by Karan Thapar
“What whisky do you have?”
“Black Label.”
That’s what he finally took but after a sip he visibly wrinkled his nose and left the glass untouched. I got the distinct impression he thought it was spurious. His wife, however, quaffed copious quantities without complaint or hesitation.
The third person was Sri Sri Ravishankar. In case, you don’t know, he’s a big spiritual guru. I’m sceptical of such men. I tend to think of them as frauds. That was my attitude to Sri Sri as well. (Incidentally, I’m not sure how else to abbreviate his name). But was I wrong?
Sri Sri, whose father calls him Guruji, is supposed to have spoken to his mother from the womb during the eighth month of her pregnancy. His father claims it’s a fact. I asked if it was true. He said he didn’t know but he didn’t deny it. In fact, he even suggested that because he was very attached to her, it could be true.
He was more forthcoming when I mentioned another of his ‘miracles’. His father says that Sri Sri knew the Bhagwad Gita when he was just three years old though no one had taught it to him. If that was so, I asked, how did he account for it?
“That’s a fact.” He said. “Consciousness is quite old. This is not the only time we are here.There are impressions from the past.”
“Are you saying that at the age of three or four, the Bhagavad Gita you knew was actually a memory from a previous life?”
“Ha.” He said in Hindi. “It’s an impression on the consciousness from the past.”
Hmmmm? Judge for yourself.
3
The Man in a Bib
It was his nickname that first alerted me to the fact that Pakistan’s Foreign Minister is a rather special politician. In Islamabad, they call him the five-piece man. It’s an affectionate reference to his immaculate suits. Even in the heat of summer, he wears a waistcoat. The other two pieces are his matching tie and kerchief. So when he walked into his office last Sunday afternoon for an interview for SAB TV, I knew what to expect. What I had not anticipated was that he can cut quite a dash.
“Look out for his ties.” I had been advised by one of his officials. “He’s very fond of them and they’re always striking.”
The tip was accurate. Last weekend, the tie was burnt-ochre, a striking contrast with his navy blue suit. But it was his cufflinks that actually caught my eye. Made of gold, they were set with a row of diamonds at one corner and a large ruby at the other. They weren’t discreet yet nor were they distasteful.
But there was more to his apparel than what immediately met the eye. Underneath the waistcoat, he had on black silk braces. It’s an old fashioned touch most natty dressers have dispensed with. I caught a peek when they slid out from under his waistcoat shoulder. If my guess is right, I’d say they were Ferragamo.
As Mr. Kasuri settled into his armchair, I found myself warming to the man.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” He said gently rubbing his manicured hands. “I only got back at 3.00 in the morning from Tehran.”
Most politicians would have refused to give an interview eight hours later. This one was different.
“All right.” He said when I insisted we do the interview the same day. “But then lunch will have to be afterwards and that could mean it won’t happen much before 3.00 pm.”
I readily agreed. To be honest, I had not expected to be fed. It’s never happened before. But the chance of an informal lunch with the Pakistan Foreign Minister after the proper interview was an invitation no journalist could refuse.
As the cameramen got ready to roll, I briefly ran the Minister’s background through my mind. Kasuri, as his name suggests, comes from Kasur, a part of Pakistani Punjab that borders Firozpur. His father was a lawyer. The son graduated from Cambridge but opted for politics. I know many others with similar pedigrees but few, if any, have fought elections and become ministers. So how does this bird of fine plumage fit into General Musharraf’s regime? And what sort of views does he hold? I was soon to discover a second reason why he’s a special politician.
Kasuri is a large man. A bit like a teddy bear, if you know what I mean. He keeps his cool and even when provoked, he cleverly prefaces his riposte with a warning : “I did not want to say this but you’ve left me no option.” The packaging takes the sting out of the reply. It’s a clever ploy which allows him to make his point without giving offence. I’m surprised politicians don’t use it more often.
