A Governance of Paranoia

It's not as if the UPA wasn't in enough trouble already – following the Coal allocation block scam and a host of other past debacles haunting it – they clearly got more than what they bargained for when they prodded, albeit indirectly, another hornet's nest: by arresting cartoonist Aseem Trivedi, under the colonial  charges of sedition. Trivedi’s crime: he drew a caricature of the Parliament as a commode, replacing the lions with rabid wolves on the National Emblem. And apparently, that's seditious.

Obviously, his arrest is politically motivated: Trivedi is known to have been associated with India Against Corruption – the NGO headed by erstwhile Team Anna member Arvind Kejriwal. And the government clearly has a bone to pick with IAC. 

This is not the first time the Indian political class has displayed an inexplicable and illogical paranoia over a cartoonist’s works. Back in April, WB chief minister, Mamata Banerjee got Jadhavpur University professor, Ambikesh Mahapatra, arrested and beaten up by her party workers for posting “objectionable” material regarding her on a social networking site; he was slapped with absurd charges, which included “outraging the modesty of a woman”. Of course, the UPA and other political parties reacted vehemently against it – as expected. Now that the current administration has found itself in a similar position, it is actually defending its action, albeit riddled with contradictions.

Before I go any further and risk offering a merely symptomatic analysis of the situation, I’d like to make my stance on this issue clear. I do not agree with Trivedi’s “freedom of expression” (i.e. of him drawing what he did), and I do not do so in a Voltaire-esque fashion of “defending his rights while I may disagree with what he has to say”. Neither do I think his cartoons "offend" anything; for it's ridiculous to even assume that. At the same time, I think the whole patriotism/nationalism discourse is balderdash. If anything, the more-than-generous usage of words like "nationalism", "true patriot" and the likes, just goes on to show the arbitrariness of these constructs. 

I may stir a hornet’s nest myself by saying so, but I see a disjuncture in Trivedi’s harsh polemic against the government (something I understand), and in his representation of it. By making these icons the focus of his critique he has, invariably, reduced the meanings of the Asoka Pillar and the Parliament to a single signifier: the present UPA government.

Personally, I found his cartoon rather distasteful. For one, while I understand his attempt to proffer a critique of the current and abysmal state of Indian politics and affairs, I disagree with his target: the Parliament and the Asoka Pillar. These icons, I believe, are institutional symbols and thus, represent something far more than the current political class – who, I believe, are (and one may disagree) not really in a position to invest meanings in these icons; and secondly, because, these icons represent something more important, and if I can use the word, sacred, than present governance and coalition politics, and are as much victims of the current administration’s apathy and corruption (as an example, look at the two Rajya Sabha MPs who got into a fist-fight some days back), as perhaps the common man is – symbolically at least.  

These icons are situated in a historical context and have significantly more meaning that what Trivedi assumed them to have. The Asoka Pillar, for example, has its own rich history, an economy of meanings; while the inscription of ‘Satyameva Jayate’ may not mean much to the government today – I doubt very much if it means much to the people, either – I don’t think the government has ever made a conscious effort to appropriate its meaning or significance; the Parliament, on the other hand, is far more contentious a symbol, making it that much more difficult to analyse. It has been the target of recent anti-corruption movements, yet to many, it represents a legitimate mechanism - as pointless as it may sound.

However, my purpose is to not interpret an iconoclash here; within this discursive framework of (anti) nationalism-sedition, iconoclash, and free speech, I believe there is a more malignant, a more insidious problematic embedded – which has, unfortunately, become central to the culture of politics in India.

I absolutely, and in the strongest words, condemn the government’s violent reaction to this issue; it’s archaic, it’s crass, and politically motivated; most importantly, it is representative of a deeper problem in Indian politics: paranoia. Elsewhere, I have critically commented on what I call the anti-ideology of contemporary Indian politics, of its hypersensitivity indealing with criticisms. One reason, I think, is because politicians have come to represent the entire domain/culture of politics in a way. Following Bishnupriya Ghosh’s work on bio-icons, politicians in contemporary India have become a fragile species; at once, an embodiment of their party ideologies – be it the Thackeray cousins, or the Gandhis, their very image becomes a way for their supporters to rally around, and is also on the crosshairs of dissenting voices; both, within and outside the political realm. Sonia Gandhi’s Italian origins, Mamata Banerjee’s austerity or, as we saw recently, Digvijaya Singh’s claim that the anti-migrant Thackeray’s are originally from Bihar, these genealogies, and thus narratives about these bodies as bio-icons, serve as a terrain to contest politics. Very rarely does it turn out that issues of policy and governance are sites for contestation.

