad cynical. At least when I see democracy being taken for granted in my country.

Take the Parliament proceedings, for example. The Opposition and members of the so-called civil society called it a “midnight murder of democracy”. I beg to differ. I would refer to the same incident as democracy struggling to fight efforts that stifle it. Make no mistake, I am not a firm believer in democracy; it is, in Rousseau’s words, a system meant for gods. Thus, a democracy for a flawed species like ours can be only that: flawed. And it is also one which my countrymen have taken for granted. And this is the premise of this essay.

The year 2011 may well be the year of protestors, and it may be rightly so, too. But we can hardly feature in the same. India is notorious for processes which subvert the democratic principles on many, many levels; the bureaucracy has come to exist like a sui generis system, existing as a culture industry of sorts, subsuming talent, dissent and everything it can; which is, to all intents and purposes, running the country. People who speak up for rights are labelled as seditionists, anti-nationalists and what not; indigenous movements are labelled as being Luddite and anti-development; vast hinterland tracts of the country living without electricity, water supply and organised governance. 

This is the murder of democracy, or the rape of it. Having my rights trampled by the vociferous advocacy of someone else’s peeves - that is the molestation of democracy. All these are far from homicidal intents. And we should know one thing: the democratic setup (in the neo-liberal sense) is what allows the powered classes to retain control of power. So, for the better or worse, democracy in India is a self-serving, and a self-defeating mechanism simultaneously. It is alive, but crippled. Not murdered, mind you. Not yet, at least.

Which brings me to the next part of my argument: the future of democracy. Anna Hazare’s fast has been declared a revolution, freedom struggle and what not. Truth is: the only true oppression that we have ever seen, collectively, was pre-1947. There have been regional tensions in the past, four major wars, countless attacks, and tens of thousands of lives lost in all kinds of extremist violence. Yet, I think I’ll be brash—or foolish—enough to say that we will never see the same fate as Egypt, or Libya, or Syria. One, because the self-serving and self-defeating system would not allow for the state to become tyrannical; and two, because revolution has died in the minds of the Indian people.

Sure thousands gathered at Ramlila Maidan and protested, sang songs of unity and nationalism. But when push comes to shove—which we, in all probability, would not feel—the sarkar is the maibaap for the people. No matter which party is in power, the government will always be the patriarch of the Indian people. We won’t take to anarchy or revolution because (apart from the need for it not arising, in the first place) we are all too preoccupied with our nine-to-five jobs, our bubbled existences, the IPL, whilst partaking in profound criticisms of the government, holding candle-light vigils, staying indoors on election day, to name a few. And the other India—the one which, by government standards, earns less than 32 rupees a day—is too busy trying to make ends meet.

Self-serving and self-defeating at the same time.

A revolution is too time consuming, too unpredictable. We go to election with fixed, dichotomous results in mind: either the UPA or the NDA. Or, a caste or linguistic affinity. Religion, maybe.  And frankly, can there be another option? Unless Team Anna contests the Lok Sabha polls in 2014.

We won’t change the nation because that would mean changing our habits; inviting uncertainty, chaos and a possibility of missing the IPL and our daily dose of Bigg Boss.

This essay, or rambling—whatever you choose to call it—will not change the nation, nor aid the same in any way whatsoever. Because that is not my prerogative; as Oscar Wilde puts it, an artist’s job is to portray the world as he sees it, not to reform it as we know it. I cannot imagine a “changed” India. And I don’t think the 1.2 billion Indians can do so either—not without problems, at least. They may go to Ramlila or Azad maidan and protest for a romanticised vision. And I, on my arm-chair—or desk more so—will continue to be cynical about it. We are a paradoxical nation filled with hypocrites and starved souls. And by god, that’s a very morbid reason for why I love India.


Here’s to democracy, to revolution and to a freedom taken forever for granted. Happy new year and have a fantastic 2012!

