Superstar India

by Shobhaa De

  Who's a goon, then?

  Goondagiri is another matter. Whether frustration levels are indeed going up, when they should be abating (isn't that what's supposed to happen when a traditional society relaxes and removes ancient sex taboos?), sex crimes are on the increase. Which makes life still harder for women and vulnerable children. And goondas roam freely through urban and rural jungles, preying on victims, doling out ‘punishments’, maiming or killing those who stand in their way. This is not a happy situation in an otherwise happy scenario. Crimes against society at large, and women in particular, have soared during the past five years. And it would be foolhardy to air-brush this reality, since it doesn't sit well with the Pretty India story.

  Sometimes, I feel, the country is still stuck with old prejudices, like forcing a dusky-complexioned woman to use fairness creams in order to lighten her skin colour and thereby bag a rich husband. Weirdly, men in India have started applying these magic creams with as much vanity, now that they have their own range endorsed by no less a brand ambassador than Shah Rukh Khan himself. If colour continues to be such an issue, how can we talk of progress—real progress?

  Goondagiri used to be the staple of Bollywood films twenty years ago. After a lull, it's back as a favourite script, especially after the phenomenal success of Munna Bhai, MBBS, which captured the imagination of the nation with its tongue-in-cheek depiction of how a loveable (but lethal) goonda bulldozes his way into acquiring a fake medical degree in order to impress a girl. That the film shrewdly introduced ‘Gandhigiri’ to counter balance ‘goondagiri’ is another matter. Sanjay Dutt's character is a local tyrant, bending rules and terrorizing people, before being bitten by the love bug. Was the film-maker glorifying goondas or merely reflecting the dirty truth? Would Gandhiji have been amused, or outraged, by his representation in the film? And most importantly, does popular cinema really have such unimaginable power over audiences, that a long-forgotten ‘Father of the Nation’ is now being seen as a modern-day icon by a generation that had turned its back in him?

  ‘Gandhi’ is everywhere, these days! Fashion designers have discovered him and use his image in much the same way Che Guevera's continues to be used—on T-shirts and other trendy garments. Gandhi is suddenly very cool. And I'm expecting an international musical staged around the Great Man. A megaproduction that captures the imagination of the world once more (Richard Attenborough's film had a profound influence on audiences worldwide).

  If Gandhi is being positioned as ‘Daddy Cool’ and being transformed into a ‘Youth Icon’ (sweet irony!), there must be a valid reason. In India, we are seriously short of heroes. We try and create them artificially in order to fill the empty slot. Gandhi is perfect for that. Besides, he's a caricaturist's delight. In much the same way as Mother Teresa. Artists, cartoonists and others can capture both these iconic personalities with a few clever strokes of the pen or brush. Mother had her blue-bordered saree covering her head. And Gandhi, his spectacle frames. So entrenched are these in our minds that nobody makes a mistake in recognition. Both have spun out mini-industries that keep multiplying the images ad nauseam, much like Andy Warhol's version of Marilyn Monroe. Problems arise when an ignorant graphic artist in, say, San Francisco, foolishly decides to ‘misuse’ the image on, say, footwear.

  We Indians are extraordinarily sensitive about such ‘insulting’ representation, and there are enough offended NRIs tucked away in the remotest corners of the earth who are only too ready to stage protests and go to court. Aah—we love litigation almost as much as the Americans. And it's not difficult to file the most absurd cases in courts in far-flung districts nobody has heard of. Given that Indian courts are about the most overburdened bodies of justice on earth, it's puzzling why frivolous cases are admitted in the first place. My heart goes out to one of India's pioneering supermodels and beauty pageant winners, Madhu Sapre, who was slapped with an obscenity case (along with eleven others) ten years ago for an ad that featured her in the buff, clad in nothing more than a strategically positioned python! Sapre, now married to an Italian businessman, has to fly into Mumbai each time the case is supposed to come up for hearing. Most times, she's the only defendant present, since the others who live in Mumbai know what she doesn't—the judge may be tranferred, the case adjourned etc. etc. And yet, she can't take the chance of a ‘no show’. It is cases of this nature, whimsical and of no consequence, that clog our courts.