That’s precisely why they (politicians) take offense to caricatures regarding political figures. For a healthy democratic system to function (I shall reserve my critiques of democracy for a later time), it is imperative that the rights of freedom of expression, right to participate in a democratic process – and I mean so even non-electorally – are maintained. Sedition is hardly the word to be used against cartoonists and intellectuals, and it reflects the decadence in a legal system, and in attitudes, which refuse to keep up with times. 

With Aseem Trivedi’s arrest, the message that the administration (even though the government has now dropped the sedition charges) is sending out to its people, and indeed the world, is fraught with very serious problems; it is indicative of a political system’s sheer ineptitude in dealing with pertinent issues maturely in via political, legal processes. I tend to agree with Justice Katju when he points out, rather critically and in his usual verbose style, the systemic failure on the part of the governance mechanism, the state, the legal system, the police, as a whole.  And that’s precisely why I think his criticism is highly insightful: it is a critique of the system and not an institutional symbol. Individual institutional symbols like the Parliament or the Asoka Pillar – I restrict my view of it as an entity invested with symbolic/historic meaning, rather than its political inhabitants (an equally true, but one-dimensional perspective) – are located in a system of processes, of a pattern of governance, which has become decadent, apathetic, anti-ideological and corrupt.

Increasingly, this process of governance is being influenced by paranoia, a tendency of knee-jerk reactions, of recourse to archaic notions of morality and anti-nationalism, blurring the lines between India’s democratic present and it’s colonial past. With each such incident, the government is making a fool of itself. Maybe, in the words of the Opposition, the government has lost its moral authority to rule. But in a warped democratic system like ours, you need numbers to rule; "morality" is for cultural policing, to invoke rhetoric, an attempt of the political class to fool the people, and in the process, itself. 

I have traversed across many ideas here, and perhaps, at the cost of argumentative coherence, but I hope you’ve managed to grasp the general themes. We live in confused times, marked by a breakdown of coherent governance. Usually, I tend to be sceptical of the risk of slipping into totalitarianism; our current political class is far too concerned with images - a process which creates regimes of loyalty. Then again, looking at the way life is regimented, with a penetrative authoritarian gaze, and more seriously, it's arbitrariness, it's dilly-dallying and an apparently visible lack of direction (towards achieving totalitarianism; perhaps, I am wrong, looking at the way governments censor the internet, arrest cartoonists), it is precisely this scepticism, and this governance of paranoia, which worries me.

In Defense of the Dark Knight

I saw this review of The Dark Knight Rises, retweeted by Amitav Ghosh and Rahul Bose - both Bengali intellectuals, and undoubtedly, left-leaning. I, too, am Bengali, and left-leaning. At least I like to think so; based on my gravitation towards the Frankfurt School's culture industry thesis, and most of Noam Chomsky's works.

With this review, however, I tend to disagree. Vehemently, so. Because, I suspect, my instincts as a comic book geek overpower my left-leaning stance.

 First of all, I liked The Dark Knight Rises. Sure, its predecessor - The Dark Knight (2008) - was an edgier movie, with a stunning performance by Heath Ledger as the Joker. But, as far as trilogies go, Nolan did a spectacular job in bidding the Dark Knight legend an explosive and more than memorable farewell.

My interest in Batman is more and beyond than just the movies; I am a comic book geek, after all. And the thing is, for people who are not aware of the themes in the comic book, much like the author of that review (as I suspect), it is very easy to make generalized assumptions about the nature of Batman's war against crime.

Let me elucidate this a bit more: 

One: "Bruce Wayne can splurge on the kit and cars to set himself up as a crime-fighting Christ substitute, plus power and glitter enough to hide his hobby. He's always been a curious idol: within aspiration because he's flesh and blood; beyond it because he's the lucky recipient of inherited wealth."

