It was evident that the Pakistanis are thoroughly frightened of the prospects of an Indo-Pakistan war. The most eloquent amongst them was General A.I. Akram who had fought three wars against India. He painted a picture of what India and Pakistan, who are now distant neighbours, could look like in 1989 if they became really close and friendly. “India and Pakistan stick together to face the world and the world knows when they touch one, they touch the other. The armed forces of the two countries have been reduced to half or a third of near-present strength because there is no danger from one to the other.... Relations between the two neighbours are such that should the frontier of one be threatened by an external power, it can call for support from the other. The expenditure on defence has been reduced by a half and a good deal of money has been made available for development, for feeding the hungry, for healing the sick and clothing the naked. There is complete cooperation between the two countries in the field of nuclear energy. The two countries have been able to combine their skills to become a great joint nuclear centre for the development of nuclear energy for peaceful purposes. The economies of the two countries are getting stronger month by month. There are no more pavement dwellers, there is no hunger, children do not walk about naked and starving. Internationally, India and Pakistan stand together and face the world as partners. At the UN, they usually vote together.”
General Akram’s picture of an Indo-Pak paradise in 1989 was much like the vision the late reverend Martin Luther King spelled out in his famous “I had a dream” speech. The General spoke with passion: “It is a paradise that we could create, that we would have created, if we had wishes, even in the past. From this beautiful picture of paradise, let us go back to the hell of reality in which India and Pakistan live today—a hell of our own making”.
Why don’t Indira Gandhi and Zia-ul-Haq have dreams like that of General Akram?
The favourite topic in Pakistan was the disappearance of the two Bihari servants of Mr Prasad of our embassy in Islamabad and their sudden reappearance in India. Many angry words have been exchanged between official spokesmen of the two countries; airlines personnel in Lahore and New Delhi have been summarily expelled—but as yet the veil of mystery that has surrounded the episode has not been lifted. I questioned as many people concerned on either side (including an altogether too brief an encounter with Shri Prasad and his Shrimati). The facts put the onus heavily on the Indian side. The Prasads had already two servants in their employ and neither needed nor could afford another two on Mr Prasad’s salary. The two had served the household for barely one month when they disappeared. It was our ambassador in Islamabad, Mr Sharma, who reported their disappearance to the Pakistan government and followed it up with insistent demands that they be found. The innuendo clearly was that they had been abducted by Pakistani security personnel and were being held against their will. Foreign Secretary Natwar Singh, not famous for understatements, issued a strongly-worded protest to the Pakistani ambassador in Delhi. Then the missing lads surfaced on their own. Not a word they had to say in explanation of their truant behaviour: Why did they leave Islamabad? How did they get across the Indo-Pak border eluding both the Pakistani and the Indian police and customs? When Pakistan expelled two Indian Airlines officials from Lahore, it was assumed that perhaps they had smuggled the men aboard an Indian aircraft. That apparently was not so because Pakistani security at Lahore airport is extremely tight. The Pakistani version is that they were put across the border somewhere near Wagah with the help of a notorious Pakistani smuggler known to our airlines men in Lahore. If that is true why did the Indian government retaliate by expelling two Pakistani airlines officials from Delhi—presumably totally innocent?
The longer the two main characters in the drama take to tell their story, the lesser will be their credibility. It will be obvious to everyone that it will be a version tailored to fit India’s posture.
There was obviously a communication gap between our External Affairs Ministry and the Ministry under which Mr Prasad is serving.
(26 February 1984)
Plane to Pakistan
On the eve of my visit to Pakistan I thought I should read up something about the latest developments in that country. I was last there the day they hanged Bhutto. Since then a lot of water had flown down Pakistani rivers.
I chanced upon The Rainbow Sign by Hanif Kureishi. His play on the problems of coloured emigrants entitled My Beautiful Laundrette received the top rating on BBC television and has been shown in cinema houses all over England. Kureishi, born of an English mother and a Pakistani father, was at the receiving end of racist prejudice in England as well as of religious fanaticism in Pakistan. The Rainbow Sign is about his to-ing and fro-ing between the two countries. I will only quote his comments on Pakistan. And mine on my country.
Soon after his arrival at Karachi, Kureishi was invited to a party. He writes: “They were drinking heavily. Every liberal in England knows you can be lashed for drinking in Pakistan. But as far as I could tell, none of this international bourgeoisie would be lashed for anything. They all had their favourite, trusted bootleggers who negotiated the potholes of Karachi at high speed on disintegrating motorcycles, with the hooch stashed on the back. Bad bootleggers pass a hot needle through the neck of your bottle and draw your whisky out. Stories were told of guests politely sipping ginger-beer with their ice-cold soda, glancing at other guests to see if they were drunk and wondering if their own alcohol tolerance had miraculously increased.”
Most reassuring! I’ll get my evening quota of hooch in Pakistan as I do in India. And probably as frequently spurious as served by some friends in Delhi. On the score of liquor, one-all between Pakistan and India.
