The dirty picture

‘Balan is the new Bollywood Hero’, cried a flier on a news capsule featuring Vidya Balan, whose Dirty Picture has emerged a top grosser.
The anchor (a woman) was gushing all over Balan’s new star status after her dare-all, bare-all act in the film, apparently a biopic on Silk Smita, the southern actor who played havoc with male hormones with her itsies and bitsies.
Balan exuded this confident, glowing persona after being recognised by people, media and critics for her “scintillating” performance, which they said could fetch her coveted awards next year.
We were treated to the promotional (read provocative) snatches of all that was dirty in the picture. And, then the question time began, with the anchor asking her what she felt about being the new “hero” of Bollywood. Balan was a picture of anything but humility. She was over the top because she had arrived, and even suggested that the Khans could add Balan after their name because she had replaced the Khans as the new hot property of Box Office.
I did not know how to react to the Q&A session and to the anchor’s conclusion that the Bollywood heroine had indeed “arrived” and she raised a toast to the celebration of womanhood; and how the Kareenas and Priyankas must take a leaf out of Balan’s book (which incidentally also means boobs in Bengali). Pardon my Freudian slip.
Our new diva said she was thrilled that she could make the people come (no pun intended) to the theatres with her orgasmic presence. She said she had only played the character of Silk Smita, who used her sexuality to get even with the men who exploited her, and reached the heady top of her career.
As a woman, two questions came in my mind: why did the media call her the “hero” of Bollywood? Why couldn’t it refer to her as a successful heroine? By adding this sobriquet, aren’t we celebrating the male authority, yet again?
Second question: Did Balan fetch the returns, or did her Silk, and her chest-heaving gyrations. Back in the Eighties, men had undeniably flocked to the theatres to feel Silk’s raw sexuality. Balan said she put herself into the Silk’s sleazy costumes and character, and managed to pull off a compelling performance. So why wouldn’t people go in droves in 2011 (like in the Eighties) when Silk’s character is splashed all over the screen from when the curtains rise to its fall?
Then the anchor and Balan discussed on how other heroines were willing to shed their inhibitions and bare all on stage to become the new “heroes” of Bollywood. Post-Dirty Picture, the anchor said Kareena Kapoor had reportedly asked her producer-director to make her film, Heroine, bolder and brasher.
The whole sequence of events is so problematic. It is sad that celebration of womanhood is reduced to celebration of her curves, her body, her sexuality. So even today, a woman remains just a work of art to be admired, to be fantasised, to be possessed, and to be destroyed, all at the whim of the male owner.
Balan, would you like to try playing an Erin Bronkovich and check whether your magic still works?

Anna’s fortress

Anna Hazare has confessed how he flogged men who got drunk in his Taliban-like fortress, Ralegaon Sidhhi. It is frightening to know that the man behind the anti-corruption crusade that has caught the imagination of the Indian populace is running a village by his rules.
It reminded me of Sri Ram Sene’s goons going berserk in a Mangalore night club when they spotted women drinking their spiked colas.
There have been stray reports and noises from political groups about Hazare’s saffron links. But the aam janta and the media decided to overlook that in the face of the mass hysteria at Jantar Mantar. And, the media glare was such that anyone making uncomplimentary comments about Hazare and his team was branded corrupt or supporting corruption.
The overwhelming support created by Anna’s vrat and maun vrat seemed to have created a monstrous ego among his team; an ego that goes out to behead the democratic institutions each time they rear their head. The team runs parallel campaigns against political parties (read Congress). Their extensive anti-Congress campaign in Hissar by-election, declaring the election as a referendum to Anna Hazare’s campaign for the Jan Lok Pal Bill, is one such example. The team then touted the Congress’ defeat as its “victory”. And, Arvind Kejriwal, a key member of Team Anna, went to the extent of saying this anti-Congress campaign will stop only when the party passes the Bill. Pressure tactics? Or is that neat black-mailing?
Agreed, we needed an anti-corruption crusade in our country. There are probably more people’s representatives in Tihar than in Parliament. But this entire Anna Hazare’s package is problematic. His Taliban-style methodology in his village goes against the grain of democracy. And he has smartly photographed himself against the Gandhian halo; giant Gandhi black-and-white picture in the background and leaning against a white bolster….the works.
He has forced vegetarianism in his village. His argument: Non-vegetarian food increases the craving for alcohol. This extra-constitutional authority had even banned cable television in his village, a ban lifted only when he sat in Jantar Mantar for the nationally-televised fast.
Now what next, Mr Hazare? Hold women responsible for high incidences of rape for their provocative attire? Or, ask women to dress “appropriately” to avert the make gaze? Or worse, ask women to stay indoors and out of the bad world “infested” by salivating men?
This will make the Talibanisation complete.

Corporate despotism?

Kingfisher’s high-flying chairman, Vijay Mallya, has been knocking the doors of the Manmohan Singh government and banks to help him wriggle out of the financial mess his airlines is into. The owner of the F1 team and the IPL team, however, made it a point to clarify that it was not bailout that he was seeking but a “working capital management assistance”. Nicely put, Mr Mallya.
However, our Prime Minister has made a statement that the government might consider “bailing out” the airlines.
What is the logic of bailing out a private sector unit? If Manmohanomics is the mantra post 1991, why are we chanting a different tune? We have been pushing for private participation; we have been preparing a suitable environment for attracting foreign investment; we are bending backwards to disinvest the public sector units.
Let us decide the economic system we want to find ourselves in. If it is capitalism, then let us play by the rules ruthlessly. Why are we trying to bring in our socialism sympathy here? Agreed, a number of jobs are at stake. But isn’t that the norm of free market economy: Cold-blooded competition which shows no mercy on those who have failed in the race.
Then why is Mr Singh considering a pit stop for this F1 team owner? Why does he want to refuel Mallya’s bottomless appetite for grandiose?
The civil aviation ministry has been pushing banks to offer support to the country’s second largest airline, while not having readily responded to Mallya’s pitch for investment by foreign airlines.
A consortium of 13 banks, led by the SBI that have lent money to Kingfisher Airlines, are planning to quiz Mallya before a debt restructuring plan for the private carrier.
As expected the India Inc is divided over this “bailout” scheme. Bajaj Group chairman, Rahul Bajaj, opposing the government intervention has said that those who die must die in a free market economy.
By the way, the same Bajaj was opposed to the idea of a cut in import tariffs in early 1990s when Singh, then finance minister, ushered in reforms.
Spice Jet chief Neil Mills has said the government should not use taxpayers’ money to revive a private sector unit.
These seem music to the socialist’s ears. But is there a rulebook for the games that corporate India and the government of India play? The finances, bailouts and concessions are all the jokers in the pack that help them substitute their aces and spades in this game of symbiotic relationship.
There is just one question: in free market economy everything is according to market prices. At least that is what the capitalism rulebook says. What about special economic zones or simply put: land given at dirt prices. Or what about land bought (read usurped) from farmers for a song and given to industrialists to set up their industrial plants?
Are we talking about capitalism? Oligarchy? Or worse, corporate despotism?