Some thoughts on multiculturalism

As a nation, largely and collectively, we take personal pride in calling ourselves a multicultural or a pluralist society. Of course, why shouldn’t we—many rightly point out. We are a very large nation, with the states having their unique, distinct, yet collective heritage. The official state-sponsored secularism makes matters like religious orientation a question of choice and is thus, protected by law against discrimination. True, xenophobia is a reality in today’s society, but often so when it confronts states as politico-economic entities, rather than cultural ones; even the right-wing organisations are not strictly anti-other cultures per se—at least not now; the BJP would require Muslims and Christians be more Hindu, or Raj Thackeray would want migrants to be fluent in Marathi culture (as if that’d stop him and his north Indian bashing agenda). However, apart from such instances of ethnocentric discourses, our notion of multiculturalism, even within such complex structures and realities, is rather dogmatic and one-dimensional.

True, we may profess our multi-ethnic, pluralistic nature by saying that festivals or religious celebrations are more widely celebrated, and all; we may enjoy the cuisine of another state, or perhaps even dress traditionally for any such occasion. But, these attributes are external, as opposed to an internalised one, like say, language. People often remark that Marathi speaking skills are rather efficient, for a Bengali, that is. And I get even stranger looks when I say that I enjoy Tamil music.

“How can you?” they ask, wide-eyed.

“Because I like it, and I enjoy the music,” is my usually awkward reply.

“But you don’t understand the language...”

“Do I need to?”

Well, need I elaborate anymore?

We are programmed—as citizens, or Indians, or plainly as individuals in a multicultural society—to think that each culture, so to say, is endemic. In the real world, this would translate as one of those shows on SAB TV, where you have practically every linguistic state group residing in a cooperative housing society. And quite often, we are fooled to believe that such realities actually exist. If we are indeed so multicultural, why then, for example, are people from the north-eastern states conspicuously absent in Tarak Mehta’s cooperative society? More so, not only are we led to believe that each culture is endemic, but also that in being endemic, they are something external to us. We may enjoy Gujrati theplas being a Maharashtrian, or appams if we’re Bengali. We might even dress, in rare occasions, in the “garb” of another state. But internalised knowledge, say language, or music, is something unknown to our schema of understanding.

Maybe that’s why a certain professor of mine expressed her surprise when she met a student, who happens to be Catholic, and would sing Hindi songs—not the larger ‘Bollywood’, mind you—with ease, as opposed to, perhaps Christmas carols or Billy Joel.

In a broader international context, we may take insult when we are lumped as south Asians; because “we’re Indian, and we are a multicultural society.” But even within the multicultural framework of our own society, we respond only and largely to the state-sponsored idea of pluralism. More pressing issues, such as tribal identities were left unresolved during the period of state formation. And now that we are a properly functioning politico-economic union, with demarcated cultural hubs, and indeed the idea of what exactly may constitute culture, such questions would remain unanswered or unresolved.

A celebration of multiculturalism, thus, seems to require the marginalisation or negation even, of certain cultures. And I shall not expect a relaxation of those curious looks when I profess my likeness for Tamil music.  So much for unity in diversity, I suppose.

Forgotten Justice

The internet is abuzz with a lot of activity concerning two individuals: Keenan Santos and Reuben Fernandez. There are online petitions, Facebook pages, newspaper campaigns demanding justice for Keenan and Reuben, and for zero-tolerance of crimes against women. The tragic incident, which unfortunately resulted in the deaths of Keenan and Rueben, has put this issue of sexual harassment and street-violence in the limelight. The chief minister, the law minister and the likes have been approached. A vast, internet-surfing, 20-something (and older) crowd has demanded justice. And in all likelihood, justice would be served.

I shall not deal with their quest for justice, or any of their campaigns doing the same. Nor I am going to advocate their cause. Not because there’s something wrong in it; for clearly, there isn’t; but because I have come to question our very sense of morality and conception of justice.

There are several questions I have about what happened that night, and thanks to the media, there are several answers too. I will refrain from commenting on them, because by doing so I would indirectly question Keenan and Rueben’s actions, and thus, their memories. What I will question, is the aftermath in the public domain; which I see reposted on my Facebook wall every day.

Most of the posts say that, I could have been in their place, and therefore I should care about the cause. I agree to that.

But is that the only reason why I should care? Because someone from my social location has been wilfully and gravely caused hurt; because my existence and ideas of freedom in this city are now under threat? Or is it because my female friends (also from my social location) could bear the brunt of such callousness in the future?

If it is so, then I shall very politely refrain from expressing my “support”. Make no mistake; I am not undermining the cause here; but the methods to act upon a cause.

