False Saints - Feigned Piety

This article was first published in www.centreright.in. Link
It was later published in www.indiafacts.co.in. Link

In the land of the blind, the one eyed has to be the king; in the kingdom of immorality, even a pretension of probity is ticket to Sainthood. One does not have to wonder why the Aam Aadmi Party and its founder have become the cynosure in the public eyes in such a short time span despite having little to show in terms of experience, expertise or ability. Delhi, a microcosm of the country with its varied hues of social, cultural and political overtones, has endeared itself to such a pretender to the throne who without proffering any pragmatic policy to solve the myriad problems has managed to set high sail on a sea of promises. It is interesting to observe the groundswell in favor of Mr. Kejriwal and his AAP given how little organizational experience and electioneering tactic they possess. To catch such fancy of a voting public that is fractured with massive fault lines is no small achievement. What seems to be working in their favour is the very same factor that should be working against them, inexperience. No political party with even the thinnest of histories can get away with the kind of faux pas that AAP and Mr. Kejriwal are easily allowed to get away with. Media houses, election pundits and critics alike have decided to handle these misdemeanors with kid gloves serving the AAP generous dollops of undeserved benefits of doubt. While all this makes for excellent debutant’s luck how long this will last is anyone’s guess.


That Mr. Kejriwal is a sincere activist, there is no doubt to that. That Mr. Kejriwal is a clueless politician, there is no doubt to that either. When the Anna Hazare movement was orchestrated, the activism of Mr. Kejriwal came to the forefront. It would be a gross injustice if his early success were not to be acknowledged because it is on the strength of those achievements that he has managed to make an enviable entry into electoral politics. However, finesse in one aspect of public life does not necessarily translate into similar acumen in all other spheres. We need not look any further than our incumbent Prime Minister to understand this. Dr. Singh is a stalwart economist but less said about his political skills the better. UPA 1 ambled through political minefields not under the leadership of Dr. Singh but because of the able maneuvering by Pranab Mukherjee. The sad story that UPA 2 has turned out to be bears strong testimony to this hypotheses; Mr. Mukherjee’s absence has ensured that the Government has managed to prove itself thoroughly rudderless. In all this, Dr. Singh has been a mute spectator. Not only has his administrative incapability been exposed, the economic theories that are his strongest suit have also come under strong criticism. Mr. Kejriwal, sadly enough, is exuding all signs of a similar decline.

For instance, if one were to consider the Tauqeer Raza controversy and judge Mr. Kejriwal’s response to criticism thereof, it would be apparent that his political acumen is grossly overrated. The realpolitik of elections mandates every political leader to wine and dine with certain controversial personalities. It is up to the skills of the leader to answer the questions that arise from such associations. Normally, Indian politicians with hides thicker than crocodiles are immune to criticism of such nature. Mostly, such meetings and the deals struck in them are cloaked cleverly to create an impression of nothing amiss. The first mistake of Mr. Kejriwal was the public nature of his meeting with the Koran thumping Maulana. Mr. Kejriwal’s political compulsion to seek Muslim votes is well known. In the Delhi scheme of things, Muslims vote en bloc for the Congress. Unless Mr. Kejriwal manages to open a breach in this monolithic structure, his electoral prospects in most of the constituencies can take a severe beating. Delhi’s numerically significant middle class Muslim society is the most likely demography to break pattern and gravitate towards the AAP. This is one segment that the BJP can claim no influence on and hence makes for an open field for Mr. Kejriwal to offer himself as an alternate to the Congress. His recent utterances and actions on sensitive matters such as the Batla House encounter are clear indications that he has set his crosshair on this stratum specifically. But the Congress hold on this vote bastion would be difficult to break because of Mr. Kejriwal’s previous association during the Hazare fast with Baba Ramdev who is openly viewed as a saffron sympathizer, a fact that the Congress will not be loath to tom-tom should the need arise. To balance such an Achilles’ heel, it was but natural that he would seek a similar association with a religious figurehead of the community that he wishes to endear himself to. From a purely political point of view, there is nothing wrong in this strategic move. But Mr. Kejriwal need not have chosen the much maligned Maulana Raza Khan for this purpose. There is no dearth of Koran thumpers in the Delhi region and any one of them with a lesser affinity to beheadings and misogyny could have served the purpose. If anything, the middle class and moderate Muslim populace that he wishes to represent are less likely to take to the hardline thoughts of a fatwa man. Here Mr. Kejriwal and the think-tank of AAP, if there is one, bungled terribly. If the meeting was meant for pure demonstrative purposes, a better personality should have been chosen. If there were other compunctions such as funding or solicitation for muscle power, it should have been kept discrete. By doing neither, a can of worm was opened which led to a very avoidable loss of face.