Reverse gear!

Two reports in the newspapers today grabbed my eyeballs. I skimmed past the humungous coverage given to F1: it did not interest me as much as a small story on our sports minister, Ajay Maken, being denied a ticket for the inauguration of the obscenely expensive sport that India (or even our planet) obviously cannot afford to host, given the huge appetite for fuel that it has. The other one was on Wipro’s Azim Premji planning a network of free primary and secondary schools in our country’s remote districts.
Ajay Maken is trying to be for the sports ministry what Jairam Ramesh had been for environment ministry and is now for urban development ministry: a minister with a conscience.
A few months back, Maken had tried to bring forth a new sports bill that would bring the sports federations, including the super-rich Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI), under the ambit of the Right to Information Act (RTI).
Predictably, the Cabinet did not clear the Bill that was essentially meant to increase transparency and introduce accountability of all sports bodies. How could it when it had its ministers heading the federations and boards?
Today, when the media, corporate giants, celebrities and F1 enthusiasts are focussing on the flag that will be waved to ignite the event that is to take place on the swanky Rs 2000-crore Buddh International Circuit, our sports minister will be laying the foundation for the Rs 5-crore synthetic track at P.T. Usha’s academy in Koyilandi near Calicut.
The F1 organisers decided to snub the sports minister because he refused a Rs 100-crore tax exemption for the sport that is guaranteed to rake in billions. Isn’t the demand for tax waiver for a sport like Formula One itself a bizarre one? Especially when we are going to witness unbridled flow of money and liquor from corporate coffers; when we are going to see film promotions on cars; when we get to peek into those lavish after-parties (thanks to the paparazzi hunting down the celebs). So the very suggestion of a tax exemption is rather infuriating.
The other news story on Azim Premji planning free schools was a novel gesture in a country plagued by the heady concoction of population, poverty and corruption. The lack of basic education and health care in a country which is hosting a multi-billion-dollar sporting event is a trifle difficult to digest. Sorry for bringing in the formula one again and again into the thread of argument. But, when a country is unable to even whet the basic calorific appetite of millions, and offers an unrealistic Rs 32-a-day as a level to measure poverty figures, it does seem lopsided food for thought.
At least, Premji has lead by example for corporates to come out of their ivory towers and spare a thought for a country starved of basic necessities for survival. Even a few crumbs from them could go a long way to redefine corporate social responsibility, and not let us believe that it is an oxymoron!

Loyalty counts

I do owe an apology for my earlier blog about the way Kolkata newspapers had reacted to Steve Jobs’ death. I had made the comment reading the internet versions of the newspapers, which had a news story about his death, in stark contrast to the way other newspapers had splashed the story. The reality is that The Telegraph was shut on October 6 for Dashami (Dussehra) and, therefore, there was no edition of the newspaper the next day. The early morning net edition of the paper carried the news as its second lead. And, I had misconstrued it as it had been carried in its print edition.
I could have easily sneaked in a delete click and let my post go into oblivion as if nothing happened. But I chose to keep the post, say sorry in my next one and expose my misunderstanding of the reality. That's loyalty for the newspaper that shaped me up. Cheers!

M’i’das fails to touch Kolkata media

My 10-year-old daughter rushed to me this morning and asked me: “Will there be more versions of i-pad, now that this person has died?”
That is the level i-technology has pervaded into our system. We no longer just connect, we “touch” each other’s lives.
I have never been a gadget freak, not even too friendly towards technology. I just about managed to understand its power and applications. Even the choice of my mobile handset is banal for the “arrived”. The three factors that guided me to choose my handset were: making and receiving calls, sending and receiving text messages and setting the alarm clock. So my present Nokia phone with its bulging number cover thanks to having been dropped umpteen number of times by my butter fingers, has just these functions. And, it has worked very well, has kept me connected (not informed) and has been loyal to me (no complaints) as I have been to it. So is my personal Dell. We were all living happily ever after…till I was bitten by the apple bug. The i-pad did help me shed my diffidence towards technology. It seemed to work intuitively, almost like magic. It seemed like this little rectangular device understood me and willingly came alive by my touch. I felt like Midas.
Then tragedy struck. The real Midas died. I came to know only when my Facebook account was full of tributes to the tech leader, who had once said: “Thomas Edison did a lot more to improve the world than Karl Marx.” I then told myself, “Why am I unable to react the way my Facebook friends have?”
I was not alone. I had company in the form of two leading newspapers that come out in Kolkata. Both these newspapers covered Steve Jobs’ death without much ado. Newspapers across the globe splashed the news on its front pages, like the world was being struck by a calamity. I was shocked to see The Telegraph and its muted coverage of the ‘i’con (this has now become a cliché). And, this came from a newspaper, which usually reacts furiously to even street clashes, giving banner headlines every other day.
I tried to understand the reason. I developed my own little argument: technology is connected closely with market, economy and consumerism. My friend had once told me how many schools in Kolkata even today were reluctant to allow technology walk past their wrought iron gates. And, the newspapers seemed to reflect this attitude. While the media across the globe screamed and wept for Steve Jobs, the Kolkata newspapers chose to let out a silent moan.
Time to ‘i’ntrospect?