What she fails to interrogate is that Bruce (played by Christian Bale) is as much a victim of the (capitalist) state's disinclination to address issues that underscore its own importance and interests. Bruce's parents, Thomas and Martha Wayne, were shot dead in an alley when he was eight. One of the stronger and more prominent themes in Batman Begins (2005) was his struggle to comprehend this tragedy. He blamed Joe Chill - a homeless vagrant who accidentally came to possess a gun - for the murders. But then realized that it wasn't Chill's fault; it's the fault of the system, which made Chill as much a victim as Bruce. This isn't my sole reading of Begins; authors like Frank Miller, in The Dark Knight Returns (the text on which Rises was based) have addressed this issue as well. And the gun metaphor, I believe, is more relevant in light of the Aurora shooting. I think it's as tragic as it is ironic, that a Batman premiere - Bruce is averse to the idea of firearms - should see such an event. Which goes to show that the Batman mythos is not just fanciful fiction, based on one man's representation of social reality; but is a far more complex, nuanced and textured critique of social reality.

Two: “The Occupy Gotham movement, as organised by gargly terrorist Bane, is populated by anarchists without a cause, whose actions are fuelled by a lust for destruction, not as a corrective to an unjust world.”

Okay, she's just reading too much into this now. Bane (Tom Hardy), as the movie clearly establishes, does not set out to "liberate" Gotham from the shackles of crass capitalism; he's a part of an international terrorist organization called The League of Shadows (Assassins, in the comics). He seeks to destroy Gotham; as Ra's Al Ghul (played by Liam Neeson) intended in Begins. Plain and simple. So, yes, while these characters are self-made, they represent just that: fiction. Sure, Nolan plays on the "We are the 99%" theme - and Selina Kyle's (played by Anne Hathaway) dilemma in this scenario, I believe, presents the complex theme beautifully.

Bane's motive is precisely to destroy Gotham. He wouldn't have armed a nuclear device with a decaying core otherwise. Because that would've been rather stupid, no?

Three:  “But The Dark Knight Rises is a quite audaciously capitalist vision, radically conservative, radically vigilante, that advances a serious, stirring proposal that the wish-fulfilment of the wealthy is to be championed if they say they want to do good.”

What I fail to understand is: how can one argue against someone who sees a textured reality in such black-and-white terms? Nevertheless, I shall try my best to defend Batman.

Yes, Bruce Wayne had a billion dollars in his trust fund. Yes, he travelled the world, learnt exotic martial arts. Yes, he came back to Gotham and used his resources to fight the scum of Gotham. But, he was a philanthropist, too, remember.

His father nearly bankrupted Wayne Enterprises combating the Depression (as Alfred tells Bruce in Begins). Others (in the comics, as well as outside) have made a different critique: that Bruce's antics as a caped vigilante attract psychopaths - such as Bane in the Knightfall story arc - to Gotham. Batman's fight against crime, therefore, is not as unproblematic as the author seems to think.

Bruce, in many ways, is disillusioned about his own wealth and social location. The rigid boundary that separates the wealthy from the proles, an idea which the author seems to not only sell, but also believe in, is not really that rigid. Their worlds have clashed, and violently so; Bruce saw it happen, the night his parents were murdered. And that’s why Bruce, as a Wayne and a part of Gotham, has poured in money to several of Gotham's orphanages, charities and his continuous and undying association with Dr. Leslie Thompkins in story arcs, like Batman: The Animated Series attests to the fact that he is not just another billionaire playboy. The filthy-rich and corrupt of Gotham are as much in his crosshair as are the super-villains (a theme explored in the works of Jeph Loeb and Frank Miller, such as The Long Halloween and Batman: Year One, respectively). Even in Rises, Roland Daggett - the corrupt businessman in Wayne Corp. - is as much an antagonist as Bane. And someone Bruce, as it happens, detests.

Batman, in my opinion, transcends the superhero-ness of many of his peers. One argument is that he does not possess superpowers. True. But I believe so mostly because he's constantly had to make choices; choices which make him unpopular; which continue to push the boundary between good and bad; between hero and vigilante.