It was not the act itself but the subsequent deer caught in the headlight reaction to the act that exposed the chinks in the armor. The AAP has been a media darling since the day of its inception. Not so much for the values or principles that it stands for but for the fact that it brings to table a certain novelty factor that none else is capable of that the media anchors go gaga over AAP. Basking in such glory has also given them unprecedented media time, all of it positive. Till the Maulana controversy, all the AAP had to do was send a representative, cluelessness and lack of debating abilities notwithstanding, to be there in the TV studio while the anchor does all the arguing for it. The Maulana issue posed the first challenge for them where they were for a change facing an unfriendly media. The moronery apart, these media anchors who could be so condescending while speaking in favor, can turn into tearaway bullies when they wish to. And the AAP developed cold feet at the very prospect of this berating. So much so that they decided to completely boycott the TV studios that they throng to with such natural ease otherwise, on the night the controversy erupted. One would be at a loss to explain such absolute lack of fight from a party that aspires to beat thoroughbred political parties at their own game. If Mr. Kejriwal wants to pose as the pretender to the throne, he should at the very least have shown a stomach for fight and faced the questions that were anyway results of his own actions. But this crusader chose to walk away from a battle. By doing so, he not only proved his total lack of personal courage but also inadvertently exposed the phony politics that he accuses his foes to be playing as his own game and no less. This was his second mistake.

The third mistake was juxtaposed a few days later. AAP and Mr. Kejriwal claimed that they were not aware of the antecedents of the Maulana. By just one single utterance, Mr. Kejriwal managed to serve two body blows on his own credibility. One: What responsible political party does not check the credentials of the ideologues that it publicly holds dalliances with? Why should such a party be trusted with a mandate? Two: Assuming their excuse of ignorance to be true, if the Maulana’s past deeds were known to the AAP functionaries, would they have not gone ahead with the meeting? Now that they are aware of his views, should not they criticize him and risk Muslim alienation? Such Quixotic behavior ought to raise existential questions on a party’s viability. Had it not been for the forgiving attitude shown by the print and electronic media, AAP would have become a stale joke by now.

The pretense of saintliness of AAP has been on the rise ever since. Their rhetoric against the establishment and all its shortcomings matches religious fervor. Now, this is a dangerous path to tread for such rage of righteousness also demands equal probity on part of the righteous. But when you find anchors of an MTV show who would be revered as Shakespeares if only profanity were a language in the midst of this holier than thou lot you should know that this has been a charade all along. How is this act of using a couple of TV rednecks for campaigning any different from the mainstream political parties parading one washed up actor after the other to endorse their brand of politics? Does this not smack of the same ideological debauchery that the AAP is so fond of alleging its rivals to be guilty of? The fact is Mr. Kejriwal has lost the plot before the drama has even begun. He may very well win a few seats in Delhi but he has already lost the ideological ground that he has propped himself on. This flight of Icarus is fast approaching the sun. We shall see how long the glue of deceit holds the wings of the false angel.

The Polythene Bag

Mr. Bose looked out of the window at the narrow winding road that disappeared at a bend. It was an afternoon, one of those dry and dreary ones that visit Calcutta more frequently than he liked. Clouds loomed in the sky threatening to burst any moment, not a leaf moved in the stillness that ensued but nothing happened. A minor gust turned a carelessly thrown black polythene bag into a glider. It flew for a distance, gaining altitude steadily until the wayward twig of an insignificant shrub on the kerb arrested its movement. It fluttered a while, protesting unsuccessfully against the sudden and unanticipated impedance. Mr. Bose fixed his attention on it, wondering if a stronger wind will relieve its agony. If he had the powers he would have commanded the elements to help the polythene bag.




Her presence did not register in his mind till she placed her hand on his shoulder. She must have stood there silently for a while for she too was following his gaze and was thinking the same thing as him; let the polythene bag fly!! At the feel of her hand he turned his head towards her and they exchanged a smile. She looked pretty in the dim glow of the afternoon. The shadow of the window rails made a pattern of black and white on her face. A strand of hair cascaded down from her casually made bunch and rested on her cheek. He blew it, giving it a short lease of life before it regained its position. This made her feel ticklish, the hair brushing against her skin. She tried meeting his eyes but by then he had returned to his reverie. The polythene bag still had not broken the shackles of the twig. The afternoon had fallen even more silent with the clouds beginning to spread out uniformly and the rain seeming more imminent than before. A few impatient raindrops landed making the earth emanate its earthy smell. She let go a deep sigh, her gaze no longer following his.




