by Jaya Jaitly
When the maps were part of an exhibition in Germany at the Frankfurt Book Fair in 2006, I began to be fascinated by the idea of India’s multifarious ancient manuscripts, contemporary languages, and their scripts. Calligraphy formed a part of this fascination, combining my love of art, writing and literature. Alongside, craftspersons often came to me repeating their habitual, self-deprecatory line, Hum gareeb hain, hum unpadh hain (I am poor, I am illiterate). I didn’t feel sorry for them; I felt annoyed. I did not want them to undermine and underrate the knowledge and skills they already had. They felt they lacked knowledge in computers and English and consequently felt inadequate. I wanted to teach them not to feel that way even if they did not have this knowledge. I decided to find a way of making them appreciate literacy through some new means to bring them out of their sense of inferiority.
A new idea formed in my mind. Why not combine the visual beauty of the Indian alphabet and scripts with calligraphy, and make them into designs suitable to be translated through a variety of craft skills into exhibit-quality objects? Over a period of two years, I introduced illiterate and semi-literate craftspersons to the idea of calligraphy and worked with more than sixty individuals to create 150 objects. My instructions were that the outcome should be such as to bring out a ‘wow’ from the viewer. We used fourteen languages and twenty-one craft skills from sixteen states of India. This resulted in a chic and very contemporary exhibition in Delhi in 2012, in Egypt and at the UNESCO headquarters in Paris the following year, and in Mumbai in 2015. It was recognized and acknowledged by many, and was selected to be a part of the launch of Google’s Art and Culture India online platform.
The best part of this exercise was the adoption of Indian scripts and calligraphy into many craft processes and designs. Illiterate craftspersons learned to read and write from their children’s text books, school drop-outs who were fine artists honed their handwriting skills, and shy craftspersons learned to communicate ideas and cultural expressions through their own craft forms.
Personally, this period post 2009, was a strange and emotionally disruptive time in my life. It was a point when I had not only been forcibly removed from my part-time workplace (Dilli Haat), but also severed from the responsibilities I had in George Sahib’s ailing life—this will come in another chapter. Suddenly, I had to myself the hours I had devoted to his care earlier. Being fully occupied with this creative and inspiring project gave me new vigour. It took on a full life of its own. It was relief, compensation and inner satisfaction far beyond anything that could have been offered to me by anyone else. Providentially, this catharsis came from my beloved world of crafts.
*An informal way of referring to someone; yaar literally means ‘friend’
**Goonda, as in ‘goon’
*‘Solanki tried to scuttle Bofors probe: CBI’; see http://www.tribuneindia.com/2003/20030419/nation.htm#6
*The Narmada Bachao Andolan (NBA) involved adivasis, farmers, environmentalists and human rights activists protesting against the number of large dams being built across the Narmada River flowing through the states of Gujarat, Madhya Pradesh and Maharashtra.
*Made with fermented rice batter and coconut milk, appams resemble pancakes and are a favourite and popular breakfast item in Kerala.
*See https://youtu.be/NDoIyWixtHs
*Crafts Atlas of India, New Delhi: Niyogi Books, 2012.
11
THE ORWELLIAN YEAR OF 1984
The Beginning
IT WOULD BE TIMID TO say that 1984 was just a momentous year. Not quite Orwellian but forever memorable for nothing that was pleasant. Farooq Abdullah’s government in J&K was toppled, Indira Gandhi sent the army to the Golden Temple, Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale was killed, Indira Gandhi was assassinated followed by the blatant and public slaughter of Sikhs. Anywhere between 2,800 and 8,000 Sikhs were killed as per official and unofficial sources across the country, and as per the Sikhs, reportedly at the hands of Congress-I leaders, and workers and goons nurtured under the leaders’ wings. I spent the last months of 1984 and part of 1985 running a relief camp with three thousand traumatized riot victims. This was also a period during which George Sahib was sharing with me feelings with regard to a particularly tumultuous time in his personal life; repercussions were to follow in the subsequent year. But I should slow down, and begin from the beginning.