While, at the end of the day, Batman is fiction - and there's no denying that - it is a form of artistic expression. And it does express and builds on a lot of social realities. However, unlike most other superhero canons (except for Alan Moore's Watchmen and V For Vendetta) Batman serves to critically examine these very social realities. On a more ancillary note: wasn't Bane's conception a veiled critique of Mitt Romney? The Guardian's review is an opinion. I understand that. But it's an opinion based on a partial understanding of a phenomenon. And, for that reason, it is flawed.

A Gendered Problematic

I was filled with disgust and repugnance when I heard about the incident of a 16-year old girl in Guwahati being assaulted by a mob, and being molested, beaten and stripped. There was a huge uproar on Facebook and Twitter; people demanded justice, said lots of things which have been said before. This wasn't the first incident where a woman was brutally assaulted by a unruly mob, in an Indian city. And—forgive my cynical disposition—this was certainly not going to be the last.

But this particular issue, of late, has acquired several dimensions, mostly political; the Chief Minister of Assam, Tarun Gogoi, alleged that this incident was a conspiracy against the government. There have been rumours doing rounds - as they always do - of Youth Congress involvement. Most of all, people have been critical, and rightly so, of the so-called journalist for News Live, Gauravjyoti Neyog, for instigating the perpetrators. Many, therefore, have criticized News Live too for broadcasting the incident; while they (News Live), on the other hand, claim that had they not done so, the issue would've remained unnoticed. 

What I found staggering - apart from the callousness and brutality of the incident - is the aftermath of it, which is manifest in two ways. One of them is outrage over the representation of the incident in Tehelka's latest cover. People, largely, have accused Tehelka - a magazine with the reputation of being one of India's leading critical publications - of cheap, insensitive gimmicks to garner eyeballs. The other reaction was to the series of gaffes made by the National Commission for Women, wherein Alka Lamba, a member of the fact finding team, revealed the name of the victim. Next, Mamta Sharma, the NCW chief, said "women should dress carefully to avoid crime...and not ape the West."

What I read into these two instances are two things: one, that no matter the seriousness of the crime against women, no matter its severity, its brutality, there is really no one on the side of the victim; not the government, least of all local authorities. And two, that we, as a society, are so indoctrinated into patriarchy and misogyny, will try to subvert the issue in question: which is, a woman being assaulted/hurt/murdered/raped and discuss tangential issues. 

I shall tackle the second observation first. Just some time back, I read a piece in LiveMint by Salil Tripathi. While the piece itself was not something particularly profound and engaging, the comments on it, I found, were staggeringly stupid. Yes, stupid. 

People seemed to have taken exceptional offense to his reference to Draupadi's disrobing in the Mahabharata, as a metaphor for the attenuated response we have towards these kinds of incidents; of being apathetic bystanders. They, instead of engaging with the issue of the girl being a victim of the assault, decided to tangentially argue against the author's conception of Mahabharata and his reluctance to engage with the political angle (the Youth Congress involvement) of the whole incident. 

Similar arguments have been made against the Tehelka cover. I do not condone what Tehelka's done. It's wrong on so many levels. It's distasteful. But so was this incident. And fact is, even then, people are fixated on conspiracy theories and political coups. People took offense, vehemently so, to Mahabharata references - choosing to defend Hinduism instead. 

That a girl was assaulted, brutally so, is collectively, forgotten. It's not Tehelka's cover which is distasteful; but the way public discourse is organised. The image is a macabre spectre which will haunt us. For it reflects a deep, rotten part of the way we've come to organize ourselves as a public. For as long as women's rights don't take prominence in discourse, it will remain an utterly marginalized cause.

The NCW chief’s reaction, while being utterly shameful, reflects the power of patriarchal discourse. It shifts the blame on the woman, presuming that safety of women is agentic on their complete removal from the public sphere. What this does is, it ossifies the public as something which is essentially uncontrolled, aggressive, and violent even. However, for most women, the private is also a domain of subjugation and violence—and perhaps of a worse kind. This kind of lopsided analysis fails to take into account that patriarchy is, primarily, a power construct; and, that men are as much the victims of it, as are women, albeit of a different kind of victimization. The difference is, our victimization is hinged on victimizing others—something I find deeply disturbing and shameful. 