‘Maha’ blunder

A new “gem” from the Maharashtra government: it has floated a new proposal to “reward” families who have a third child if it is a girl. Am I mighty impressed by this sudden girl shopping spree of the government? Apparently, the government wants to correct the skewed boy-girl ratio in the state, which is among the worst in the country at an abysmal 883 girls for every 1,000 boys. It also plans to tweak the existing laws to ensure government employees or elected representatives at all levels, including the gram panchayats, are not disqualified for giving birth to a third girl child.
This is the most bizarre proposal I have come across in a country, struggling with a high rate of population growth. We are already grappling with many many more mouths to feed, and a state government in this country comes up with this brainwave of encouraging families to go for a third child.
This is certainly not a solution to improve the sex ratio. The state government has ignored the gaping holes in its implementation of the Pre-Conception and Pre-Natal Diagnostic Techniques (Prohibition of Sex Selection) Act (PC-PNDT) and the consequent large scale female foeticides. Now does it have a moral right to introduce an idiosyncratic proposal?
It says it will now introduce an awareness campaign in the state’s seven-worst affected districts. Where were those awareness campaigns when there were loud warning signs of a lop-sided gender ratio? Besides, how can families predict that its third child will be a girl? And, what if the third child turns out to be a boy in two of every three or say four families? Can our country afford to take this risk that will throw us beyond the edge of a population explosion? What’s more? The state government seems to be going against its own law, banning sex determination.
On the whole, the entire idea is ridiculous, bordering on profligacy. Merely doling out largesse and incentives to the girl child is grossly insufficient to curb the practice of female foeticide. In fact, it will only open up fresher avenues of corruption; the more proposals and incentives, the more money goes floating around, and more are the chances of that money sticking to the palms of our powers-that-be.
There has to be a turnaround of our psyche to make the girl child wanted; and this will work only if certain social evils are rooted out of our system. There has to be awareness in every warp and weft of our society’s fabric to eliminate gender discrimination that is prevalent at various layers and at various levels. In lower echelons, the gender discrimination begins with food and work distribution, education and health care; it continues at the altar and ends at the grave. In the middle-level society, basic education and health care is by and large taken care of, thanks to peer dynamics. But then career choices are given to a privileged few. In any case, most of them end up getting entangled in the evil web of dowry (sometimes in the guise of grand weddings). And, the lavishness of weddings despite the affordability of this class speaks volumes about the bias firmly entrenched in society.
The government must effectively implement laws securing gender equality. It must work from the grassroots level to ensure right to food, education and health care across gender; it must ensure to put in place effective mechanisms to root out social evils.
Finally, the bulk of the population, which comprises the middle class, must understand the meaning of bearing a healthy child, rather than a boy child. We, as a populace, must understand that it is not necessary to have a male progeny to “carry” forward the family name. That is the most preposterous of arguments in favour elimination of female foetuses and the urge to keep trying for a male child.
So instead of blaming our dumb politicians, let us clear the cobwebs in our minds; the gender ratio will automatically improve.

Lust property

Two days back, the back page of a daily had this rather huge picture of a woman’s back side that said “WHAT AN ASS” in all capitals. The woman in question was showing off her ample rear for a jeans brand that incidentally also doubled up as a writing board for the copywriter’s rather trite one-liners. An example of one of the patronisingly sexist taglines: “The idiot who refused me a ride home.”
A few days back, there was a news story about Air India’s decision to clear its stock of “matron-like” air-hostesses and replace them with the young, alluring ones. The national carrier, it seems, has had enough of plain Janes adorning the aisles; it now wants to add chutzpah to its flights of fancy. It wants to follow the success route of other airlines, whose USP is not their fleet of safe aircraft and sober pilots, but its flock of hot, attractive air-hostesses. The news story also had a table on the list of airlines that had the highest BQ (beauty quotient). Needlessly to say, Richard Branson’s Virgin topped the list, followed by Singapore Airlines, Air Etihad, Emirates, Aer Lingus (all in the UAE area), Lufthansa, cathay Pacific, TAP and KLM. A predictable observation is that all these airlines’ air-hostesses are (by default?) fair-skinned (by the sheer nature of their origin). India has been attempting a befitting reply to this “international look” via Punjab and Delhi, which breed the maximum number of air-hostess training institutes in the country!
Now what is the scale that measures beauty? Fair skin, tall and slim frame, and…what else? We do not know. These air-hostesses are expected to be turned out exceptionally well during each flight. They are given warnings even if their nail polish is chipped by a fraction of an inch, or their hair clips move by a few centimetres; they even face salary cuts if they weigh a few grams more. Basically, they have to sell cold sandwiches and colder juices using their bewitching smile to the starved passengers.
But does the air-hostess carry an airline’s success on her pretty shoulders? Probably. Considering a poll, in which travellers across the world preferred to savour those airlines that had the maximum DQ (drool quotient).
One can blindly credit the entertainment industry, cutting across the globe, with this large-scale commodification of women: from creating the voluptuous pin-up girls to the anorexic ramp reeds.
In the Indian film industry, female actors seem to prefer the “item girl” sobriquet after filmmakers set the trend of showcasing the bosom-heaving, cleavage-baring item girls breathing out raunchy numbers to tease the male libido. And, these show girls have created an iconic status for themselves, and are proud of it.
The Indian film industry is known to be canning this heady concoction of the “bad” woman (the I-dare-to-bare types), and her fully clothed and servile “goody” counterpart (the bejewelled and beclothed ones), to fan the flaming male fantasy. But, ultimately, both this good and the bad represent the ugly face of the raw male authority that crushes the feminism with its six-pack muscle power.

I want to believe you, Mr Modi

Narendra Modi joins the swelling bandwagon of satyagrahis.
The man who has nothing but the state (and language) in common with the original script-writer of satyagraha, M.K. Gandhi, has decided to sprinkle some saffron strands to this cauldron that has stirred the imagination of the burgeoning middle class urban India, courtesy Anna Hazare.
He plans to go on a three-day fast to give peace a chance in Gujarat.
A very novel gesture, Mr Modi.
There is a saying in Tamil which roughly translated means “rocking the cradle after pinching the baby”.
Sorry, Mr Modi. Am I alluding to a sticky past?
The Gujarat Chief Minister today finally broke his “silence”, apparently buoyed by the Supreme Court directing a trial court in the State to take a final decision on the complaint filed against Mr Modi by Zakia Jafri, wife of former MP Ehsan Jafri, who was killed in the Gulberga Society carnage.
Mr Modi said he believed that the Supreme Court's Monday order had ended an “unhealthy environment” created by the “unfounded and false allegations” against him and his government.
Have you and your government been given a clean chit, Mr Modi? The highest court has only shifted the case.
He then came up with this emotional masterstroke: “For the past 10 years, it has become fashionable to defame me and the State of Gujarat.”
We are in tears, Mr Modi.
He plans to go on a three-day fast to “further strengthen the State's environment of peace, unity and harmony”.
I am overwhelmed, Mr Modi.
“These elements who could not tolerate the positive developments in Gujarat have left no stone unturned to defame Gujarat.”
I have read reports, Mr Modi, about the modus operandi your government has been adopting to usurp farmland in exchange for the attractive industrial climate you are offering.
Are they also false campaign, Mr Chief Minister?
“But even amid these lies, false propaganda, conspiracies and allegations, the State has always marched towards peace, harmony and progress, and it will not waver from this path.”
"It is the responsibility of the people of the State to strengthen unity in social life. We have got an excellent opportunity to proceed with a positive attitude. Let us come together and contribute to enhancing the dignity of Gujarat.”
Wow! The state’s environment of peace, unity and harmony! Please, Mr Modi, I honestly want to believe this.
But just one question: Fear can also spur peace, unity and harmony. Right, Mr Modi?