A photograph hung on the wall. The face of a woman who must have been quite stunning in her youth peered from it. It was difficult to say what emotions she was going through when the photograph was taken. The eyes did not betray any feelings, the mouth seemed listless and the pallor was that of a person who could use an outing in the sun. A string of dried flowers hung around the photograph. It had been weeks since the flowers had been replaced. The stub of a burnt out incense stick jaunted out from the corner of the frame. The ashes lay in a haphazard pile on the floor below.




The picture was taken in morbid haste and it showed. The photographer must have been great at his job for the image did not reveal the fact that the subject had been diagnosed with terminal cancer and had exactly two more months to live. It was one of those acts of final desperation when you know that you are running out of time and must finish doing the last few things. Mr. Bose saw his wife of fifteen years wither away in front of him since the doctor had sounded out the ultimatum. The fall was fast, from a mild fever and stomach pain to full-time confinement to bed. Mr. Bose clung on to the hope of a miracle recovery. He woke up some mornings thinking that his wife has been cured and would bring him breakfast in her cheery self. Instead he made peace with her cries of pain and agony. She turned from a healthy woman to a shadow in a matter of months. At one point she seemed like nothing more than an overgrown malnourished child. it was at this point that Mr. Bose decided he must get a photograph of her for the end seemed around the corner. Getting her ready for the photoshoot was an elaborate affair with the beautician from the nearby parlor laboring to bring her color drained face to an acceptable condition. She did not express it but nevertheless felt very good about being pampered in such a way. The photographer made a million adjustments with the lighting and shades before he got what he thought was professionally acceptable. The final result satisfied all parties concerned.




She was her sister, younger by ten years. Until the news of the sickness came, her life seemed confined to tending to her parents and her work as a lecturer in the university. At thirty, her marital status was both a matter of concern and disappointment to her parents. She had lived through the cycle of falling in love with a person whom her parents did not approve, tiding over the pain of lost love by adding educational degrees to her resume and when there was nothing more to study discovering that she was far too old to fall in love again or find an appropriate match. After a few years of fruitless attempts at matchmaking, her parents had resigned themselves to the fact that she would probably never get married. She did not mind the arrangement, her parents were lonely and the house was big enough for the three of them. She liked taking care of them. The sister’s house on the other side of the city was a happy distraction for weekend visits. In all, it was all a happy if not perfect arrangement until the news of the illness came.




Mr. Bose for all his virtues was totally incapable of providing care to a sick wife. He had been the careseeker all his life, caregiving did not come naturally to him. So when she was no longer ambulatory, it came down on the younger sister to take over the household. The sicker she became the gloomier he went. Other than holding her hand for long periods of time and crying silent tears he did very little in terms of helping the situation. At one point it was not clear who was nearer to death. It was not long before she had to permanently shift to her sister’s place. The days were long and the nights restless, but she handled the losing battle with the poise of a professional. The parents came from time to time but did little to alleviate the hopelessness of the situation. They added to the tears, increased the sense of impending doom and left making the situation more desperate. It was left to her to pick up the broken pieces together and somehow mend it with a glue that seemed impossible to find.




The end came in an anti climax. She had lapsed into a coma two days earlier. The doctor had come and gone without offering much in terms of hope. In fact, they did not realize when exactly did she pass away. It was a foregone conclusion anyway and they had stopped checking on her every five minutes. Mr. Bose walked into the room in the evening to hold her hand and realized that there was no pulse. There was no shriek, no scream. In time he had learnt to make peace with the eventuality. The funeral happened without much fuss. Friends and relatives came in droves, each sorrier than the earlier. He stood like a pillar, unsure of how to respond to the entreaties. She made the conversations and accepted the condolences. In time, when there were no more people coming in, she prepared to leave him to himself, to grieve privately and to heal if that was possible.





Before leaving, she took the framed photograph out of the envelope, pulled a chair to reach above the door frame and hung it. She stepped down from the chair to see if the frame was not set crookedly. As an afterthought, she made a small ring of flowers. He walked in from the front of the house in his trance like state and caught the image of her standing on her toes on the chair trying to reach the frame to hang the flowers. Something tipped inside him when he saw the photograph. He looked at the frame and burst into a bout of violent sobbing, all the grief pouring out. She, unsure of what to do, hugged him as he convulsed like a child in her arms.




It had been two months since the passing. She had resumed her work after a short period of mourning. People around her did not notice any effects of the loss of a dear one. If anything, she appeared more cheerful and eager to talk. One could not have guessed that she was fresh from nursing a sibling to death had they not known her long enough. But her close friends knew that she was merely overcompensating for her pain with the extra vivaciousness. They let her be. After all, death of one does not stop the life of all around.

to be continued....