~
It started with the turmoil in Kashmir and Farooq Abdullah’s ouster, owing to perhaps the fact that he did not agree to Indira Gandhi’s demand for sharing seats in the elections. Wajahat Habibullah, who was close to the Gandhi family and a good friend of ours, came over to commiserate when Ashok was ousted as Planning Commissioner in this process. He felt that if Farooq had courted Indira Gandhi when she was ‘rootha rootha’ (meaning displeased), as he described it, she would have been all right. Instead, he was moving in the opposite direction and Ghulam Mohammad (Gul) Shah therefore, became a substitute. But this further encouraged Farooq to move closer to the opposition groups that were desperately finding ways to come together. The more he did this the more Indira Gandhi supported Gul Shah, whose alleged involvement in corruption and nepotism made locals hate the Delhi durbar style of politics even more. Wajahat was himself shocked by the fact that even though Indira knew G.M. Shah was not quite the first choice, he was considered okay. He felt that years of her own good work had been undone.
Journalist Tavleen Singh has been an old friend who often met for a chat after visiting Kashmir. She had been to Kashmir to cover the visits of Opposition leaders who rushed to extend support to Farooq. Tavleen reported that besides I.K. Gujral and Tarkeshwari Sinha falling out of their shikara and getting soaked a la Hindi film style, the Opposition group’s trip was excellent. Syed Mir Qasim (J&K chief minister from 1971 to 1975) too played a good role by saying that he would not be part of a voice that wasn’t for India. Their fight was for democracy within their country. There were vivid reports of Farooq driving the opposition group in his vans amidst thousands of people shouting and cheering. None of this pleased the powers that be in New Delhi but it did bring new blood into the Opposition’s efforts at unity. The waywardness of various leaders of the Opposition had reached epic proportions. Getting everyone on to the same page was a tough task considering the nature of people like Raj Narain, Chandra Shekhar, Subramaniam Swamy, Morarji Desai, Biju Patnaik and others. It kept them involved in an endless round of meetings and strategies to be united and get ahead yet cut down whoever seemed a threat to their own importance. As usual, George Fernandes was the persuader, spokesperson, mender and hurter of egos, scapegoat, who had to be everywhere, all the time, with no time for his family or rest. When he was out of town, and wanted something urgently communicated in those times of a badly functioning telephone system, I became a courier pigeon between him and other leaders.
It was at this time that George Fernandes and I started a system of writing notes to keep each other informed of what was going on politically since he was hardly in Delhi. Soon he found me to be the most dependable in terms of confidentiality, intelligent inputs and faithful reporting. It also led to a flood of exchanges on personal matters that had troubled him for some time. I became a sort of personal confidante and well-meaning adviser. I took care of his wife and son when needed, and my home too was open to them for any assistance. This went on till 1990. The letters eventually filled a whole suitcase.
Leila Fernandes, his wife, had been abroad in the USA and UK for some months. I was told she was having a severe bout of recurring health problems. George Sahib said he would go to see how she was and bring her back. He asked me to keep an eye on their son Sushanto (Sean Fernandes, also called Sannu) while they were away since he was acquainted with my children and did not have many other friends. He spent several days at our home, demanding my love and affection just as my own children did. He was sweet, funny and longed for a normal life.
Many things in life need discretion and privacy. The state of one’s well-being is one of those things. To
day, of course, people are more forthcoming about such things and this attitude of openness also helps others give the affected space, or assistance to see them through such difficult phases. Back then, things weren’t so straightforward. I was often called upon both by George Sahib and Leila when she was in one of her lowest moods, and was unable to get out of bed and do anything. Contrarily, if the mood swung the other way she would be aggressive and hostile to me, or be highly critical of her husband in front of strangers. It was sad for the both of them. All I could do was unquestioningly be by their side.