  Where the Mahatma is concerned, an ‘insult’ can be perceived easily by those who pretend to be supernationalists trawling the universe, looking for similar ‘insults’ to our great culture. Use and misuse of the tricolour raises similar issues, and several ignorant/ innocent people have got into hot water on account of ‘abusing’ the national flag. Crazy? Yes… the Union Jack or the Stars and Stripes regularly feature on bikinis and briefs. Are the wearers seen as traitors? Naah. It's all a matter of perspective. Superstar Gandhi is the flavour of the world at present. Let us not get foolishly possessive or touchy about the use of his image. I love it when someone sports a Gandhi tee. Forty years after Che's death, he's everywhere. What's the point of achieving an iconic position if it can't be flogged?

  Three's company

  Narendra Modi, Amar Singh and Mayawati make strange partners. But since this peculiar triumvirate is an important, even integral, part of the present ‘India Story’, how can we ignore them?

  Modi, in particular, is a political phenomenon that defies categorization. If Swaraj Paul can give him a certificate and sing his praises, one wonders whether those of us who've remained consistently critical of Gujarat's chief minister have missed some crucial detail. That he is clever, articulate and ruthless is in no doubt. But outside his own state, Modi has been shunned and reviled as a bigot and dictator, a mini-Hitler, someone who is dangerous to civil society. His admirers see him as a crusader and a champion of the Hindu majority. They point to his abilities as an administrator who has pulled Gujarat out of the slough of despond. Investment is pouring in. And Modi's trump card is to point out the soaring economy of his state, and the whole-hearted support he gets from the business community. Prosperity is everything. Forget ideology. But the larger question remains: Is Modi good for India? Why does he make everybody so nervous? Without once again going into the horror of Godhra and what followed, I think Modi's place in history will be determined by what he chooses to do in the next five years. The taint and stench of Godhra has already marked the man permanently. How he manages to redeem himself in the incident's aftermath (if that's at all possible) is the challenge.

  Amar Singh is an anomaly, defying categorization. Supporters and friends describe him as shrewd and ruthless, loyal and gutsy. As Mayawati's main target at present, Singh knows he's a marked man, along with his mentor, Mulayam Singh. Mayawati is not known for her mercy. She is an unforgiving foe who can afford to bide her time before striking. Political analysts are waiting to see when the sword will fall on Singh's neck and how many other heads will roll along with his. Nobody disputes Mayawati's blazing future, now that she has co-opted the Brahmins and Thakurs, ensuring a broader voter-base as and when elections take place.

  Armchair intellectuals are uncomfortable with the idea of Mayawati representing India's future. Since it seems an inevitability, it might serve us all better if we try and understand Mayawati's mindset, rather than distance ourselves from this coarse lady whose language is peppered with choice abuses that involve several previous generations of her victims’ families. Known not to mince words or spare opponents, Mayawati has demonstrated woman power along with Dalit might. The numbers speak for themselves. To ignore Mayawati is to ignore India's future. Blinkers need to come off. And for all we know, Mayawati will be just what the doctor ordered. Breath held. Fingers crossed!

  *

  For most people, much is expected from the next-generation politicians, including Rahul Gandhi. It would be interesting to monitor their performance. The old reluctance and skepticism of those youngsters interested in politics b
ut reluctant to take the plunge, has undergone a subtle but sure change. I meet bright, confident young things barely out of their teens, ‘outsiders’ for the most part (not from political parties), who want to get actively involved and are far from cynical about the system.

  What daunts them is the money angle. They are aware of the huge monies required to fight an election. They know big bucks fuel wins. Afraid to sell out to richie-rich political patrons, and unable to come up with the resources themselves, they adopt a wait-and-watch approach, which eventually gets them nowhere.