In this context, Natasha Badhwar’s piece in LiveMint on examining societal and cultural controls on women’s sexuality is an interesting read. What I took from it, is an understanding that patriarchy, as a hegemonic structure is far more complex than just domination of women. It survives by making men into instruments of domination—which is, I believe, a kind of victimization in itself.

Any understanding of patriarchy and gender, therefore, has to factor in the question of sexuality—that the sexuality of one group (both, actually) is something that has to controlled. Sexuality in India is terribly controlled by morality, religion, family, community and a host of other surveillance mechanisms. That sexuality is natural, that it is a part of being human, is completely and violently ousted in our understanding of ourselves. Hence, violence remains the only way in which sexuality can be negotiated by men; it's a crime, but it's a structural problem. And a deeply social one, too. 

The refusal to discuss women's victimization as it being perpetrated by men, and therefore patriarchy, reflects the shameful lack of initiative on the part of society as a whole - and that it chooses to further victimize the woman, by assigning blame on her. Violence against women, sexual harassment, then, instead of being a result of this structural imbalance in negotiation sexuality, is ascribed purely on the basis of patriarchal morals. 

Can we then really blame patriarchy for everything, thus absolving ourselves of any action, or more so, justifying our inaction? No. I don’t believe so; because that would be stupid. 

Patriarchy is a power construct, but it is also multidimensional; it, at once, makes men into violent, uncouth perpetrators of crimes of the most heinous nature, and propagates women’s oppression by having them internalize oppression and perpetrate it on to others; mothers to daughters and so forth. It also attenuates the criticality of our responses in the guise of pragmatism and false consciousness. There has not been any alternative system to patriarchy (arguably, since there have been matrilineal societies and social groups; however, patriarchy's permeation into states and politics tends to obfuscate the relevance of matriarchy as a concept); it has existed since the time humans began settled life. But that should not mean that we bow down to its arbitrary constructs of maleness, femaleness, heteronormativity and so forth. More so, there is an urgent need to critically engage with, respond to and challenge patriarchy—particularly it’s ‘taken-for-granted’ nature. We need to bring the oppression of women, and the violence against them, into the centre of public discourse—and not make tangential and irrelevant arguments.

For, I repeat, as long as women's rights don't take prominence in public discourse, they will remain an utterly marginalized cause. 

Shanghai-ed

I had a lot of expectations from Shanghai. Mostly because, in its initial days of production, I thought it was a political thriller involving the Chinese secret service and a plot to nuke India. But apparently, Agent Vinod and Ek Tha Tiger are dealing with the spooks angle. Shanghai, on the other hand, is better than I expected it to be. And its subject matter is much closer to home than the ISI or the Chinese secret service. 

Many critics have called the movie a metaphor. For me, the movie was a metaphor and beyond. Set in an Indian periurban village/town, presumably in north or central India, Shanghai tells the story of an aspiration that the Indian state envisages for its cities; an aspiration which pits decades of faulty governance, lack of infrastructure and a volatile Indian public psyche against the clean, geometric facade of civilization, and corporate governance. 

I won't go much into the plot right now, mostly because I wish to keep this review spoiler free, and partly because I intend to go beyond that. 

In many ways, Shanghai is about contrasts; more so, contradictions. Bharatnagar - the ground zero of the genesis, so to say is where Dr. Ali Ahmadi (a kurta-jhola-beard sporting Leftist) protests against the capitalist state turning the area into a SEZ. His detractors want him out. Not because of the ideological differences; because in India, politics is not about ideology anymore. It's a numbers game, as we see the ruling coalition trying to keep its aspirations alive for this Shanghai - to the extent of murdering the doctor. 