In one of his notes to me during that time, George Sahib writes,
Had a long talk with Leila today. She feels she has 25% of her strength, and will need several more weeks of rest and recuperation before she is able to undertake the journey home.…
I’m at Hans Janitschek’s on Fifth Avenue right opposite the Central Park. It’s very cold out here and snowing. Lunch today was with an interesting group of artists, writers and journalists where George Gallup III was the speaker. Leila wants Sonny Boy to spend time at your home. She thinks it would be good for him. Please take him across even it means persuading him a bit. You have been extraordinarily kind to him, and it means a lot both to him and to me.
George
There are many who like to believe that I was the femme fatale, the ‘other woman’ who ruined people’s marriages. Having grown up to be completely uncaring of and maybe even naive towards what I ‘appeared’ to be to others, I have gone ahead and done whatever I pleased in all sincerity without feeling the need to explain or justify myself as long as I meant no harm to anyone. Now, it is best to be clear about my role in certain relationships in those days.
Probably because George Sahib had been brought up in a strict Catholic household with five other brothers, he had no experience of personalized care or collective family activities. Having been expelled from home at the age of nineteen because he chose to leave the seminary where his father wanted him to be a priest, he spent years living on the pavements or trade union office benches in Bombay and married only much later when in his forties. By then, he was already a fierce trade unionist whose life consisted of public meetings, constant travel, negotiations and socialist politics with great personalities like P. D’Mello, Ram Manohar Lohia and Madhu Limaye. He had been to jail many times during workers’ struggles and was thoroughly toughened both physically and mentally. He had a sharply honed sense of political nuances, strategies and struggles. He could size up anyone related to politics in a moment and knew how to deal with the worst of them. He could also get to the heart of any complicated issue and find a solution. In contrast, however, in comprehending personal and domestic issues, he was like Alice in Wonderland.
George Sahib had left some letters with me while he was away in the UK and USA; one was a carbon copy of Leila’s handwritten twenty-page letter to her brother regarding her health problems and insecurities; another, a typed letter to George Sahib from his British socialist friend Richard Hauser reporting on Leila’s health problems and also his advice. George Sahib had many mixed feelings about how to decipher them and how to mould his responses to Leila’s general behaviour which was troubling him deeply in the midst of his political headaches. He asked me what I made of them. I shared these with Ashok, and in what I wanted to be a carefully thought-out, objective and frank reply devoid of any judgemental attitudes, I kept my response for when George Sahib returned. Since there was hardly a moment to meet or talk for most of those years, these notes would be kept in a cupboard until they could be read and put back. Many times, the reportage or queries became redundant as the notes could not keep up with the speed at which events occurred at the time.
Reading over the letters carefully many times over and trying to be responsible, perceptive, objective in my assessment, here are a few thoughts:
There is tremendous understanding and lucidity in Leila’s view of herself in the letter to Dadabhai. The misfortune is that such clarity of thinking disappears when the ‘problem’ re-surfaces.
How much of these revelations are new to you?…
Her concepts and values are consciously built up westernized ones. She has a fear of keeping things simple and describes actions and thoughts in terms of theories, whether medical, psychological, sociological, etc.
You have really lived in a distant world of your own as far as she is concerned–and yet your world is as much the real world.
My appreciation is for Richard’s letter where he feels as I do–Unhappy about the situation but knowing that your real marriage is to the people of the country and not to any one individual.
Individuals have to bear the burdens of their own circumstances, natures, past influences, present feelings and go their own ways. Where there is someone to go with you with understanding and support, fine. Where you can go with the other, that too is fine, but it is rarely that this happens within this socially created straitjacket called marriage.
You have both looked for things from each other which each was not capable of giving–some were imagined and didn’t exist. You should at some point of time decide whether it is worth living in the same house as troubled strangers–and also how much each is willing to do or give to the other for his or her comfort, convenience and happiness.
No point evading or hiding under the carpet a problem that exists. You either have to tackle it or say once and for all that you can’t.