  Politics can't be intellectualized in India. The Gucci politician has an extraordinarily naïve understanding of ground realities. Urban India has a very weak role to play in such a scenario. While thought-leaders and opinion-makers residing in metros delude themselves with their own importance, the truth of the matter is that ‘English-speaking’ Indians are getting rapidly marginalized, in terms of real influence. Regional TV and regional newspapers have stolen a march over the English biggies, even as they (the English language media) try desperately to hang on to their earlier supremacy. Paradoxically, the IT boom has reinstated English as the premier language, since it is seen as being responsible for India's edge over China in bagging all those BPO contracts. The English we now read, speak and write is uniquely our own. But for these millions of BPO workers, it is merely a tool that has got them their jobs. They think in their own language, marginalizing English in a way that is still not fully understood, so new is this development.

  Our Gucci boys don't seem to have grasped this and continue to play the old game, which was dominated by the Doon School babalog in Rajiv Gandhi's time, and carried forward by the sons, despite the writing on the wall. Even the older, snooty politician, like a Shiela Dixit, sounds almost comical on television when she holds forth in her chi-chi accent and shows complete disregard for her core constituency, all those UP wallahs who probably don't understand a word of her posh Hindi! Simply put: nobody is impressed by an Angrezi-speaking neta anymore. Those days are over. It is almost heart-breaking to hear Sonia Gandhi struggling through her tedious Hindi bhaashans, written by speech-writers who want ‘madam’ to reach out to the unwashed masses. But madam is stymied—understandably so. First, she had to learn English when she came to India as a bride. Then acquire a working knowledge of Hindi! Enough to make people believe she is actually most fluent in both!

  The champagne communists and socialists from West Bengal and Kerala suffer from exactly the same disadvantage. Hindi is not their language. And their brand of English is impossible to comprehend. I half-joke that the confusion over the commie position on the touchy matter of the nuclear treaty had to do with semantics, not politics. Perhaps a competent interpreter could have resolved prickly issues which had the people of India totally baffled. Who was selling out? The Congress Party to the Americans? Or the commies to China? If only all the debates and counter-arguments had been conducted in a common language! Even an urbane, erudite P. Chidambaram is often caught in a bind when compelled to express himself in what is loosely called the ‘National Language’. I certainly don't accept it as mine, even though I speak it reasonably well.

  The new political kids on the block who are already on the scene have not proved themselves so far. They seem a bit too happy and complacent fitting into the system rather than attempting to change it. But since the general disengagement from politics touches this generation as well, the apathy is not hard to understand. Young people in today's India want to make money, not policies. The ‘revolution’ that one keeps hearing about is not likely to start in Mumbai or Delhi. If there are rumblings in other parts of India, they have not registered strongly enough to impact lives. The overall mood remains upbeat and jaunty. Who needs introspection or dark doomsday predictions, when the markets are going crazy and there is unfamiliar euphoria in the air?

  *

  My father was completely tuned in to this new, aggressive India. At many levels, he was far more accepting of change than I was. He rather liked it and didn't feel excluded in the least. I found that a little peculiar, considering his past—a staunch natinalist supporter and an unabashed admirer of the Nehru–Gandhi dynasty (he hated it if and when I trashed Sonia). When my son Aditya opened a swanky private club in Mumbai along with a partner, my father was the one most keen to check it out. Not as a proud granddad, but as a keen observer of social trends. We walked in well past midnight on what was to be my father's last birthday (he died six months later). I'd warned him the place was dark, noisy, smoky and filled with ultra hip people dancing to a DJ's ear-splitting tracks. That only whetted his appetite further. When we walked in, the average age of the members-only club shot up by forty years! My father took a good look around. The last time he'd been inside a nightclub was perhaps fifty years earlier. He asked Aditya several questions before declaring, ‘I like it! Congratulations! You've started something novel… I've only seen such places in films. I could never have imagined I'd visit a similar club in real life. And now here I am… it is fantastic.’

  When we left ‘Privé’, I asked him. ‘How come you were not shocked?’ He looked at me quizzically. ‘Shocked? What nonsense, my dear. This is India in the new century…’ Right. But what about Gandhian–Nehruvian ideals? What about austerity? Sacrifice? He shrugged philosophically before saying, ‘Oh… that was then. This is now.’ And we both started to laugh.