The principal characters Krishnan (Abhay Deol in his finest performance so far), Shalini (Kalki, who is more confused than anything) and Joginder (Emran Hashmi, a fine actor) are caught up in their own agendas; trying to find something to anchor themselves in the turbulent political climes of Bharatnagar. Yet, I would not call any of them protagonists; they're characters, each organically placed in their roles, which makes the film's progression more eased and natural without being caught up to explain their agendas. However what really contributes to the organic nature of the film is the fact that the supporting cast does a brilliant job; from the wily mandarin Kaul, to the Chief Minister and her coalition partner - his cronies, the cops, the unwitting murderers, and the plethora of angry political hooligans....it's a myriad picture, both violent and vibrant, and certainly something from which you cannot turn away. 

Cinematically, for me, the winning factor was the cinematography by Nikos Andritsakis. And frankly, for someone who managed to execute a movie like Love, Sex aur Dhoka, I would've expected nothing short of brilliance from Banerjee. There was a constant nervousness in the camera movements, a sense of unpredictability as it captured both the loud morcha scenes, and the quiet, narrow, yet palpable curfewed streets of Bharatnagar. I spoke of contradictions earlier, and it's notable that the cinematography contributes to the visual telling of these contradictions; the government offices, with glass doors, polished conference tables, and the municipal schools, non-functional toilets.

The score, I felt was apt for a movie as intense as Shanghai, and it is what really contributed to the intensity of the film. The most striking feature, however, was Banerjee's use of silence to fill in the gaps - which I believe is the first of its kind I've ever come across in Hindi cinema. My only complaint was Vishal-Shekhar's music which, despite sounding great in the promos on TV, did not have room in the film, and thus, resulted in a slightly jarring effect; the songs consumed more time than what was required. 

Coming back to metaphors, I think Shanghai does more than just talk about the Indian state's aspiration to compete with the world by converting its cities into Shanghais. It is a commentary on the inherent contradictions within the Indian state; contradictions between the welfare role of the state and its capitalistic nature. It is about more than just corruption in the system and the abuse of state power; the corruption runs far deeper, and into the Indian psyches itself. It is a commentary on very nature of Indian politics. Elsewhere, I've mentioned that political parties today are no longer connected to an ideology - be it the right-wing BJP, or the so-called liberal Congress or the Left, or any of India's regional parties - the politics of India in the 21st century is that of anti-ideology; about synthesizing a form by positioning itself against an ideology; increased westernization, neo-liberal policy, and so forth.

What makes Shanghai the film it is, is the fact that Banerjee manages to capture these fine nuances on screen, in its profoundness and yes, you guessed it, contradictions. For some reason, I think of Shanghai as a "muted" (or, as friend of mine put it aptly: understated) film, mostly because of its noted and brilliant use of silence, as I said before, and also because you feel a sense of futility, of being inured to its portrayal of corruption and state sponsored violence. The Delhi HC was right it calling it a accurate description of the state of affairs in India; look the Jaitapur, or Raigad - districts earmarked to become the sites where India would usher in modernity and seal its place in the global economic order.

Shanghai is a warning bell for some alarmists, a time where the Indian state would sell the very people who elect governments to raze areas like Bharatnagar and make them into technological and information hubs, clean buildings, planned streets, and most of all, a populace which is the product of India’s neo-liberal values, who are at best passive consumers and at worse, a stupefied, silenced people. It is also something that would intrigue cynics, because it holds no bars in giving an honest account of the country—that we cannot do without corruption, that we cannot build a township, a sea-link, a sky-walk without our governments and bureaucrats having mud (and often, blood) on their hands. It talks about a genesis, of a violent kind, when our cities become the hallmarks of the modern global world order, in a crass Nehruvian manner of speaking.

This is the India of the 21^st century; an amalgamation of contradictions. God, I love this country. And, it seems, the makers of Shanghai do so too. Shanghai is a rare gem of a movie. Many won't like it, because it raises uncomfortable questions. Many like to see the glass as half full. But optimism doesn’t change the fact that the water in it is dirty. 

So long, and Bharat mata ki jai.

Peepli. Politics. Etcetera

I think Peepli [LIVE] is a brilliant movie. It is one of the best satire-political commentaries in recent times; times where our political class has become more and more thin-skinned of late. Often resorting to slander, corruption, political one-up-man-ship, pointless anti-ideology, and so forth, they can't react to criticism without putting someone in jail or staging a parliamentary walkout. Yet, there's more to Indian democracy than it meets the eye. Sure, I've been critical of it in recent posts ('critical' is my attempt at being politically correct. Ironic, no?) but deep down, in spite of all its flaws, I think we would be a whole lot better if we stopped a lot of pretence, and just embraced these flaws. 

