Simply Fly

by Capt G R Gopinath

  It is interesting to observe why an unemployed village youth becomes a party worker. As party workers, they get fed every day and have something to keep them occupied and dreaming of future positions of power. There is a tendency among the urban educated classes to regard politicians from rural India, with some contempt. We must, however, remember that many of these leaders, MLAs and MPs, have risen through the ranks. The city-bred go to college, seek professional degrees and careers, and lead a cushy life. The village-bred politician, on the other hand, has no option other than to devote his life to politics. Many of them are passionate about local politics, some genuinely concerned about the state of the polity, but a large number become mere middlemen.

  In recent times, there has been a huge shift of power from the Thakurs, Rajputs, Brahmins, and Gowdas to the traditionally backward and historically exploited classes in the villages. This class forms the real India. The educated, urban middle-classes have to figure out how to deal with this reality but without further dividing an already fragmented society.

  On the positive side, these politicians have the keenest and most intuitive understanding of the lives of the people in real India. In my view, these politicians do more for democracy than those of us who are ensconced in our cozy urban cocoons. It is they who go out on the street to demonstrate against injustice and lopsided government policy.

  Nelson Mandela was among the first to realize the new-age reality that the way forward to building a new order can only be achieved by not dividing society. This is beginning to dawn on new-generation Indian politicians to a considerable degree. In the initial stages, I went to villages wearing city clothes. They were ordinary clothes, not flashy nor particularly trendy. Hundreds of people move about in a city wearing such clothes and nobody bats an eyelid. To the people of the villages, however, I appeared to be a stranger. I, therefore, toned down my attire though I did not wear the characteristic politician’s attire because that had acquired its own negative connotations. Neither did I want to wear designer kurta-pyjamas that politicians tend to wear today. I wore simple, unassuming cotton clothes: a bush-shirt and trousers. I saw the rural—urban divide as stemming from the utter isolation of the villages from modern urban life and the pervasive layers of caste and community distinctions. You can get an idea of the layers of community distinctions when you realize that there are two or more kinds of Gowdas, four or more kinds of Lingayats, ten or more kinds of Brahmins, and four or more kinds of shepherds, just to name a few of the hundreds of castes and sects that exist in India.

  I wanted to understand these layers of caste and sub-caste distinctions. It is quite amazing that in India this complexity has worked for centuries, but there is a shake-up of the matrix today with modern thought and value systems taking root.

  I wished to see how people lived, what their material basis of life was, how they coped with adversity, how they practised prudence in the management of the household. Many of them still observed traditional caste taboos, which came as quite a shock to me. One day on my farm, the party workers and leaders had gathered after a visit to some of the nearby villages. Everyone was very hungry. Raju, my man Friday, who belongs to the scheduled castes, had prepared a meal for us. I learnt from someone that some of the party members present—Acharis (carpenters) and Gowdas— would not eat because Raju had cooked the food. I sat with the group and asked Raju to serve me first. The army is a quintessentially secular institution in every aspect of its functioning. There is only the hierarchical distinction between officer and jawan but there is no caste, no community, and no religious bias. Indeed, there is only one caste, one community, and one religion: of being an Indian. Anybody who has served in the army knows that when an injured soldier needs a blood transfusion to survive, he will accept blood of any colour or creed. A soldier has the same attitude to food: meals are consumed from the same dishes and everyone eats at the same table. On that day at my farm, I decided to give lead and began eating what Raju had served. The others took the cue.They were so hungry that they just needed the reassurance that caste taboos could be broken without a prick of conscience, and they too joined in.

  I had spent seventeen of my formative years at school, the NDA, the IMA, and the army. At all these institutions I had never witnessed a single instance of discriminatory behaviour and had lost track of the caste and religious divide that runs so deep in our country. Although I found it a little amusing at one level, that incident was an eye-opener of sorts. Even Manje Gowda initially hesitated to eat at my house, but today is quite comfortable doing so and readily accepts what Raju cooks. On that day, I believe, the caste taboo had been broken in my farm at a stroke.

  I cobbled together a small band of local unemployed young men who were ready to accompany me on my visits. I decided that I must feed them, and this was a tacit understanding between us. I took my car and we drove to one village each day. I met everyone: the temple priest, the village headman, the panchayat member. The Congress and the Janata Dal had long been a presence in the villages, the BJP was very new and I had to break the ice. It was quite an uphill task. The villagers shared their problems and their aspirations with me. Their backwardness was stark. They lacked simple amenities but they lived their lives intensely and worked hard. I was touched; the entire experience had a profound impact on me. I realized that the host of odd-jobsmen in the villages undertaking basic chores like thatching a weather-beaten roof to collecting, patting, and selling cow-dung cakes, actually keep the country running. From farm labourers, carpenters, and blacksmiths to the goatherds, the plantation and orchard workers, the bee-keepers and honey-gatherers, millers, and the dairymen, a multitude of people toil day and night and help the state’s economy function like a well-oiled machine. Their work is however neither recognized nor given due socio-economic importance by the state.