Punishment on democracy

Anna Hazare has made a surprisingly unexpected statement. To quote him: "If any candidate takes or gives money in Vidhan Sabha or Parliament for asking questions or voting, such people should be given severe punishment, in fact according to me, they should be hanged."
His remarks came soon after former Samajwadi Party leader Amar Singh was sent to Tihar to join the other high-profile politicians. By the way, Amar Singh’s neighbour in jail is Madhu Koda, the former Jharkhand chief minister who is facing trail for siphoning off millions of dollars.
But what is strange is Anna’s demand for capital punishment. I hope he was at least referring to the judicial process of execution, rather than execution by “people’s judgement”. I have this confusion because of his “fast-track” resumption of a Lok Pal, ably fuelled by the electronic media that propelled large-scale citizen participation in a classic film style mass appeal. The Lok Pal Bill had been part of the legislative woodwork ever since Shanti Bhushan introduced it in 1968, popping up into debates subsequently once in a while by our “conscientious” men in white.
Coming back to the demand, it is strange because it came from Brand Anna, who has been portrayed as the post-modern Mahatma Gandhi. His brand positioning has been done carefully on the lines of Mahatma Gandhi and his ideals of satyagraha and non-violence. His Ram Lila fast episode was remarkably advertised by news channels as a peaceful, non-violent, Gandhian method to coerce the UPA government into tabling a “people-centric” ombudsman that will be sympathetic and for real, rather than mere tokenism. And, it struck a chord with the middle class, who were tired of paying bribes for almost every service they expected for smooth running of their everyday lives.
But the point is having carefully nurtured this Gandhian image, why did Brand Anna, who commands a mass hysteria, make this comment? Isn’t this a dangerous remark in a country of human icon-worshippers? Remember the original Gandhi once said: show the other cheek to the one who slapped one cheek?
Capital punishment is a debatable issue. The blast outside the Delhi High Court premises is apparently a message to the judiciary to pardon Mohammad Afsal, or Afsal Guru, the Kashmiri convicted of conspiring the December 2001 attack on Indian Parliament.
Then came the President, Pratibha Patil’s rejection of clemency petitions of three LTTE members, Murugan, Santhan and Perarivalan, for conspiring to kill Rajiv Gandhi in 1991.
The rejection acquired a parochial hue with most Tamil Nadu political parties seeking pardon for the perpetrators of the crime. The Dravidian parties are, as always, playing their game of political one-upmanship by lending a sympathetic shoulder for the cause of Tamil eelam. It will help them in their election speeches to draw lusty cheers from the dialogue-hungry Tamil electorate.
But why can’t we do away with capital punishment? Is it fair to practice this in an adolescent democracy like ours, of politicians, by politicians and for politicians?
Capital punishment in India seemed to have become a blatant political tool. So while the presidency is simply sitting on Afzal Guru’s mercy petition, it rejects those of Rajiv Gandhi’s killers. This automatically draws attention to the fact that the President is a UPA government nominee.
Crime has no religion, caste or linguistic identity. Irrespective of the nature of the crime, our country’s leaders, with a myopic wisdom, have no right to decide who can live and who cannot. An impartial presidency is a constitutional truth, but remains only that: a documented fact with no evidence of it being applied.

Shall we have a mature television?

The electronic media has gone berserk. The television anchors are getting hysterical trying to bringing to our drawing rooms the Anna Hazare phase of post-independent India. The sound bites were flying back and forth; political temperatures went soaring with camera-friendly spokespersons of parties ripping one another apart; and there was a fair sprinkling of familiar Bollywood voices too. But what could not be swallowed was the mindless adrenaline rush of our anchors and their sense of having achieved this possibility of bringing the drama “live” on to our flat screens; their senseless holler drowned the scream of politicians and even became more prominent than the UPA government’s apparent gaffe. Is it Peepli going live again?
The print media, too, is at a loss for words. Most of their headlines have the UPA government eating “humble pie” in the wake of Anna’s fast. And, the urban middle-class is feasting on the fasting capsules and is lovin’ it. Anna is hogging the elite drawing room limelight, leaving the i-pad2 behind.
The Congress is indeed in a corner, and seems to have lost its marbles in this show of strength by civil rights activists and their swelling support base. The movement against corruption has reached a stage of a virtual revolution, with Facebook pledges and text messages pitching in for the cause. The Right and Left twain also met to corner the “undemocratic hand of the Congress”.
Whoever said the Gandhian method of fasting had worked in the colonial era, but would not work now? Who said it needs an audience to carry forward Bapu’s method of non-violence? Sorry Ms Arundhati Roy, it seems to be working big time. When one of the civil rights activists, Manoj Sisodia, was released, he told the waiting television crew that he came out of Tihar to convey to millions of Indians watching television, that’s right, television, that Anna would remain in jail despite his release orders till the government gave him unconditional permission to hold his hunger-strike at JP Park. Our electronic media has created the new, post-colonial audience. It does have a potential to carry forward this anti-corruption revolution. We are lucky to have a fairly free media, unlike Egypt, which still managed with an active virtual participation.
This movement has the potential of giving lessons on maturity to our television journalists. The medium is explosive, and this is the right time to fine-tune the mechanisms and let the medium ripen and mellow. It has to become wiser and stress more on content than voice culture, or howl culture. The audience is waiting to take on the corrupt; a little help from an adult television presentation would go a long way into stirring up this audience further. Let the people in power and aspiring for power get the jitters next time they extend their hands for kickbacks; let the next generation understand politics as a serious cause and not use it as a five-year recurring deposit scheme; let the audience turn out in large numbers at poll booths and decimate the men in white with dark skeletons in their fancy cupboards.