The other day, for example, RR Patil was in my hometown. Why? Apparently, it seems, to inaugurate a couple of hospitals. And one of these happened to be very close to my place. So yes, I was expecting a lot of music, boring speeches, a gazillion microphone tests, and annoying firecrackers. But Mr.Patil's convoy just made a humble touch and go—much to the disappointment of the local authorities, who set off the firecrackers anyway.

However, there was a flip side to Mr Patil's visit—the roads were all done up neatly, the sidewalks cleaned, traffic was being managed efficiently—apart from his 40-car convoy (exaggeration, but you know). And I wondered: maybe the visiting-politician is a good thing. I recall the roads being done up nicely when the Thackeray cousins were here recently (not together, of course). Years ago, Sharad Pawar visited town in a helicopter. The roads done up decently then, as well. Now this brings me to the larger issue I intend to deal with in this essay—something I like to call the Peepli [LIVE] effect. Simply put, in India, the culture of politics is like a glorified culture industry of sorts, thriving on public popularity. And there are some reasons for it.

One of the reasons, of course, is that being in politics is the most effective ways of getting noticed. We’re a country obsessed with politics and politicians (this post is a case in point). In a small, humble town like mine, everybody who is anybody does anything to get invited to a rally, opening ceremony and the likes, especially if there’s a big name attached; bureaucrats, municipal chiefs, SHG representatives, housing society presidents, youth club leaders—in short, everyone wants a piece of the proverbial pie (apart from the apolitical observer, like yours truly).

Sure, the largely urban population remains somewhat distant from politicians (if not the political process as a whole). But fact is: we are all intrigued by politics and politicians alike (I wrote this post, and you-hopefully-are reading it. See what I mean?). Today, politics is about being noticed. It's about being at the right place at the right time (or the wrong time, as many netas, like Abhishek Manu Singhvi, have made fashionable). Saying the right thing (or, the wrong thing; fashionable once again) at the right opportunity. If RR Patil makes a controversial remark, it becomes a trending topic on Twitter (sadly, on the day in question, Patil made none).

As I looked at the women in flashy saris, and men dressed pedantically in neatly pressed shirt-trousers, I wondered, rather naively: What are they doing here? More importantly, why are they here? One answer, I suspect is this: as Tarun Tejpal says in The Story of my Assassins, the government will always be the maibaap (mother and father) of the people.

I suppose such is the nature of the postcolonial, post-liberalized Indian nation-state. The Nehruvian ideals of nation building are long gone; politics is not about serving the nation anymore (was it ever so?). It is, in very obtuse terms, a business of the image. With liberalization and the boom in the number of media houses, TV channels and newspapers—many of them run by politicians themselves—it is very easy to get noticed. And, I suspect it is this very allure of getting noticed which makes Indian politics as intriguing as it is. Either in opposition or in bed with it (this is a metaphor and has nothing to do with the Abhishek Manu Singhvi sex tape doing rounds on YouTube).

Teri Marx Ki: Didi sees Red at every Left Turn.

The politics of West Bengal (or is it officially Poschim Bangla now?) have always intrigued political commentators in particular, and the nation as a whole. The last decade however was rather boring, because the Left front resorted to cheap publicity stunts, like withdrawing support to the UPA, only to lose the State Elections later on. Now, it seems, the politics of WB (PB) have become interesting once again. Thanks to Mamata Banerjee—the defender of the Bengali people, the bane of the UPA, and conspiracy-terminator par excellence. She, it seems, is never short of controversies and is an incredibly perceptive, and woman of substance (in this case, a healthy diet of machcher jhol and rice; or is she vegetarian now? Then again, name me one Bong worth his/her salt, who is one? And Didi, as we know, is worth quite a bit if, erm, salt—well, enough to spoil the best laid recipes of the UPA, at least).