Inevitably, we talked about cross-border terrorism. He didn’t deny it was happening, simply that his government was not behind it. “We are doing our best to stop it.” He claimed. “But it’s a porous border and despite our efforts some things get through.” He said nine out of ten infiltrators are stopped. The tenth becomes the terrorist we encounter in India.
“This is why talks are so important.” He continued. “When talks start, they will strengthen our hands to tell the Kashmiris to stop. The talks will offer hope and we can use that to point out that now they don’t have to kill themselves. There’s another option on offer.”
When I pointed out that Pakistan’s handling of Al-Qaeda suspects wanted by Washington was markedly different to those on India’s list of 20, he neither denied the fact nor squirmed with embarrassment. Instead, he met the charge head on.
“Look at the history of tension between our two countries. On the other hand, America has been our ally for fifty years. At the moment, it’s inconceivable that our agencies can share information and work as closely as they do with America. But, Inshallah, that will happen soon.”
Previous Pakistani foreign ministers would have replied very differently. India has not given us any proof, they would have claimed. Or these guys are not in Pakistan. Or even, no formal list has been given. And just as their evasiveness would have hinted at their insincerity, so Kasuri’s honesty spoke of his credibility.
At the end of the interview, I put to him the doubts we, in India, often express. Men like Kasuri and Prime Minister Jamali may be nice guys but do they count? Power lies with Musharraf and his ministers are only puppets.
The question brought a big smile to his face. I couldn’t help think that he looks most like a teddy when he’s smiling. But the answer was neither soft nor cuddly.
“The army in Pakistan has a role to play. Our history makes that obvious. But that doesn’t mean they run the place and others don’t count. And let me tell you the day I cannot agree with the General, I’ll resign. That may not be a wise thing for a politician to say but it’s the truth.”
Afterwards, as we sat down to lunch in the Foreign Minister’s private dining room, he saw me staring at the wine glasses brimming with magenta liquid. He must have fathomed my thoughts.
“Coke.” He laughed. “but it looks better in those glasses.”
“And the taste?”
“Unfortunately, that stays the same!”
I wasn’t the least surprised when he tucked his napkin into his collar. I’ve often wanted to do the same but never dared. But then, my ties can’t compete. Of course, the Foreign Minister was aware that some of his guests were staring at him. After all, a man in a bib is not a common sight. But Kasuri wasn’t the least bit self-conscious. I suspect he likes the attention. Most of the time, he deserves it too.
4
An Odd Sort of Hero
“I’m not sure what to make of Veer Savarkar.” Gauri suddenly said last Sunday.
“What do you mean?” I replied. It was a strange comment unconnected with our previous conversation.
“Well, I can make out that the BJP is using him for political purposes and that Congress is caught up in contradictions responding to that. But what about Veer Savarkar himself?”
“What about him?” I was still at a loss.
“Does his portrait deserve to hang in Parliament? No one seems to answer that question and yet that’s what it’s supposedly all about!”
I’m afraid I did not have the answer. I struggled manfully but my vague replies only exposed the fact I did
not know. And the reason was I did not know the facts. Yet the surprising thing is they aren’t difficult to ascertain and even less to interpret. If you do the necessary homework, the conclusion is obvious. So today, albeit belatedly, I want to answer Gauri’s question.
Whether Veer Savarkar’s portrait deserves to hang in the Central Hall of Parliament depends upon the answer to three further questions. What was his contribution to the freedom struggle? What sort of India did he strive for? And was he involved (as was contemporaneously alleged) in the conspiracy to kill Gandhi?
In his mid-twenties, Savarkar was deservedly considered a hero. His book, The First War of Independence, published in 1908 when he was just 24, was the first to interpret the events of 1857 as a struggle for freedom. Till then, the British view that it was a mutiny was widely accepted.
His early actions were also valorous. After he was accused of involvement in the murder of the British Collector of Nasik, his daring escape from captivity at Marseilles in 1911 was inspiring. Whatever the British view, this was stirring stuff. His critics wouldn’t disagree.