Modi, still a dirty word

Narendra Modi is still a dirty word.
A word of praise for him, and the media and the political fraternity put on their hate glares to see the riot-tainted images of the 2002 riots and the Gujarat Chief Minister’s alleged role in it.
Yesterday, Maulana Ghulam Mohammad Vastanvi was removed from the post of vice-chancellor of Darul Uloom, Deoband, by the Majlis-e-Shoora, the powerful governing body of the institution seven months after he praised Modi. The Maulana had said at a function in his home state of Gujarat that like all other communities, “Muslims too had progressed under the Narendra Modi government, and that the Muslims should look beyond the post-Godhra communal riots and press ahead”.
All hell broke loose. The Maulana’s statement was seen as an attempt at giving a clean chit to Modi, triggering violence on the Darul Uloom campus, with deafening demands for his ouster.
So why is Modi still a dirty word? In April, Gandhian and activist Anna Hazare came in for sharp criticism for praising Modi and Bihar Chief Minister Nitish Kumar for their efforts on rural development. “The Chief Ministers of other states should also work like this,” the 73-year-old activist had said.
Again, his statement drew flak, with a number of Left and civil rights organisations wanting to distance themselves from Hazare in his campaign against corruption. The Congress MP Rashid Alvi had even said: “No secular person in the country can support Modi.”
Early this year, former President A.P.J. Abdul Kalam was all praise for the high economic growth Gujarat had achieved under Modi during the past six years. He cited the state’s agricultural growth that had been steady at 7 to 9 per cent for the past six years. He said Modi had created a dedicated power grid for uninterrupted supply to rural areas and improved irrigation systems, turning 20,000 hectares of unirrigated land into a rich agricultural area.
So here is the debate between the ghost and growth.
On the other hand, we have errant and corrupt chief ministers ruling over our states. While one has been holidaying in Mauritius even as his state’s Lokayukta report has indicted him of having amassed wealth in exchange for granting illegal mining licenses, we have another one building statues and amassing diamonds. While a political patriarch lost his chief ministership in a state after having bred ministers who had embroiled themselves in one of the biggest telecom scams ever, we had another political leader who had lost his chief ministerial chair after having been involved in a housing scam meant for Kargil widows.
What I am trying to think is that on the one hand we have our unscrupulous leaders continuously draining the state exchequer, while filling up their personal coffers, and we have a Chief Minister who has been drawing praises for his agricultural and other development work, but has the ghost of 2002 handing like an albatross round his neck.
What is the greater evil? A Chief Minister with a riot-tainted past? By the way, there are stray evidences and multiple allegations of the government machinery involved in the gory, “cleansing” act of 2002.
Or is it the unscrupulosity of our leaders who see political power as a short-term personal fixed deposit scheme, in which they would have to park as much wealth as possible.
So what is the dirtier word: Modi or Corruption?
I haven’t got an answer to it.

Don’t let us down!

The Supreme Court finally acted on the draconian Salwa Judum, stripping it off power and arms. The special police force had been organised by the Chattisgarh government to tackle the so-called Naxal “menace” as the ruling power loves to call it. By the way, in all drawing room discussions, the areas where Naxals are active are called Naxal-infested, as if they were insects or even rabid.
The Salwa Judum, with its heady concoction of upper caste “warriors” ably backed by the state machinery had run roughshod across the rural belt, intimidating villagers and tribals, and spewing orders in the name of justice. It had become an extra-constitutional authority.
The Supreme Court also passed another order last week, directing the Mayawati government to return “usurped” land to farmers.
And, Jairam Ramesh, when he was environment minister, intervened two days back to stop Vedanta from raping Nayamgiri hills, by refusing environmental clearance for bauxite mining.
These decisions are important, almost landmark because they might bring back people’s faith in our country’s democratic system. Just might, what with most of our political leaders vying for space in Tihar with multiple charges of corruption and some even enjoying their tea with jail officials.
The country’s growth is lopsided at the best. The government is projecting a growth rate of over 10 per cent, lacing it with the argument of a trickle-down effect. Only the so-called bounty that is seemingly trickling down gets blocked periodically.
Today’s reshuffle in the Manmohan Singh Cabinet may seem to be a shake-up to ascertain itself as having taken some action in its corridors of corruption. But as Anna Hazare pointed out: a reshuffle will not tackle corruption, only a change will.
An important man who has been juggled around is Jairam Ramesh. His exit is a major loss to the environment ministry. Ramesh had combined activism with his ministerial position, often embarrassing the government, which sometimes chose development at the cost of displacement. This portfolio will now be handled by Jayanti Natarajan, a rather tame choice for such a high-profile (read important) ministry. She will have to do lot of tight-rope walking to take forward the work of her predecessor without succumbing to pressure.
Ramesh’s elevation to the status of a Cabinet minister with the rural development portfolio is in my opinion a “ploy” by the government to play down the environmental issues thrown into the public radar by our activist-minister. But Ramesh can get into the skin of his new portfolio of rural development and dig out hidden concerns into the public arena. His decisions to look into the Naxal strongholds and the tribal heartland that comprises the backward areas could help further elevate his stature in the public eye. His steps in the direction of the rural employment guarantee scheme for the uplift of the people could be useful. What’s more; he could use this portfolio to integrate rural development with preserving our ecology by guaranteeing tribals their native livelihood, and not the one “promised” by corporate land sharks who promise employment that would at best be petty and menial. An effective penetration into rural development can at the most preserve our countryside from being made into concrete jungles with brick and mortar.
Ramesh, please don’t let us down!

Slut it out

A woman in Pakistan was paraded naked because her son committed rape. Afghanistan, Pakistan and India are in the top five countries deemed most dangerous for women, according to a recent poll of gender experts. Speaking of India, it is a country where women are worshipped as deities and killed in foetal stage.
On the other side of the spectrum, we have women across the world organising “slut walks”, dressing up provocatively after a Toronto police officer suggested that in order not to be victimised, “women should avoid dressing like sluts”.
The term slut has a negative connotation, and is obviously directed towards the woman. It means a loose woman, a prostitute, a dirty, unkempt woman, or a woman who performs menial work. And invariably, it is the woman who is blamed for a man’s lust. Violence and rape are on the rise because women are dressed provocatively, rather than “decently”.
Now, what is decent dressing? How are women supposed to dress up so as not to “provoke” the male folk into pawing them? How much must a woman cover herself so as not to let her modesty be outraged? Is a hint of cleavage or a tight-fitting T-shirt “allowed”? I am curious.
Isn’t it totally bizarre to pin the responsibility on the woman for being leered at, or worse, for being raped? Instead of asking women to cover themselves properly to avoid the dubious male gaze, why can’t we turn the table for once and ask the males to desist from sexual violence?
Many schools across the country have a salwar-kameez dress code for ‘’grown-up” girls, and when they foray into college, that code is extended. Why not a code of conduct for the boys for a change? Why can’t boys be groomed as they become men to stop looking at women as sex objects? Apart from splashing crime and rape across the media and organising seminars on sexual violence, or taking out marches to protect the “right to dress”, can we just spare a thought to edify junior and senior adams not to see women purely as eves waiting for a lay?
But there is a flip side to this argument. Women of the urban genre seem so hypnotised by a modern “trend”. They have a rather skewed idea of liberation. For them, liberation seems to be daring to bare. Digging a little more would probably give them a deeper sense of what liberation is. But they have buried that to explore this new-found freedom of expression, completely deflecting them from an independent mind set. I don’t think feminism is burning bras to “free” oneself. It would only “disfigure” our ideas. Both men and women have certain anatomical assets and liabilities, and it is best to bury the unnecessary attention it gets.