For one, I think there’s something very wrong in the way we’ve all jumped on to this bandwagon. For long, and even now, the newspapers have carried one-paragraphed reports of cases, be it crimes of a sexual nature, or instances of street violence resulting in deaths and injuries. Be it rape, or dowry deaths, or child abuse, society’s response to such crimes has always been that of schematic empathy, so long as the mainstream has remained unaffected. My question is: why haven’t there been campaigns to address these issues?

Before I answer that I would like to share an example.

About six, maybe seven months back, there was a case of serial-rapes and murders of three girls in a Kurla slum. All three girls were abducted from outside their homes, raped and murdered; their bodies were discarded as one would do so for a culled animal. The Garib nagar area lived in perpetual fear for the lives of their children for nearly three months. Despite of which, the third girl’s body was found on the terrace of a police building. Mercifully, the killings stopped and a suspect was arrested. And it is commendable on part of the press that they followed the case thoroughly till it reached a somewhat conclusive end; I am not yet aware of any trial or conviction. But, while this incident may have put one isolated issue on the frontlines of public discourse, several others are relegated to one-paragraphed, correspondent reports, only to be lost in the newspapers.

Every other day there are reports of sexual offences against women, or about people being assaulted as viciously and fatally as Keenan and Rueben were. It’s not that crime has reached unmanageable proportions or that the police are not doing their job. Whatever the scenario was, it is still more or less the same. The tragic episode at Amboli was an instance where these two worlds collided, and led to a crime of the most heinous nature, condemnable by all standards of a civilised society.

But the real injustice does not lie only in this one instance, which by all means was a freak incident. The real injustice lies in our inability to see beyond our pain. We are asking for tougher laws because our shelled existence of safety and security has been shattered; because we have been exposed to the murky and treacherous waters, through which thousands thread every day, and very often, they do so under the pain of death and suffering. It’s only when our feet have been filthied that we are asking for the mud to be removed. And truth be told, we will retreat to our shelled existence once we are assured that we shall never again come in touch with such murkiness, even if it damns the people on the other side.

When the Taj and Oberoi were attacked on 26^th November, a certain class of people were shocked and were forced to come out of their luxuries; precisely because these very luxuries were now under threat. The Taj became the symbol of the 26/11 terror attacks; not CST. The 26/11 attacks have had anniversaries—which were callous and hypocritical celebrations of elitism; the July 11 train blasts, or any other terror episodes, haven’t.

In a similar vein, on-going campaigns crying out for ‘Zero-tolerance’ and ‘Justice for Keenan and Rueben’ reek of upper-middle class bias and elitism. It reeks of our apathy and indifference to confront issues which do not directly affect us. There is a huge deficit in our notion of morality, and the way this notion espouses justice. And as such, by declaring our outrage in the public forum, there is a severely hegemonic move towards covering up this deficit. We profess to defend our morality by contextualising justice in a way in which it would primarily benefit us. Not that a campaign sexual harassment would not benefit a less privileged, marginalised group. But we are consecutively and conspicuously failing to address a larger question: not just about the denial of justice, but also of the lack of access to it.

The outrage and outburst regarding the vicious assault on Keenan and Rueben’s is by every means justified; but this is an outrage moulded by our class consciousness and threat perception to our way of life. More than that, what I find staggering are the posts on the Facebook page, which demand nothing short of vigilantism, bloodlust and anarchy. Such extreme reactions are not a manifestation of injustice; far from it, this is the result of severely clamped vision of society beyond our own boundaries. Many claim, they’ve been wronged; but to manipulate such motives and indeed to manufacture conscience and justice on a public forum is a condemnable act in itself.  

And this demand for justice stifles another one, rendering it meaningless and unimportant: that of social injustice.

Freedom For Granted

There's a lot being said and done in India these days by a man called Anna Hazare. Millions of Indians are following him. They've found their messiah, it seems; one who will root out this evil called 'corruption' and restore India to her former glory. The entire nation is in a frenzy; a euphoria. "Enough," say a million voices. "End corruption now!" Pity, if only it were so easy.  