There is no challenge big enough that Mamata Didi cannot handle (and not make them into trending topics on Twitter). After a shocking revelation that the Left was to blame for the number of crib deaths which plagued state-run hospitals, and that rape victims were in fact a part of a conspiracy to malign her state (those immoral, loose s****!), Mamata Didi has left no stone unturned to take the blinkers off the eyes of the rest of the nation. This woman is one the country’s most tenacious, albeit amiable chief ministers, whose seemingly “paranoia” driven, and “knee-jerk” reactions only appear so, because they are portrayed by a media bribed by the Left & the UPA.

And this time, history itself is on her agenda of reformation. Her target, the person after whom a Facebook group, ‘Why the fuck is Karl Marx in every freaking subject?’ is named: the German philosopher, Karl Marx and his partner, Fredrick Engels (the connotations of the term go beyond the academic nature of their, erm, partnership. Hey, the group says so, not me).

Now history, we know, is always constructed in an authorial voice, or the perspective of the “winner”, as many have labelled it. Therefore, claims Derek O’brien, Trinamool MP (and the once host of the best quiz show on TV; see, Mamata has intellectuals in her company; how can she possibly be anti-intellectual?) the decision to remove references to Marx (which is, about two paragraphs spread across three chapters, and roughly worth 10 marks in the state board exams) was an attempt to “balance history”. And that is indeed an amiable move, considering they now wish to burden children with the tales of Mahatma and Mandela (and Steve Jobs, too, if rumours on Twitter are to be believed). However, considering the whole issue, why Marx should be at the receiving end of this ‘balancing act’, still perplexes most people, as clearly the Soviets lost the Cold War, and China has embraced capitalism (so, if anything, Marx—or more so: the losing side always had him on their side. Even the Left-front was defeated). Such unprecedented political victory, that too by a woman (who does not have a wardrobe full of pink salwar-kameezes and expensive kanjivarams) has led a class of sceptical commentators (who have made the hash-tag: #arrestmenow as a trending topic in India) to question both, Didi’s motives and methods, the former they allege is paranoia, and the latter, fascism.

These sceptics could not be any more further from the truth. And the truth is: Mamata is one of the last remaining practitioners of Marx’s teachings. Yes, you heard that right. Recall the Singur fiasco: she ousted TATA Motors, a capitalistic enterprise, benefitting from the arbitrary and exploitative policies of a neo-liberal economy, and gave away the land to poor farmers. Of course, the fact that 9,000 people were deprived of a guaranteed job is but a minor divot in the credibility of her intentions. But as I always say, it’s the thought—or in this case, the ideological engagement—that matters. And this was actually a critique of the Left’s corruption of core Marxian values. Shame on them!

Now that she got a professor arrested for circulating cartoons of her online, she’s in the public cross-hair. Again (sigh). What she actually meant to do was, to chastise the man (erm, well, by beating him up, and arresting him; nobody’s perfect, you know) for not drawing a real cartoon and using Photoshop instead. She was also miffed at the wrong reference he made to Satyajit Ray’s story. After all, she has great respect of Bengal’s artistic and intellectual tradition. Why, she’s contemplating playing Rabindra-sangeet at traffic junctions even! What did the Left do for the intellectual and artistic tradition of Bengal? Nothing! (Note: this category does not include Jyoti Basu). This leaves us with a question, a hypothetical one, of course: would her…passion for Marx be any different had he been born in Bengal, and not Germany? Like I said, one can only speculate on this matter.

And tomorrow, if she decides to ban left-lane driving, it’s only because the new rule may perhaps improve lane-driving in Calcutta altogether; a long-shot, but a valid hope nevertheless. Even her decision to paint Calcutta in Trinamool colours, is based on the scientific notion that these colours happen to have a pleasing effect on the eyes. Nothing ideological in there, now, right? 

[This is a work of satire. And I do hope the Trinamool doesn’t understand what the word means and decides to hire me in their propaganda wing. Please don’t arrest me; I merely used the hash-tag to conform to Twitter trends, that’s all! Any resemblance/reference to people living or dead was, of course, intended—for the sake of credibility. And yes, you may think it’s unnecessary to write this little ‘note’, but you’d be surprised at the number of idiots who take satire seriously]

"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.