Sun sets and flowers bloom

The sun has set in Tamil Nadu and the twin flowers bloomed in West Bengal. Both made possible by two women, high on whims and tantrums. But the similarity ends there. One is a political widow (well almost), groomed to perfection by her mentor, former Tamil Nadu chief minister M.G. Ramachandran; while the other is a rebel who rose from playing street politics, unnerving the urban, elite Calcuttans, and rode roughshod into the rural red fort of Bengal.
One has had two stints as chief minister; she has a polished demeanour with a ruthless streak; while the other has to test her skill as an administrator, but has a raw appeal. One oscillates between her castles in high-profile addresses of Kodai and Chennai, and is most certainly inaccessible; the other lives in her only address: a humble home in a middle class south Calcutta locality. One is revered, worshipped, and feared. The other is admired and even loved for being the lone face of change in the 34-year-old red bastion. While one had power handed to her on a platter by her political mentor and co-star of zillion films, MGR, the other fought her way to power from the streets of Calcutta to the lush agricultural fields of rural Bengal, with no one behind her but herself and her rebellious streak. One has faced charges of corruption, having dipped her rather large hand into the state treasury’s luscious pie; the other is fiercely honest. One is Amma, and the other is Didi. That’s Jayalaitha and Mamata for us, who are set to rule the states of Tamil Nadu and West Bengal respectively. Will they deliver?
Jayalalitha will have the state machinery and her own experience to count on. Besides, she has to simply restructure the industrial map of Tamil Nadu to attract investments and take the state forward.
But for Mamata, she has to remove the bright red hue of the state machinery, which it must have acquired after having been associated with the Left for 34 years. Then she will have to begin her green campaign. The balance of agricultural-industrial development is delicate in the state, especially after the Left’s Singur and Nandigram experiments. The corporates sense an unfavourable investment climate in the state. Moreover, she has to handle the Gorkha issue that comes to a boil one in a while.
Didi’s crown of thorns will make it uneasy for her. Amma, on the other hand, got her diamond-studded crown on a platter from the polity, frustrated with the scam-tainted DMK government. While one worked very hard for her crown, almost living off the kutcha and pucca streets of Bengal; the other won it rather easily without having to work too hard for it. The DMK First Family made it easy for her to get it.
Hail democracy.

Hazare khwaishen aisi!

There have been a surfeit of columns branding the Lok Pal committee as anti-democratic as it will be peopled by civil activists other than our elected leaders; that the movement had been fed and fuelled by “Left” sympathisers as if they were to be avoided like plague; that it had gained momentum following the West Asia crisis or revolution (depending on the side of coin you wish to see); that Anna Hazare had to be blamed for having blackmailed the government into setting up such a watchdog as it will comprise civilians apart from elected politicians. One column said Mahatma Gandhi used Satyagraha to humble the despotic/autocratic colonial rule, and Anna Hazare should not have approached our democratically elected government with this approach.
The movement has indeed inspired the tweeting-texting middle class Indians to rally behind Hazare, apart from the Bollywood brigade. I choose to toss the Bollywood support out of the multiplex’ revolving glass doors because I do not think I want to take their multiple roles too seriously. They are certainly not our role models; they can remain in the reels.
Columnists have doled out solutions like cleaning up our system; the fact is we have three democratic sensors: the Executive, Legislature and Judiciary, and a fourth conscientious one: the Press. We have seen how our Parliament and Assemblies function. Chairs are hurled, paper rockets fly across; ministers almost come to blows, and finally, wad of notes makes a mockery of the electoral process. Precious work hours are lost, and policy decisions take a back seat. The less said the better about the media screaming for attention with its innovative (read business savvy) ways of catching the eyeballs. So when Hazare went on fast, the channels began an SMS campaign. The great Indian middle class fell into the trap, hook, line and sinker, texting messages of solidarity from their touch screen mobiles or newly-acquired i-pads. The biggest gainers were the mobile service providers and the news channels, who share the spoils of the message revenue. The immaturity of the India electronic media is so stark; we have news anchors spilling out emotions, rather than acting objectively.
In India, a cleaning up of a system has not been possible so far. We have stepped into the sixth decade, and the system only stinks. The income gaps have widened, corporate-politician nexus has strengthened; elections have become an over-the-counter service with take television sets/sarees and stamp on symbol in return; poll alliances have become a joke, making strange bedfellows and sleeping partners. No one seems to be awake in this system, except a few consciences in the judiciary; I repeat only a few of them. Everything and everyone is up for sale, up for grabs..from the traffic policemen to those in the portals of power.
We needed this mass hysteria to at least shake off the lethargy, and transform drawing room frustrations into candle light vigils. Anna Hazare did not do this to end corruption; he merely stirred us out of our slumber, or of helplessness.
India is a land of icon-lovers. We need an icon to worship and that explains why we have made our cricket players and filmstars gods. That explains the statue culture or statue diplomacy of our politicians, whether it is a Mayawati or a Shivaji, a Netaji or a Basava. Or the cut-out culture of the south, where endless litres of milk are poured on the larger-than-life canvas images of Rajnikath.
Then why is a Tamil filmstar, whether it is MGR or Rajnikanth, elevated to that super-human status by their supporters, despite growing under the shadow of an iconoclast like Periyar of the Dravidian movement? The reason is simple: we Indians cutting across linguistic state boundaries are used to worshipping an entity. So when Periyar destroyed the idea of idol-worship, they resorted to worshipping human beings, elevating them to the status of Gods.
Let us admit, we Indians are yet to mature into a powerful democratic force powered by intellectual exposure. We are immature, illiterate, in awe of public figures, and therefore, needed an Anna Hazare as our conscience-keeper to tell us not to take corruption lying down.
Hazare only won a minor skirmish for us. The war still remains to be fought.

Blue bleeding the tax-payers?