I have, or at one point had, tremendous respect for Anna Hazare; they way he transformed his native village Ralegan Siddhi into a near-perfect utopia, his honesty and sense of honour and most importantly, his belief in the Gandhian way of non-violence. Today, as he and his compatriots (and not to mention, thousands of sycophants) hog every news channel and news paper, I feel deceived. Not that my respect for Anna Hazare has diminished; it's actually a matter of principle: I have a thing against people who've got the Messiah Complex. And as is evident, Anna Hazare has a tremendous one. 

I realize now, as I am writing, I have not said a single word about the Jan Lokpal Bill--the reason why Annaji is a national phenomenon. Clearly, the man has overshadowed the cause. And that is what bothers me. 

Also, I do not consider Anna a second Gandhi. Just the same way I cannot call some racist neo-fanatic Hitler. To do so would be to show utter disregard to history. And I do not, and will never, don the insignia stating: 'I am Anna Hazare'. I am far too big a narcissist to assume someone else's identity. Besides, I already mentioned my dislike for people with the Messiah Complex earlier, no?

To get to the point, I do not endorse the Jan Lokpal Bill which has been drafted by the members of the so-called Civil Society (what are other Indians then, uncivil? or savage?). Neither am I in full support of the government's version. Both have some serious glitches. Though the latter, if drafted with direction and political will (note the 'if') would be more workable than the so-called Civil Society's. Most importantly because it would have the sanction of the Constitution and the Parliament behind it (the very powers that citizens vested in it). Sadly though, it is not to be this way. And mobs wearing Gandhi caps on Azad Maidan and elsewhere are also indicative of something gone terribly wrong. 

I will not criticise the Jan Lokpal Bill here; it is flawed, yes. And you know very well what the flaws are (unless of course, you're one of those Gandhi cap wearing anti-graft crusader ramblers sorts). What really bothers me, is that these mobs, and the pseudo-intellectual support that they're getting have dubbed this as protest as a 'revolution', even to the extent of calling it a 'second freedom struggle'. This, I feel, is misplaced idealism and the most explicit instance of optimistic stupidity gone awry. 

There are very few of us who have seen the Freedom Struggle for what it truly was; and Hazare is one of them. They rest of us just know stuff from textbooks and movies; including me. True, civil disobedience, non-cooperation, and Swadeshi formed the cornerstone and indeed the beacon-light for guiding the Freedom Struggle. But this was undertaken with a vision; the vision of a free and independent India. And today we are free and sovereign, albeit victims to a host of vices. And on this plane, a protest is justified. But who are we protesting against?

The people who you and I have elected to represent us? People who are defiling the most sacred and purest tenets upon which our nation is based? People who misuse and abuse their powers for their own selfish gains?

Or, people who resort to unjust means because they chose to serve us? The ones who abuse their power to bridge severe chasms of inequality? 

Truth is, corruption is not something which plagues only the superpowerful elite. It has penetrated every level of our social infrastructure because all who hold responsibilty have ignored the rights of all others who are entitled to rights. We have failed to address the basic causes of this 'evil' of corruption. Injustice and apathy. Corruption is not an evil; it was born of our own incompetence to hold up our morals. To obey the most basic and essential rules. And to cover up for this, we devised a way to work around the system. 

Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. And this is not because corruption is inherent in power relations. This is because corruption is the fall child of power gone berserk.

By not stopping at a traffic light, by spitting on the road, by not paying taxes on time...by all these little mistakes, we have created a monster that now plagues all higher forms of power. And now that it hurts us most, we ask for power over these very institutions which we, so to say, corrupted. 

I agree, the reason I am giving is simple and straightforward; and that it may vehemently countered. But only if we were so vocal when corruption was at a nascent stage, if only some Messiah like Anna (or he himself) would have seen this and protested then...who knows?

We do not know what struggle really is; what it is like to have a foreign authority dominate us; to be reduced to a mere colony, existing to serve and only serve.

We also do not know what oppression really is. Yes, emminent persons like Dr Binayak Sen, and hundreds of nameless others, have been incarcerated because they opposed the injustice metted out to fellow countrymen; so also Hazare's brief jail stint. Persons like Irom Sharmila who have furthered the cause of fighting injustice have been persecuted brutally. And that is a huge and disgusting blot on the democratic fabric of this nation.