Things changed, however, after his re-arrest and imprisonment in The Andaman’s. Over the next two decades, his valorous heroism gave way to timorous pleas for clemency. The first came less than six months after his incarceration. A second followed roughly two years later. A third 12 years after that. In fact, there could have been more. We just don’t know about them. In his appeal for clemency of 1913, this is what he wrote:
“If the government in their manifold beneficence and mercy release me, I for one cannot but be the staunchest advocate of constitutional progress and loyalty to the English government.”
That’s not all. If, in his youth, he had been a shining example for others to follow now, in his desperation to be released, he was even prepared to lead in the opposite direction.
“My conversion to the constitutional line would bring back all those misled young men in India and abroad who were once looking up to me as their guide. I am ready to serve the government in any capacity they like, for as my conversion is conscientious so I hope my future conduct would be. By keeping me in jail nothing can be got in comparison to what would be otherwise. The Mighty alone can afford to be merciful and therefore where else can the prodigal son return but to the parental doors of the government?”
It’s a strange freedom fighter who refers to himself as the prodigal son and his captors as the parent government. Perhaps this explains the ultimate promise made to the Governor of Bombay which finally secured his release. He swore to forsake all political activity, whether in public or private, and confine himself to Ratnagiri District. It was on this voluntary assurance of good behaviour, a bond he willingly entered into, that he was paroled.These conditions applied for the next 12 years.
Compare Savarkar to Nelson Mandela or even our own Bhagat Singh and Chandrashekhar Azad and he makes an odd sort of hero. If he struggled for freedom after his arrest it was, in fact, for his own. I can’t understand why we call him ‘Veer’. Except that he was tireless in securing his own release and there was little he did not promise to obtain it.
When Bhagat Singh, Surya Sen, B.K. Dutt and Jatin Das don’t have portraits hanging in Parliament, you may well question if Savarkar deserves such an honour.
Let’s now turn to the sort of India that Savarkar strived to create and whether that accords with the concept we believe we have achieved. When you do, I’m afraid you’ll find that his views are closer to Jinnah than Gandhi. And in 1939, in his Presidential Address to the Hindu Mahasabha, he accepted as much. This is what he said :
“I’ve no quarrel with Mr. Jinnah’s two nation theory. We, Hindus, are a nation by ourselves and it’s a historical fact that Hindus and Muslims are two nations.”
In fact, Savarkar actually enunciated his thesis before Jinnah did. He first did so in 1937. Jinnah and the Muslim League formally took a similar position in 1940.
But those who know Savarkar’s writings can point to worse. According to Prof. Mridula Mukherjee of Jawaharlal Nehru University, in his 1938 Presidential Address to the Hindu Mahasabha, Savarkar even suggested that, under certain circumstances, India should treat its Muslims as Hitler had treated German Jews.
So, if Savarkar is deemed a great champion of India’s freedom, his India is not the India our forefathers struggled for. Nor is it the country enshrined in our constitution.
Finally, the issue that is most contentious of all: the question of Savarkar’s involvement in the conspiracy to murder Gandhi. Here the facts are unclear and therefore potentially misleading.
However, one thing is clear : Savarkar was acquitted by the Sessions Court that tried the Gandhi murder case. To therefore hold him ‘guilty’ would make a mockery of our system of justice. Acquittal has to be tantamount to innocence.
But today it’s not Savarkar’s guilt we’re discussing. The issue is whether it’s appropriate to hang his portrait in Parliament. And when it’s a matter of suitability, other factors are relevant. Three of them are worth recalling.
Digambar Badge, an approver in the Gandhi case, gave evidence of Savarkar’s close connection with Nathuram Godse and Narayan Apte. The judge did not doubt Badge’s veracity. But because Badge was an approver, further corroboration was required. This was not forthcoming. Then, in 1969, when the Justice Jeevan Lal Kapur Commission of Inquiry into the conspiracy to murder Gandhi published its report, it quoted two close Savarkar aides (Kasar, his bodyguard, and Damle, his secretary) to prove his connections with Godse. Kapur’s conclusion was damning: “All these facts taken together were destructive of any theory other than the conspiracy to murder by Savarkar and his group.”