The euphoric last ball six will be MS Dhoni’s most beautiful return gift for all the adulation his countrymen and women have given him, sealing once and for all the cruel memory of Javed Miandad’s last-ball six off Chetan Sharma at Sharjah. My sister had snapped ties with me for 24 hours that Friday because I had predicted Miandad would hit big.
Back to World Cup 2011, 48 hours have lapsed, and the booze has lost its fizz, the media has finished interviewing anyone and everyone within the champions’ radar: friends, relatives, temple priests, astrologers, gardeners, maids and drivers. The news pages and channels have gone berserk with the celebration blitzkrieg, with champagne and rewards raining heavily on willing players’ heads. The moment the ecstatic men in blue touched the Cup, the BCCI promised a few more crores into the players’ kitty. What has followed is a tsunami of rewards by the not-to-be-left-behind governments (Centre and state) that is going to leave the middle class tax-payers devastated. And this is not a silly point, mind you.
The players are anyway on a fascinating financial wicket, with more bounce added to those gorgeous millions, apart from the ICC’s 13.8 crore prize money and the BCCI monetary gift to each of the champions. Fair enough! BCCI is a cricket board, after all.
Take a look at the unrestrictive, commercial power-play: just imagine the brand endorsements these players indulge in. No problems. They are celebrities and have earned this position. So apart from the cola they push (that has incidentally also taught them to change the gentleman’s game and go for the upar cuts and pallu-helicopter shots against opponents), these players are asking us to watch Sony television, use Karbon mobiles, wear reebok gear, apply male fairness cream, fill car tanks with Speed fuel and insure ourselves with Aviva, to name a few. This is taking care of adding more millions into their large piggy bank.
Now the “men and women in white” have stepped in to distribute the largesse in cash and kind. First, the Delhi government’s Sheila Dikshit offered cash rewards. Mamata Banerjee announced free railway passes to the champions. She had the time to make such announcements despite the elections in West Bengal. She anyway need not write fresh hate-Left speeches; even Chief Minister Buddhadeb Bhattacharya knows it by heart. Bangalore’s Yeddyurappa government quickly announced plots of land for the players. Soon, other the state governments followed suit, and will follow suit with their cricket charity.
Why? Why is it that governments are joining this bandwagon when their respective states are in a shambles? Corruption has failed to become an election issue because it seems to have become an accepted or even an acceptable fact. Governance remains a fancy democratic term. Why are the men in white so unaffected by the country, infected by the dangerous bugs of illiteracy, inflation, unemployment and poverty? Why do our men in white choose to drive past hungry shanties in their white convoys? Why do our men in white want to use tax payers’ money to fill the over-flowing coffers of the men in blue?
So the ICC pays them, BCCI pays them, corporates pay them, sponsors pay them, bookies pays them (I couldn't resist this temptation). Then why are the tax payers being wrung out to carry coal to New Castle (to use a cliché)?

‘Ode’ one out

It was a wonder in red. As I went past the dry, dusty terrain and entered a mammoth gate into the complex, a lump formed in my throat. I could see the huge complex comprising myriad structures from the locally quarried red sandstone. Fatehpur Sikri, Akbar’s dream city replete with a dargah of Salim Chisti, is a poetry written with honesty and sincerity. It was an encounter with the great Mughal emperor. I could feel the vibrations when my hands felt the pristine red walls and my feet explored the spacious terraces defining the edifices. As my eyes browsed the façade and the sober interiors, I could feel the emperor’s presence, led by him through his creation and being at the receiving end of his hospitality. It was like interacting with the statesman on the ideals of secularism. Fatehpur Sikri is imbued with Akbar’s persona, pulling me into the past. My pulse went racing as I stroked the pillars of his values and ideals which slowly but surely got absorbed into every pore of my being, sending a delightful chill down my spine.
Exactly 45 km away, the other Mughal poem, this time written for love and beauty, stood the Taj. Its sheer opulence is overbearing, sometimes even intimidating. The Taj Mahal, a love story engraved in cold marble and precious stones (now in glass cases in the British museum) is awe-inspiring. This romantic verse was Shah Jahan’s epic tribute to his young wife, Mumtaz, who died in child birth. The king’s begum before death had extracted a promise of getting a magnificent mausoleum built in her memory. But isn’t love a spontaneous and unconditional emotion? The fact that the Taj was a love-on-demand made me distance myself from it. The cold, overwhelming marble structure made the unfriendliness of the Taj complete for me.
The grandeur in marble is opulent, dressy, beautiful, but it remains just that. It did not pull me into its past, like Fatehpur Sikri did. It left me admiring it for its workmanship and beauty; for its sheer size and planning; for its exquisite and delicate beauty. But Shah Jahan’s sentimental ode lacked the heart and soul of Akbar’s vision, his dream of a unified religion; of a cohesive nation. Taj lacked the warmth of Fatehpur Sikri’s simplicity and pragmatism. It only reflected the selfishness of Shah Jahan giving in to his dying wife’s irrational demand, and not the sensibility and benevolence of Akbar.
The gorgeousness and perfectness of the Taj is no patch on the honesty and friendliness of Fatehpur Sikri.
Indeed, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

