Friday 27 February 2015

Why the BJP blew it up in Delhi...


Obama With Modi_PIB (3)

Blame it on Obama!

February 20, 2015
Arrogance often has a fall. And how! The drubbing received by the BJP in the Delhi polls shows that it can ignore the common man only at its own peril

By Ashim Choudhury

It was Obama who did the BJP in! Okay, that was a jumla (a figure of speech meaning it was a joke). Had the US president not come, Prime Minister Narendra Modi would not have changed his clothes five times a day. He would not have worn the pin-striped suit with his name written all over. That suit became his undoing. It got talked about ad nauseam for all the wrong reasons. He was mocked on social media for his das-lakh-ka-suit. Many thought it ill-fitted the prime minister of a country, where hundreds die each winter for lack of protective clothing, to wear a suit that cost so much. And the poor, mockingly voted him out. “But this was a small state election, not Modi’s test,” BJP men lamely say. But, of course, it was Modi’s test! From the word go, they put Modi’s face to the campaign. It was brand Modi on sale. It was a bad idea to start with, and against the BJP’s stated policy. Remember how they riled at the Congress for not having a “PM face” to their campaign?
The people of Delhi were left wondering if the PM would also double up as the chief minister. There were murmurs saying whoever became CM was irrelevant, the remote, anyway, would be with the PM. It was only towards the end, when the BJP belatedly realized that there was no buzz around the PM, that they quickly imported “Crane Bedi”. People soon found out she was a “faking crane”, and BJP’s trump card turned into a joker. On Facebook, people were having a laughing fest. Some of that middle-class laughter trickled down to the streets. Bedi’s utterances didn’t help much. The BJP’s rank-and-file in Delhi was sniggering at her. They felt betrayed, humiliated and demotivated. And she behaved like she was already CM. Soon, there was a gag order on Bedi. Putting a finger on your lips, particularly during election time, is not a bright idea.
COSTLY SILENCE
Modi’s own silence on a string of sensitive issues, whether it was love jihad or ghar wapasi or four children for Hindu mothers, was deafening. Suddenly, in a city like Delhi, churches were burning or being vandalized. When pressed, cronies like Arun Jaitley said the prime minister of the country did not need to comment on every minor issue. True, the events were minor, but the issue was larger. And, that message was brought home by, guess who? Obama! After all that backslapping and bonhomie—the namak haram, as a FB post endearingly put it, gave Modi a parting jab in the rib. “India will succeed so long as it is not splintered along the lines of religious faith…,” he said at a town hall meeting in Delhi, with polls just a few days away. After his return, the White House issued a clarification that the remark was being misconstrued. That consolation was soon snatched away when Obama reiterated at a solemn National Prayer meeting that had Gandhi been alive, he would have been “shocked”. The real shocker was the Delhi poll results. A FB comment by a Muslim girl summed up the minority mood. She wrote: “Ghutan kuch kam si mehsoos hui aaj subah humein (I felt a bit less stifled this morning).”
By the time it was time to vote in Delhi, Modi’s image had taken a severe beating. He came to be seen as a charlatan, high on promises and slow on delivery. The Swachh Bharat campaign he launched on Mahatma Gandhi’s birthday was a masterstroke that had won over even the cynics. But that goodwill was frittered away. The streets and by-lanes of Delhi (like in the rest of the country), where ordinary people lived, saw little improvement. All he needed to do was to pull up the municipal officers and workers. After all, Delhi has a huge army of workers, mostly absent, on its payrolls. So where was the action on Swachh Bharat? It became a farce. BJP netas were jostling, clicking pictures of themselves with the broom. A great opportunity was lost.
The poll promise of bringing back black money met the same fate. It was one of their main political planks. Months later, Amit Shah, the “tainted” BJP chief, who many saw as the party’s winning mascot, said sheepishly that putting Rs 15 lakh into every account was just a jumla. The jhadu (broom), the poll symbol of the AAP, too became a jumla in the hands of the people, sweeping away the BJP’s rising fortunes. It’s unthinkable that just nine months ago, Modi’s BJP, riding the crest of an ant-corruption wave, had won all seven parliamentary seats in Delhi. What is it that so alienated the people? Arrogance.
COMPLETE IMAGE TURNAROUND
At that election, with his grand oratory, Modi assiduously crafted his image as a humble tea-seller capturing the hearts of ordinary Indians. But in the nine months, despite improving the economic outlook, or India’s image as a great investment destination, Modi consistently gave the perception that he was corporate India’s man up there, not the humble chaiwala. They saw him mollycoddling the Adanis and the Ambanis. They were there at the high table, during his grand swearing-in, during the banquet with Obama. Not inviting Kejriwal, a former chief minister, to the Republic day parade not only showed him as mean, it also betrayed his aversion for the aam aadmi. The rest, as they say, is history.
The analogy of the rabbit-tortoise race is not out of place either. Smug in the victory of the Lok Sabha polls, the BJP was happily napping when the AAP had already oiled its poll machinery, geared up by its young spirited volunteers. Moreover people wanted an alternative to the usual set of politicians who they see as rogues. AAP, with its young idealistic workers, and the Anna movement behind them, was an alternative at hand. That Kejriwal had abdicated a year back did not help. There was a ring of sincerity to his unconditional apology in meeting after meeting. It worked. People forgave him. But the BJP, in panic by now, began its one-point agenda of mudslinging. Bhagoda, bandar, baazaru, manhoos, were some of the words they used to describe him. The final straw was when half of Modi’s cabinet, led by the vitriolic Seetharaman attacked AAP for its Rs 2-crore “hawala” money, when day-after-day they were running front-page ad campaigns that cost a bomb. That one boomeranged.
Two days before people actually went to the polling booths, a smug Arun Jaitley said: “People have two choices before them, development and anarchy.” Clearly, they voted for anarchy. And now they want the anarchy of the policeman and other extortionists on the streets to end.
Kejriwal has a tough job ahead. He has to fulfill his promise of free water and cheap electricity, at least to the poor. And the BJP will do well to cooperate with the AAP instead of trying to scuttle him. Already, people are saying that BJP-ruled Haryana will not give water, as promised. Such disruptive and vengeful politics will only erode the credibility of the BJP with the poor. Let’s not forget, a majority of Indians are poor. The vote is the only weapon of mass destruction they carry, as Delhi has just shown. Another lesson, the sensex is not the best indicator to gauge the mood of the people.