But this is a country which also is allowing people to gather in masse and protest against the government. It hasn't bruatally cracked down upon its own citizenry and bloodied its streets with innocent blood. A nation that is striving to reform a deplorable state of affairs in the face of adversity. A nation where every change in government has been peaceful (but in some places, was marred with violence. Yet democracy prevailed).

A nation where its own citizens have taken their freedom for granted.

I am, and have always been, a skeptic of democracy...and in all likelihood, would remain one. For a democracy is only as good as its people. And truth be told, we aren't exactly a good people. Yet, this democratic setup is the best hope we have at proper self governance (a term I am skeptical of, again). 

Then again, any system which tells me what I am to be and what I am to do is, in my eyes, a truly opressive one. And I'd much prefer a democracy to that, thank you very much. Or maybe, anarchy; like V would say.

If I were to choose between a messiah-led ochlocracy or being in league with an outlaw vigilante, I would choose the latter. Because a mob is made up of idiots; especially one which is led by a guy with a Messiah Complex, guided by a noble cause. 

And noble causes, we know, pave they pathway to hell. 

So long, and Freedom Forever!

“Bad roads—so, what’s the deal with them?”

Walking in the roads is a huge pain these days. And so is driving. And so is the use of any form of public transport that runs on surface; except maybe the state transport buses—they’re a hazard by themselves, and right now, adding those to the equation would be the perfect recipe for either a colossal disaster, or perhaps, the best bloody ride of our lives.

Anyway, I suppose you get my point: this post is a ramble/rant against bad roads. I know it’s probably an old issue by now (well, Hindustan Times certainly has found a new issue for the second page; about time, I’d say!) but as with all other notes, I wanted to be sure of the, let’s say, gravity of the issue here. Suffice to say that after thirty-one near misses in the nearly two month’s abstinence from driving, and a month long campaign by HT, I have decided that the issue has sufficient gravity.

Bad roads. Hmm. So, where does it start? Well, while a section of the civil society would scream “politicians!”, “corruption!”, I, sir, would beg to differ. There is, I believe, a matter of great scientific inquiry involved—which thanks to the sorry levels of public intellect—is absent from all discussions of public importance. I would not talk of contractors and the BMC here, partly because of the scientific nature of my inquiry, and mostly because I know very little of it. What I will focus on, as always, is how we Indians adapt, or rather, should adapt.

Thanks to Anna Hazare and his “team” of civil society members, the people of India have lost one it’s most enshrined of virtues: adaptability. People no longer think it to be cool to duck, jump, side-step, run, and even sleep, while doing most of our daily tasks. Make no mistake; I am not equating adaptability with complacency here. The former is an active process, involving a high level of cognition and fine-motor skill dependency; the latter is, well, doing nothing other than not doing what I just described.

Let me illustrate. So, they say bad roads are dangerous. I concur, they are; but let’s adapt, shall we? The SAS and the Royal Marines are among the best military units in the world because they train in the harsh environs of moors in northern England. We have a Dartmoor on practically every station road, and during the monsoons, there is nothing better than cross-country training while on your way to work (the dirty clothes would irk many. But as of now, that’s the only glitch I see in my near-perfect hypothesis).

Yes, I agree that cars and other large vehicles are very clearly a hazard. So, I’d say, we should ban them from the roads. Sounds simplistic? Well, that’s because it is. Until you bring up that bit about political will and public apathy.

We’re so accustomed to the comfort of our cars, that we’d yell “bloody murder!” to any such proposition. Now that, ladies and gents, is complacency. I mean, we can all agree that cars and other vehicles are huge contributing factor to pollution levels in the city, and the abomination we collectively call ‘traffic jams’ (hmm, funny jargon; mental note for next post). Most of them have very low ground clearance, use a lot of fuel on account of driving on for miles in second gear, and frankly, they come in some very horrible colours. They are also, correct me if I’m wrong, a major contributing factor to the whole pot-hole scenario as well.

Any road has a carrying capacity; if a road is built with a carrying capacity of 50,000 cars in say, six months, then they end up carrying over two-hundred thousand in the same period in the real world (Note: I think my figures are maybe a tad bit exaggerated). The point being: our roads, no matter how corrupt the contractor is (Yes, sue me, Mr Hazare; or better still, go on a fast), are built to carry a certain amount of cars in a given period of time, as they are anywhere else in the world—except perhaps Cuba and some other failed Communist states. And if there’s a marked increase in the pressure on roads, particularly due to faulty driving (this is India!), braking and speeding (and not the mention, the state transport buses)—all of which we see plenty in India—the roads naturally would suffer. And here we aim to hang the poor contractors. Tsk Tsk.