A scummy India

Her hair was shabby, unkempt. She wore an ill-fitting dress that almost reached her ankle. The string of colourful beads in different shapes that she wore around her neck revealed more of the red discoloured string. I could hear a faint jingle of coins in her tightly closed fist as she was loitering around the biscuit counter in a supermarket, her tiny frame barely reaching till the beginning of the second lower shelf.
I was contemplating whether to stock more of those low-calorie oats crackers, of which I already had two packets in my grocery shelf when I saw this little girl looking blankly at the variety of biscuits. Do I help her out? I asked myself, but somehow restrained myself as I did not want to scare her away. She might want to check out for herself, rather than be treated patronisingly. I hesitated again. I wanted to help her, lost as she was craning her neck to see the stack of biscuits kept on top.
“Ei, kya chahiye (what do you want)?” the somewhat suspicious employee of the supermarket hollered down the narrow corridor amid the shelves stacked with biscuits on one side and high-calorie snacks on the opposite side. The little girl, who might not have crossed eight years, dropped the two two-rupee coins in fright. She scampered under the shelves for her two coins and fished them out. She then dusted the two coins on her dirty frock and held them into her tight fist. I later saw her near the counter nervously waiting in the side for her small packet of the four-rupee biscuit to be billed.
So she finally managed to find the biscuit, I thought.
She was not in the queue; she did not know she had to be in queue. Just then a woman walked in from the other side and tried elbowing me out to get her two-litre Bisleri water bottle to be billed. I politely asked her to follow the queue and went closer to the counter. The little girl still patiently waited near the counter, clasping her biscuit in one hand and her coins in her right fist. It seemed the man behind the counter, too, pretended he had not seen the little girl. When my turn came, I requested him to get the little girl’s bill done. She looked at me, her blank eyes not conveying anything, but just happy that she would finally get her biscuit billed. She could now settle for what could be her evening snack, or even dinner. I realised she might have been checking out the biscuit that would suit her budget.
“Here take,” the man behind the counter almost flung the bill at her. Her eyes sparkled as she held on to the tiny glucose biscuit packet and ran down the steps, as if celebrating her victory.
The man then billed all that I had placed in my shopping basket and handed me the bill in my hand with a polite “Thank you”.
I walked down the same flight of steps that the girl had just danced down a few minutes back, but there was a difference: there was no spring in my strides. I walked down, deep in thought, about this India, about this little girl’s India, about the people who are part of this India, and about the people who treat this India. The same man behind the counter had shown two distinctly different ways of handing over the bills; his conditioned politeness obviously tilting towards the credit card holders, and a natural disdain for shabbily dressed people with loose change.
I looked into my grocery bag filled with so-called “healthy” cookies, slim milk tetra packs, the rather expensive red and yellow bell peppers, Haldiram’s oil-soaked chota samosas, Amul butter and what I believed was whole wheat bread. The little girl’s eyes disturbed me; it haunted me throughout my walk back home. I kept peeping into my grocery bag. Do I really need all this? Or was it just a passing fancy of buying the sundries attractively stocked in supermarket shelves? A want fuelled by the fact that I could afford it, that I had a credit card that could take care in case I fell short of liquid cash.
I have still not found an answer to that.

Ma(u)lling the planet

The environment ministry has finally banned gutka and tobacco in plastic sachets. Hope it does the same with shampoo sachets. Though the shampoo sachet revolution took place in small towns and villages to attract consumers, the impact it has had on the environment is devastating.
The order also bans provision of free plastic bags by shopkeepers. This looks great on paper. But just how many of us are going to take it seriously?
Whenever I go to buy fruits and vegetables, I have to insist that my purchases are stacked into my cloth bag because the moment I have asked for a kg of peas, like an automated machine, the vegetable vendor’s hand reaches for that horrible, transparent, hazardous, perilous, menacing thing called plastic bag. When I asked my neighbourhood fruit seller why his hand, again like an automated machine, heads for a plastic bag the moment I have asked for half a kg of grapes, he smiled sheepishly. I tried reasoning with him, asking him to stop giving plastic bags, and insist that his customers get their own bags. Before I finished my line, a stylish couple got down from a Pajero and bought a kg each of Washington apples and Nagpur oranges, and a dozen of Kiwis. “Keep the fruits in two separate plastic bags. Do not mix the Kiwis with the other two fruits,” the "madam" ordered as she handed him a 1000-rupee note.
“This is why I keep them, madam,” he answered after handing her the change and ensuring that the couple got into the rear seat of the car and out of his earshot. “I will lose customers if I do not stock plastic.”
“Fair enough,” I sighed. It was obvious that these Pajero and Merc owners, zipping past in their fuel-guzzlers, will certainly not care to choke our planet with plastic.
That was the local shopkeeper. But the endless flow of plastic bags in supermarkets and malls is appalling. First, I have to deposit my jute bag, in which I intend putting my purchases, in the front counter. Fair enough. These malls have to beware of shoplifters, especially during the mad clearance sale rush. But whenever I have gone to the cash counter for payment and then refused those humongous, gory plastic bags with the store names embossed in multi-colour, I am looked at with surprise, even disbelief. And then, when I go to the front counter to collect my jute bag and tuck in my purchases, the entrance security guards look at me as if I am a criminal. So I keep my bill in hand, flaunt it as if assuring them that I am no crook and that I have paid my Rs 499 or Rs 599 for the kurti that I just bought.
It is the same in an upmarket grocery store in Pune called Dorabjee’s. This place has a great brand value for Puneites (sorry Raj Thakeray, for Punekars). It stocks every item under the sun, desi and videsi. There, too, the use of your own bags is discouraged as the baggage counter in very far from the cash counter. I tried telling the cash counter helper to just bill for the items and that I would fill these up in my own bag. He glared at me, and said that I would have to show the bill at the counter and get the number of items I have bought approved by him again. The sheer logistics of having the front counter helper checking all that I have bought all over again just to save the planet from choking a little did not put me off that day. I stopped going to that store after that. But if I did, would I be able to sustain this logistical nightmare?
Why can’t these malls/supermarkets just keep the baggage counter closer to the cash counter and save those concerned about the planet the trouble of being looked at suspiciously? This will save us the trouble of actually feeling apologetic for saying no to plastic. It might, in the long run, save our planet too.

Are we different from Egypt?

So how are we different from Egypt? Is it by just being a democracy?
Our country is a democracy, world’s largest one at that. But we have people’s representatives stashing loads of money in foreign banks. We are a democracy where corruption begins at traffic signals and ends in the highest portals of power.
We are a democracy, but still have to beware of making statements about human rights violations in the garb of Armed Forces Special Power’s Act. We are a democracy, where supporting any group of displaced tribals will invite sedition charges against us. We are a democracy, where social activists have all come under the scanner. We are a democracy, where People’s Union of Civil Liberties has suddenly become a suspicious organisation. We are a democracy where we have to watch our precious land earmarked for Army widows being devoured by land sharks. We are democracy where we have to silently watch our treasury being emptied to fill private coffers in the wake of high-profile sporting events. We are a democracy, where we are helpless seeing tonnes of foodgrains rotting in granaries, while millions are dying of malnutrition and hunger. We are democracy where medical tourism is touted as top revenue grosser, while millions again are denied basic medical facilities. We are a democracy, where the media is gagged by corporate and political vested interests. We are a democracy, where defence deals are struck accompanied by kickbacks. We are a democracy where lush, fertile agricultural land is gifted away almost for free in the name of creating special economic zones. We are a democracy, where high-profile, billion-dollar projects that are certain to rape our environment and displace tribals from their native areas are given go-aheads by a proactive green ministry working under pressure from a government aiming for an investment-friendly climate. We are democracy unshaken by multiple scams.
But when we raise our voices, we are called woolly-headed.
We are a democracy in shackles: corporate shackles, political shackles and real estate shackles.
So are we really different from Egypt?