  Unlike all those foreign journos who gasp and blink at urban excess, implying that Indians have no bloody business to be well off—it's a prerogative solely reserved for ‘developed Western economies’. It's possible their words sting because there is truth in the hard-to-reconcile differences that exist between the haves and have-nots. We have lived with disparities, that shock the rest of the world, for decades now. Made our peace with startling anomalies. Buried guilt. Made excuses. Stopped explaining or apologizing. Not because we are desensitized or cruel. It's because we are optimistic and hopeful. Most Indians today believe they will live to see a better, far more prosperous India. They like to think the next generation will set right the wrongs of the previous one. Everybody is confident that India is poised to make that transformation that will benefit the poor and lead to the sort of inclusiveness that has eluded us so far.

  There are signs of progress—real progress—at all levels—it depends on a person's perspective. Half-empty or half-full? If anybody wishes to remain focussed on the downside (poverty, disease, lack of education, corruption), well, India has enough horror stories to keep pessimists ‘happy’. The mood of the nation, however, is anything but downcast, despite some daunting prospects (I hate statistics!). If one focusses on the upside, even something as small (or big—again, a matter of perspective) as Mumbai's new airport terminals causes the spirit to soar, along with all those countless national and international flights taking off skywards. But if, instead, one chooses to look out of the window of a 747 circling over the city and stare at Asia's largest slum, well then, that will be the story that sticks.

  India can be maddening. Baffling. Frustrating. But boring? Never!

  Nazar Na Lag Jaaye…

  I am a firm believer in nazar. The ‘Evil Eye’ that sends out negative vibrations of hate, envy, jealousy. Most Asian societies (Egyptian, Turkish, Mediterranean and African, too… why leave out the Haitian and the Caribbean, Mexican, South American—oh, I guess people in nearly every society outside the charmed circle of rationalists in America, England and Europe) accept practices designed to ward off the inauspicious stare. Amulets, rings, bracelets, charms, necklaces, body markings, strategically-placed objects, you name it, and we have it. The entrance to our home features Mumbai's nazar anti-dote—a lemon strung up with green chillies. Sharp and sour. Enough to deter the most determined perpetrator of bad deeds.

  Or, so we'd like to believe. It's that easy. Traffic signals in the city are crowded with urchins selling these good-luck charms to protect motorists. Even the fanciest luxury car on the road is likely to have the limboo-mirchi c
ombo strung under the front fender, or below the mirror.

  Infants (especially little boys) have a kaajal tika on their baby foreheads, placed as early as in the maternity home itself. This is done to counter any paranormal ‘attack’ on the infant. The black dot is supposed to mar the baby's beauty sufficiently to put off a potential kidnapper or evil spirit who, on spotting the dot, will also be aware that the baby is well-protected by powerful forces.

  I was scrupulous about adhering to this entirely irrational practice with my own children—much as I hated to admit it at the time. I would slyly place the black dot in a less obvious spot, not on the babies’ sweet little faces. And I didn't discriminate either—the girls, I always felt, needed divine intervention far more. These harmless rituals are charming and as meaningless/meaningful as your own need. Sometimes, when India-bashers are having a field day, I fervently wish there was some way of putting that black dot on India's beautiful face, to take care of the boori nazar. That it is very much there, is something I not just acknowledge but live in fear of.

  Are we flying too high, too soon? Are our rivals out to get us any which way they can? Should we be more discreet, more modest about our many accomplishments? Even Al Gore's Nobel for Peace comes with an Indian connection, Rajendra Pachauri of the Inter-governmental Panel on Climate Change. Does it make more sense to deliberately downplay our victories? Restrain ourselves a little? Stop boasting, stop chest-thumping? Retreat into a quieter space and reinforce our wins away from the public gaze? That would be one way of dealing with unprecedented success. The other would be to invite the whole world to the India Party.Yup. Why not? There is much to celebrate. We have gone smoothly from Poor India to Rich India. From Unsung India to Surprising India. The old hiccups suddenly appear just that—hiccups—as India surges ahead at a momentum that is leaving us Indians (even more than the rest of the world) very much out of breath.