Another thing most of us fail to see is the potential for rally cars and sports utility vehicles. Yes, those very idiotic, large, the all-brawn-no-brain, Sunny Deol type SUVs; particularly the Range Rovers and Land Rovers. What we need are more liberal policies and a reduction on taxation. Heck, they’re even coming up with the ‘green’ versions for the eco-mentalists (what an aberration, but still—).

So, bottom line: if India wants to figure on the global map for reasons other than its loud civil society and Mayawati’s spat with Assange, we seriously need to look into the potential bad roads have for us. And once again, we must prove to the world how adaptable we are. Adaptable, mind you, not complacent!

Blood And Tears

To say anything like "I am shocked!", or "This is appalling!" would be an understatement. I am shocked, appalled and scared. And I believe so are you. That's fine. In fact, that is a sane reaction.

Mumbai was hit by blasts again, three of them this time; official sources say around twenty killed and sixty injured. But those are just statistics. Just numbers. But for many unfortunate survivors, they are names; mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, friends...

Through my personal observations, I can say that there are two broad responses to such tragedies. One, a sense of hopelessness and despair, soon replaced by what many call the 'spirit of Mumbai', that is, our ability to go on ahead with life, whilst upholding the innate psyche that this city builds in our minds: "Bad things happen, and will keep happening. Will that stop us? Hell no."

And two, is a path of public indignation; usually amplified by political voices. Here, governments are blamed, security agencies are too. Every political big-wig has an opinion. And, strangely, this stage of response follows the first one; candle light vigils and the sorts, you know.

Yesterday, as I sat watching various news channels, I realized these processes were already set into play. Some leader from the Shiv Sena was at Dadar, to "inspect" the site apparently. And this is before the NIA team arrived. He and his party "asked" the government to find out who was behind the blasts. Hmm, I wonder how long the politeness would last.

And in another clip, somewhere in Jhaveri Bazaar, I think, I saw a flash mob gathering near the CM's convoy...shouting protest slogans. Now that is progress.

People often comment that the Indian government is unconcerned towards its 1.2 billion citizenry, and worse still, it tends to value some over the others. The Kalka Mail accident, for example was an appalling example of this fact. Inevitably, discourses on corruption and selfishness of netas follow.

We need a scapegoat. And, in most cases, an inefficient administration suffices. I am not sympathizing with the government, mind you. I believe that they are indeed inefficient and to a very large extent, even unprofessional in dealing with crises like these. They suffer some serious lapses, lack of standardized protocol, incompetence, interdepartmental rivalry, political one-up-man-ship and the gravest of all, lack of political will, to name a few.

Then again, how virtuous is the Indian public? My answer is, not very.

True, one sees a spirit of humanity and solidarity at work when tragedy strikes. The 26/7 floods, the 11/7 train bombings and now this. Also, we've had candle-lights vigils and what-not after 26/11. Yes, India, there is hope- that's what many said.

Half of Mumbai didn't vote in the elections in 2009. But thousands came in support of Team India at Wankehede. Funny world, no?

Not wanting to be accused of cynicism again, I would like to end this post with my personal view on counter-terrorism. Why, because terrorism is a crime of the most depraved nature (let's face it, this is what we're fighting; not a war against our ideas or some abstract struggle), and thus, has to be dealt with ruthlessly. What we need is a competent and well-trained security services and an unhindered chain-of-command. A complete overhaul in our security mechanisms, procedures, protocols and basically, the way we think. And the knowledge of the fact that safety of citizens is of paramount importance. Unless this is realized by the government, I am afraid we are looking at very dark times.

In the face of such troubled times, there is very little what people like you and me can do. But what we can do is, not let the pain wash away by some mind-numbing, defeatist rhetoric. For as long as we remember the wounds and the pain, we will be conscious of what caused it.  Because if we choose to move on, to surrender to fate, spirit or whatever we might call it, then, we are doing a grave injustice to the very people whose losses we mourned; to the tears and blood they have shed.