Most recently, in 1973, a letter written by Vallabhai Patel to Nehru (in February 1948) was published. It refers to the many hours Patel as Home Minister had spent investigating Gandhi’s death. This is what he wrote: “It was a fanatical wing of the Hindu Mahasabha directly under Savarkar that (hatched) the conspiracy and saw it through.”
Of course, none of this can, nor should it be used to, prove Savarkar’s guilt. The sessions judge settled that once and for all. But it does make you wonder whether the right verdict should have been ‘not proven’ rather than ‘not guilty’. And if that question occurs to you, then you may well ask whether such a man’s portrait should hang in Parliament.
However, the fact is it does and bang opposite that of the Father of the Nation. Yet Savarkar stood for a very different type of nation and there are unresolved questions about his alleged role in the assassination of the Father.
Sadly, I knew none of this when Gauri asked her question. But if I had, would she have been impressed?
5
An Interesting Man
If you suffer from high blood pressure, don’t read on. If you’re prejudiced against Muslims or Pakistan, skip to the next article. And if you lost property at partition or, worse, your family was rent asunder, throw this page away. I don’t think you’ll like what I’m about to write.
My subject is Mohammad Ali Jinnah and I’ve come to the conclusion that regardless of his impact on Indian unity, in personal terms, he was an appealing character. He’s a more natural icon for today’s modern, materialist, image-conscious generation than Nehru or Gandhi. And the surprising thing is that if you overlook his responsibility for Pakistan he was equally secular.
First, some of the facts. Jinnah opposed the partition of Bengal. In 1906, he refused to join the Muslim League. He called its demand for separate electorates poisonous. In 1920, when Gandhi launched the Khilafat movement, Jinnah warned of the danger of mixing politics with religion. He was the only Muslim to vote against Gandhi’s resolution.
Now jump to 1947. I know that between 1920, when he walked out of Congress, unhappy over Gandhi’s deliberate intertwining of religion with politics, and 1947, when he created Pakistan, Jinnah did much the same but to far worse effect. However, I want to draw your attention to his Presidential Speech to the Pakistan Constituent Assembly on
11th August 1947. Speaking to the new citizens of Pakistan, he said:
“You are free to go to your temples, you are free to go to your mosques or to any other place of worship in this State of Pakistan. You may belong to any religion or caste or creed that has nothing to do with the business of the State. ... We are starting with this fundamental principle that we are all citizens and equal citizens of one State. ... Now I think we should keep that in front of us as our ideal and you will find that in course of time Hindus would cease to be Hindus and Muslims would cease to be Muslims, not in the religious sense, because that is the personal faith of each individual, but in the political sense as citizens of the State.”
It’s no secret that today’s Pakistan would embarrass Jinnah. He might not even own up to it. But politics is only half my point and very much the lesser half. It’s his personality that I really want to recall. ‘Jin’, as his wife called him, was a remarkable man.
Again, the facts first. He was a self-made millionaire. He did not inherit his wealth. In the 1930s, he was one of London’s leading lawyers. No other Indian has achieved this distinction before or after. He was a natty dresser. His double-breasted suits and co-respondent shoes were the height of fashion. His Bombay home on Napean Sea Road was one of the finest. The one in Delhi which he bought is still the most striking.
And now, a few different facts. Jinnah spoke no Urdu. English was the only language he knew. I’m not sure about Kutchi. Perhaps he forgot it but then, wouldn’t you? He smoked, he drank and he ate pork. He married a young Parsi girl and even though they separated, no one ever questioned his love for Ruttie. He was never more proud than when she visited his chambers, her décolletage plunging to eye-popping levels, and perched herself playfully on his table bearing ham sandwiches for lunch.
It was this individualism, this defiance of convention, this determination to be himself that I admire. Even the little distortions Jinnah engineered to enhance himself seem endearing. He was born Jinnahbhai. He disliked the name so much he abbreviated it to Jinnah. He was born on the 20th October 1875. When he discovered Christmas was a better birthday, he switched to that.