I truly feel she will be happier being independent because you are incapable of being what she wants you to be. Her acknowledgment of your value, your greatness, doesn’t sustain her happiness much. Can you discuss this with her thoroughly when the time is more opportune?
There is a contradiction between her desire to be different and unique and her desire to see everyone conform to her strongly conservative moral values.
She needs so much, I wonder where she will get it all. Her own nature rejects the sources that might begin to give her what she requires.
I wonder if I can be of any help to you? I don’t want to confuse you or distract you with my opinions but I am there to help whenever it is needed.
Jaya.
In response, I received this brusque response from George Sahib, which made me realize I could not get through to him with normal, well-meant advice:
Adults are adults. Each knows what he or she is doing. I have always tried to mind my own business and let others mind theirs. I know your response to that. But, it is completely out of character for me. I cannot afford to waste my time on such trivialities. Sonny’s life and future is the only matter of concern, and that’s what I need to discuss. Anything she may need and where I can help, I shall do it for her, as I’ll do it for anyone. Of course, there are some obligations, and I have not run away from my responsibilities. I have done more than anyone else in my circumstances or situation would have done. I don’t know how to deal with domestic crises, and any help you can give me to deal with mine will be gratefully accepted. I’m not being formal. Anyway, I am totally confused on this, particularly after reading your note.
This is only a confession of my helplessness.
Some scribbles, as George Sahib started calling them, were just a lighthearted sharing of trivia which the political or trade union male colleagues who kept him constant company would not have found interesting. He was getting used to ‘lightening up’ occasionally, thanks to my habitually informal manner.
My doctor gave me a check up today. Said I’m the best preserved politician in the country. No problem whatsoever. Do you feel tired or exhausted? He asked. I said, no. Nothing tires you? I said, no. He gave me a sort of dirty look and said, nothing? I said, no. However, he feels that I should slow down a bit, particularly in my travels. Jet fatigue takes its toll, was his point.
George Sahib was then 54 years old. Reading this now, as he lies disabled by the monster of all diseases, Alzheimer’s, the last sentence sounds ominous.
~
Indira Gandhi’s ‘Operation Blue Star
’* in the first week of June 1984 set off a chain of events that changed the course of people’s lives forever. It also gave new energy to the efforts of the Opposition. Our notes contained a lot of political venting, speculation and comment. One of George Sahib’s read,
The reports in the newspapers are so doctored that it is impossible to know what is happening in the Punjab. Have they finished the operations or are they still at it? Is Bindranwale dead or has he escaped?… S. Sahay writing in the Statesman thinks that [Indira Gandhi] may now weigh the possibility of an early poll. But Punjab cannot be the same again—not for a long time. Chandra Shekhar phoned a little while ago from Bombay. He has not met Morarji Desai and has no plans to meet him. He takes the 10 pm flight to Delhi. I’m taking the 5.15 to Bombay but it seems as if I may have to postpone it if some strategy planning is called for. The country is hurtling from one crisis to another…. Terrorism and violence will soon become an integral part of our political life, and I shudder to think of the future. The military action in Punjab is a water shed that will leave an indelible mark in our history. Generations may have to pay the price for the follies of one […] woman and her ambitions. You mentioned about certain people who are prepared to give of their time and talent. I look forward to the meeting you will fix with them. But what about you? When will you take your decision? Keep well and smiling. There’s a whole world to fight for and to win.
George
Sometimes, my notes would be anecdotal chatter that served as reporting.
Why is Charan Singh wanting the army to stay in Punjab till things are normal! What’s normal going to mean for a Sikh?
One of the hijacked boys (GS Rathore) is Mala’s friend’s son.* He said the hijackers were excellent. They said “We hate Mrs Gandhi and want our demands met. But seeing you all here like this we haven’t the heart to harm you.” Some terrorists! That’s probably why Doordarshan said that the External Affairs Ministry spokesman would not reveal the details of the negotiations.