  The task of creating jobs for people in the villages is enormous. Indian farming practices are not conducive to the creation of wealth per capita on a large scale as the case in America and Europe. In those countries only three or four per cent of the population at most is engaged in agriculture. Their farms are vast and run into thousands of acres. Their levels of automation are very high and very little human agency is employed in farming. During my visit to the US in 1984, farmers told me that agriculture on landholdings of less than 3–4000 acres was considered unviable. Farmers with large tracts of farmland also found it difficult to make ends meet and were heavily subsidized by the government.

  India has an agrarian economy. However, given its poor infrastructure and the lack of technology, much of the farming effort goes to waste. Eighty per cent of Indian agriculture is rain-fed. Rains are erratic and unpredictable. There are also problems of plenty; excess produce lowers prices and a substantial part of the produce is lost due to poor storage which makes it imperative for the farmer to sell off the produce immediately after the harvest. Transporting produce to the market is a strenuous exercise too.

  Sugar cane is a water-intensive crop and takes one-and-a-half years to mature. On my own farm, there was once an occasion when the cost of harvesting sugar cane proved to be more than the price I could get from selling it. In such circumstances, farmers simply burn the sugar-cane!

  There are occasions when bumper harvests deprive farmers of a fair price. There is no equitable supply chain that operates between the farm and the market. Once in Hassan the main roads had become unusable because farmers had dumped tons of chillies there. There was a glut in production and the price they were getting did not support the crop. The rates fell and reached rock bottom. Cold-storage units are limited in number and are besides unaffordable by the small farmer. During that time, the black tarmac became a green tarmac with chillies squashed by passing vehicles. The chilly fumes were so pungent that nobody could approach the road for an entire day. Under these circumstances, the middleman buffers against the fall in price and makes money. We cannot blame him for this either because has to buffer against the fall in price. In such situation
s no one will buy something at a higher price when the produce is available at a lower price.

  Returning to the original question, ‘How do we create meaningful employment in agriculture? How can agriculture become viable as an economic activity? And how can profits accrue to enable the farmers to live a better life?’ There is no easy answer to this.

  The conditions I witnessed in the villages were appalling. The villages had degenerated. Farmers worked their half-acre, one-acre, and two-acre plots during season when water was available. The rest of the year they sat idle. Children dropped out of school because a degree or certificate did not guarantee a job and also in order to help the family at work, or by doing odd jobs. I wondered how I would tackle these problems even if I got elected. How would I eradicate unemployment and create profitable agriculture? How would I ensure minimum sanitary amenities in the villages? How would I provide clean drinking water and electricity? I was overwhelmed by the scale of poverty and deprivation and often moved from village to village in a daze.

  Village life is idyllic in its rustic charm and the simplicity of farmers. Their lives are in tune with the rhythms of the seasons and there is apparent harmony. However, beneath what meets the eye is harsh reality and abject poverty. The material quality of life is poor. Farmers resent their inability to send their children to a good school and lament the absence of basic civic amenities. They realize that the traditional Hindu laws of inheritance result in the fragmentation of land from one generation to the next, making it difficult to sustain decent and united family life. They have seen the relative comfort of the city dweller on occasional visits to relatives or through films and television. However, a collective effort to infuse fresh energy into the village economy remains absent.

  One thing that never ceased to amaze me was the strength and spirit of the villagers. Barring the odd farmer who finds himself in a debt trap and commits suicide, the people are strong. I often found strength in their spirit. The typical village dweller does not lose hope of a better life. Whatever their degree of poverty, they find the means to celebrate festivals. They share in each other’s work in the peak season of harvest and sowing. On the other hand, it also amazes me and makes me wonder why farmers do not bond together to work for better sanitation.

  This inexplicable contentment is also why India has not seen the violent upheavals other countries have witnessed. There is however no room for complacency, and if the villagers are pushed to the wall, the balance can tip. It is particularly important for the other, prosperous India, which is enjoying the fruits of development, to take note and put an end to exploitation. There is a strong dichotomy between the two Indias, and such a discrepancy cannot nurture a stable society.

  I asked people in the villages what their fears and problems in life were. I wondered what went on in their minds as I spoke and was sometimes a little self-conscious about the role I was playing. I was reminded of a particular cartoon by R.K. Laxman. It is set at election-time and depicts a fictional village that has every amenity. The politician looks a little anxious and says, ‘If these villages have everything, I can’t promise them anything to win an election!’ I felt comforted that I was not a candidate seeking votes during the final days of poll campaigning. Elections were at least four years away.

  My village visits continued over the next three or four years. On one occasion, BJP stalwart Atal Bihari Vajpayee visited Hassan. As president of the party in Hassan, it was my responsibility to organize a rally and persuade a large crowd to attend it. I was expected to make other arrangements too. I realized that political events are not easy to organize, and becomes particularly challenging when people of Mr Vajpayee’s stature are visiting. The state party president gave me a pep talk. He expected me to organize the event and to bring in the crowds but there was a severe shortage of funds. One needed banners, pamphlets, signages and hoardings to be put up everywhere to ensure visibility, and tractors and trucks to bring in people from the villages to attend the rally, otherwise the national leader would have to address an empty maidan. That is probably why politicians have glamorous film actors and actresses accompanying them!