Kureishi, being a playwright, was dismissed as a useless drone. “There were no theatres, the arts were discouraged by the State—music and dancing are un-Islamic—and ignored by practically everyone else.”
Score: two to one in favour of India. I get more music and dancing in Delhi than I can stomach.
All India Radio has news in Sanskrit which perhaps one in a hundred Indians can understand. Pakistan has news in Arabic which is as little understood in that country. “Someone explained to me that this was because the Qoran was in Arabic,” writes Kureishi, and adds, “but everyone else said it was because General Zia wanted to kiss the arses of the Arabs.”
No comment except that we don’t have any Sanskrit-speaking posteriors to kiss. Three-one in favour of India.
Evidently the Pakistani wog is as unhappy with the Islamic structuring of society as the Indian wog is over the imposition of Bharatiya culture. A retired Pakistani Air Force Officer exploded with anger: “I tell you, this country is being sodomised by religion ... Pakistan has become a leading country to go away from...”
A tragic attempt to get away from Pakistan took place a couple of years ago. An eighteen-year-old Shia girl of Chakwal dreamed that her fellow villagers walked across the Arabian Sea to Karbala where they found work and money. Twenty potential émigrés who walked into the ocean met a watery grave.
Lots of Indians are also anxious to get away from their country. But since Yogi Raj’s attempt to walk over water ended in disaster, no Indian has tried to walk over the Indian Ocean.
Four to one in favour of India.
Bhutto succumbed to mulla pressure and agreed to make Pakistan a modern Islamic State. But, writes Kureishi, “Islamisation built no hospitals, no schools, no houses; it cleaned no water and installed no electricity...Under the tyranny of the priesthood with the cooperation of the army, Pakistan would embody Islam itself.”
Five to one in favour of India.
Pakistanis are as touchy as Indians over adverse comments made on their country by foreigners. Only, they have an even lesser sense of humour than us and are more prone to protesting violently than us. When English cricketers Bob Willis and Ian Botham were leaving the pitch at the end of the game, they were set upon by a mob and narrowly escaped being beaten up. The provocation? Ian Botham was quot
ed for having remarked that Pakistan was a country to which he would like to send his mother-in-law.
If Pakistanis refuse to have Botham mother-in-law, I am sure she will be welcomed in India: we could make her the mascot of our cricket eleven.
Six to one in favour of India!
It will be nice going to Pakistan with five plus points in my pocket.
(December 1986)
War and Cricket
Just as Pakistani cricketers usually manage to get the upper hand against our side, Pakistani politicians seem to know how to score against our politicians at every confrontation. While we were frantically rushing troops to the Indo-Pak border and our Prime Minister was warning us about an impending war, President Zia-ul-Haq calmly went off to Kuwait to attend the Islamic Nations Conference. A week later while we were still fuming and fretting over Pakistan’s evil designs against us, Zia coolly announced that he would like to watch an Indo-Pak Test match. He knew that India did not mean to attack Pakistan. Rajiv should also have known that Pakistan did not mean to attack India. But Zia let it be known to the world that it was a charade. Rajiv did not.
I am told by friends who claim to know something about logistics that the exercise of moving such large number of troops and armour to the border and then moving them back cost Pakistan upwards of Rs 80 crore and India certainly twice as much. For the same sum of money blown by our two countries, both amongst the poorest of the poor, they could have raised a hundred factories, hospitals, colleges and schools.
The Pakistanis manage to keep the initiative in their hands all the time. If Rajiv was reluctant to invite Zia to India, Zia decided to invite himself. He came with his Begum Sahiba and daughter and made sure that it was not only Rajiv who received him but Sonia as well. He then went leisurely to Jaipur to watch cricket. (I hoped at least this time our boys would thrash his.) On the same day the rest of his entourage proceeded to Ajmer on Ziarat at the dargah of Khwaja Mueenuddin Chisti, Ghareeb Nawaz. Zia is a cool customer; he makes our Prime Minister and his bunch of advisors appear as bachchas and amateurs at the game of politics.
(February 1987)
MANY FACES
“I do not have many friends because I do not set much store by friendship. I have found that friends, however nice and friendly they may be, demand more time than I am willing to spare. I get easily bored with people and would rather read a book or listen to music than converse with anyone for too long. I have had a few very close friends in my time. I am ashamed to admit that when some of them dropped me, instead of being upset, I felt relieved. And when some died, I cherished their memory more than I did their company, when they were alive.
“Hate is my stronger passion—fortunately, there are not many people I hate. I could count them on the tips of fingers of one hand—no more than four or five. And if I tell you why I hate them, you may agree that they deserve contempt and hatred. I hate name-droppers. I hate self-praisers. I hate arrogant men. I hate liars. Is there anything wrong in hating them? People ask me, why can’t you leave them alone? Why can’t you ignore their existence? Now, that is something I cannot do. I cannot resist making fun of name droppers, calling liars liars on their faces. And I love abusing the arrogant. I have been in trouble many times because of my inability to resist mocking these types. And since most name-droppers, self-praisers and arrogant men go from success to success, become Ministers, Governors and win awards they don’t deserve, my anger often explodes in print.”