  It was my test as a political leader in the making to attract large crowds to attend Mr Vajpayee’s meeting and I had to devise ways of mobilizing funds to do so. I met many newly recruited local BJP leaders and wealthy businessmen. They did not want to give donations to the party and I soon realized that if I embarked upon a venture to bring in lakhs of people from the villages in tractors and trucks I would soon become bankrupt. I therefore abandoned the idea and decided to publicize the function as best I could with my small band of party faithfuls and hoped for the best.

  I hired extremely talented local artists for the job. They went from village to village, painting signages and creating posters. They were paid in kind and for food. They also hoped to benefit if I were to come to power. Many of the local traders and contractors who allied with me were also investing in that hope. Significant funds are given to village panchayats to finance development contracts and for the repair and upkeep of infrastructure. These contracts were always given to party workers who supported the local MLA. The nexus is a strong one with many links to the chain: from the contractor to the MLA. The party that comes to power gives the contracts to its party cadres and very little translates to development.

  Many such small traders and contractors supported me with this in mind! I had no intention of going by the rules of this dubious tradition. If these men were under the impression that I would reward them with contracts or plum doles, how was I to refuse them and remind them that ability and track record alone would determine the beneficiary? I began to wonder how I would keep my brand of politics clean and different from the rest. I was however too pressed for time at that juncture and rushed along.

  Mr Vajpayee arrived as scheduled, and his charisma attracted a huge crowd and saved the day for me. One positive spin-off of the political campaign was that my Kannada improved immensely. I had been religiously attending all the village meetings and soon I could make a fiery speech in my mother tongue. I lambasted the government and the other political parties. Addressing the crowds gave me an adrenalin rush. I waved my fists in the air, gesticulated, and proclaimed drastic change for the future. When I returned from these meetings I often wondered whether I was simply falling into the classical mould of Indian politicians.

  Mr Vajpayee’s visit to Hassan concluded with a dinner at my house. Leaders of the state BJP accompanied Mr Vajpayee. Among them were Ramachandra Gowda, Ananth Kumar, Yeddyurappa, and V.S. Acharya. That dinner was marked by one memorable incident. Those were the days of only two government-run Doordarshan channels on Indian television. There was dinner-time banter as well as serious discussion at the table. During one such exchange of words among the guests, I posed a question to the guest of honour. ‘Mr Vajpayee,’ I said, ‘as you now criticize the government for misusing and usurping the media, why don’t you plan to change that forever? Why can’t you announce that you will allow a thousand TV and radio stations to come into being if you became the PM?’ Mr Vajpayee was visibly shaken. Recovering his poise , he said, ‘Young man, can you imagine what would happen if terrorists took over a TV station?’ I was ready with a quick repartee and retorted, ‘It’s easier to take over one TV station than a thousand’.

  We got into a debate. He lost his temper and in the heat of the debate the tenor of my voice too had risen. At that moment, somebody gently tugged at my kurta and intervened, suggesting that I change the subject. After dinner I went up to Mr Vajpayee and said, ‘I am sorry, sir. I did not mean to offend you. I thought I must confront you with this.’ He said, ‘Young man, I enjoy fights and repartees!’, and broke into a guffaw. I got an insight into a seasoned politician’s mind through this incident and realized they are a mix of the biased and the good, as in any other profession.

  The political campaign and the meeting with Mr Vajpayee steeled me and lent me the confidence that I lacked. It gave me extraordin
ary insight into politics at various levels: the panchayat, the taluq, and the district. At the national level, I got to meet leaders from other parties too. The BJP was a young national party and I happened to be a member of the national and state councils, so I enjoyed a fair deal of national exposure. I met leaders like Pramod Mahajan, Venkaiah Naidu, and L.K. Advani.

  Indian political parties, whatever their hues and ideologies, suffer from one major shortcoming: the absence of inner party democracy. This does stand out rather like a sore thumb in the Indian democracy, the largest in the world. India’s government is chosen by a process of secret ballot but such a process does not exist within parties. Political parties have legally drafted their constitutions and internal democracy is an important clause. This provision requires leaders to be elected at all levels, and the elected representatives at the village and district levels together elect their state and national leaders. As a rule, however, this never tanspires and parties are afraid to conduct elections. The reason for this is the belief that elections within a party would lead to rifts and jeopardize the party’s very integrity. When a political party wins a majority vote in an election, party legislators do not choose a leader by open or secret ballot. All parties follow the rather dubious practice of asking individual legislators whom they favour through a private exercise, usually conducted by the so-called party observers, who are in turn instructed by the high command of the party in New Delhi. As there is no inner party democracy, a leader who feels slighted by the party has only to send in, his or her resignation papers for the central leadership to sit up, take note, and intervene through an offer of sops or bargaining positions within the party. It is ironical that the champions of democracy at the national level, act as dictators within their own parties.