Rajiv Gandhi
In the next few days, Rajiv Gandhi is likely to announce his decision to quit flying and enter politics. He had no interest in politics and a very poor opinion of politicians. He was most reluctant to change his profession, and his wife Sonia was totally opposed to his going into the hurly burly of political life. However, he has at last decided to yield to the pressure put by members of the Congress Party.
Mrs Gandhi’s critics, particularly among the so-called intellectuals, have mounted a propaganda campaign questioning Rajiv Gandhi’s entry into politics. “He is only being brought in because he is the Prime Minister’s son and Sanjay’s brother,” they say. That may be so. But they overlook the fact that it is also his right as a citizen of India to do so. He is not—as the Opposition maintains—“succeeding” either his mother or his brother, but only offering himself (albeit reluctantly) to help as anyone else might in the organization. It would be a gross travesty of democratic principles to deny him rights enjoyed by all others simply because of his ancestry or relationship. He has yet to prove himself. And it will be for the people (not only his critics) to accept or reject him.
It is worth recalling that when Pandit Nehru first became President of the Indian National Congress, there was similar criticism that he had been chosen because he was Motilal’s son. When Indira Gandhi succeeded Lal Bahadur Shastri, fairly and squarely beating Morarji Desai, it was said that she became Prime Minister because she was Jawaharlal’s daughter. And when Sanjay burst on the Indian political scene and established his unquestioned power over the party machine, similar insinuations were made against him. But it was clear as daylight for anyone who wished to see that Nehru, Indira and Sanjay, each in his or her turn, were not imposed on the people but chosen by them. What could have been more democratic?
And now it will be Rajiv. There is little doubt that his way to the political path was paved by Sanjay Gandhi. People who believed in what Sanjay stood for hope that he will carry on the task that this valiant son of India left unfulfilled. Sanjay was much more than a Member of Parliament, the Prime Minister’s right-hand man and leader of the Youth Congress. He had succeeded in firing the imagination of the people that they could within their lifetime, convert the dream of a more prosperous and powerful India into a reality. If the people are now eager to pass on the torch that Sanjay lit into the hands of his elder brother, they do so in the hope that Sanjay’s unfinished mission will now be accomplished.
Still the Best Bet, if he Learns
The most significant thing that happened in the first month of 1987 was that people began to look for blemishes on Rajiv’s face. This very month two years ago the same people were loud in praise of the many qualities he possessed—his good looks, his candour and courtesy—and assuring us that we were fortunate in having so forward-looking a man as him at the helm of our affairs. Why did the magic mirror which once reflected his image as among the fairest of the fair start showing warts and pimples?
Rajiv’s own contribution to this change has been most noteworthy. Perhaps his massive victory at the polls gave him an illusion of invulnerability. He succumbed to the temptation of riding roughshod over dissenters, ignored institutions and traditions of governance, appointed friends unknown to the public to important public positions and unceremoniously fired those whose vibes did not please him. He began to pronounce with authority on subjects with which he had little familiarity. The subjantawala destroyed the image of a modest young man eager to learn. Said a south Indian friend to me: “A man who till the other day only knew how to handle the joystick in a cockpit can hardly be expected to deliver learned sermons from the world’s pulpits.”
Rajiv’s image has by no means suffered irreparable damage. He should know that he still remains our best bet to lead the country. He can afford to dismiss the rantings of politicians but he must take the near-unanimous criticism by the press, the trahison des clercs—the revolt of civil servants—more seriously. The press enjoys more credibility with the people than politicians. Civil servants have taken a lot of mauling from politicians and will not take any more. I raise my glass to toast the Venkateswarans of India:
“God give us men!
Men whom the lust of office does not kill.”
Sanjay Gandhi
It was a hot sweltering afternoon when neither man nor beast stirred out of the shade. And there was I, standing under a scorching sun amidst a sweaty crowd on the roundabout near India Gate. I wanted to say my last farewell to my young friend as he passed by. I recalled th
at sixteen years ago I had stood at the same spot in the same kind of torrid heat to watch the cortege of my friend’s grandsire. His grandsire had been a national figure for more than half a century and then Prime Minister for seventeen years. There had been elaborate bandobast for his funeral. My young friend was a political parvenu who had been vilified and slandered from the day he became a major, persecuted and gaoled off and on and had only recently managed to get into Parliament. Yet the crowd at his funeral was larger than the one I had seen at his grandfather’s. Someone had quoted an apt couplet in Urdu:
Ai gulcheen-e-ajal tujh sey nadaani hooee
phool voh tora ke gulshan men veeranee hooee
[0 thou picker of life’s flowers; you made a grave mistake;
You plucked the one flower which laid the garden desolate]
Malicious Gossip Page 5