Wednesday 25 February 2015

Proud Moment...!

The affable Defence Minister of India Manohar Parrikar poses with a copy of The Sergeant's Son. Hoping, he also reads it and gets an insight into the lives of ordinary soldiers and their families.
 

Thursday 5 February 2015

My tribute R.K Laxman, creator of the orginal aam admi ...!




Long live the Common Man


rk laxman

He was India’s best-known cartoonist, though his creation was more popular than he was. With his deft lines and witty humor, this prolific genius touched many lives day after day, year after year
By Ashim Choudhury


It was July 1990. Calcutta was agog. RK Laxman was coming to town for his exhibition, “City Life”, chronicling the life and times of the city through his sketches. I was with the air force then, but nurturing dreams of making it as a writer and a cartoonist. And before me, at the exhibition, mobbed by admiring fans was the legend himself. I instantly made up my mind to interview him. He wasn’t very obliging, as I neither had a prior appointment nor was I on the staff of The Statesman or even the fledgling Telegraph. But, not one to be put off by insolence, I pursued him doggedly, forcing him or, more often, his wife to answer my questions. “City Life” was a roaring success as his sketches had transformed Calcutta’s garbage dumps, potholes, and traffic jams – all those mundane, frustrating aspects – into hilarious images.
Since he did not live in the city, I was prompted to ask how he managed to draw those vivid sketches. “He has a photographic mind,” Kamala, his wife offered. “He has a remarkable ability to remember places pictorially.” The sketches were products of an earlier visit to the city as he remembered it. It was this pictorial aspect of his cartoons that made them so appealing. Very often, they did not say a word, and yet the reader got the message with a gentle nudge on his funny bone. Laxman’s humor was rarely acerbic, tickling rather than poking the ribs. Between the common man and the establishment, he clearly sided with the underdog. “Is the cartoonist a natural enemy of the establishment?” I had asked. He fumbled for words finally saying: “Not exactly…but a cartoonist naturally goes against the grain.”
FAMILY MAN
Laxman’s cockiness, which came from knowing that he was the best, was mistaken by many for vanity and arrogance. It wasn’t so. The man who many thought was aloof (he had a soundproof room to himself at The Times of India office in Mumbai) was actually the family’s “handy man” as his wife put it. He loved unwinding, doing the odd job at home, repairing a leaking tap, replacing a broken windowpane or adjusting the TV antennae. When he was around at home, the plumber or the mechanic had no business there. At home he did no cartooning, except the odd freelance work. Remember Gattu, the Asian Paint boy? His daily cartoons were the result of a strict regime from 9 am to 5 pm in the office, where the first half of the day went in reading various newspaper stories and headlines. In the second half, he crystallized his thoughts and put them to paper with the deft strokes of his brush. Even editors did not always have the temerity to knock or enter his room when he was working.
Though in the nineties cartoons had still not been banished from the front pages, I had asked him what he thought of “cartooning as a dying art”. His face betrayed anger at the impertinence of the question. Put to the doyen of Indian cartooning, it did sound irreverent. But soon the livid expression melted into a smile that revealed his buckteeth. And he guffawed: “…not as long as I’m alive”. But to young people, like me, he did not recommend cartooning as a profession. “Don’t!” he had said. It was Kamala who explained: “He thinks it’s a thankless job.” Raising a laugh was no laughing matter; I had tried it briefly too. How Laxman managed to regale people with his deft lines and witty humor day after day, year after year, will remain an enigma. True, towards the end of his career he had begun to lose that punch. But then, the sheer volume of his work was monumental. There are no parallels to his prolific genius.
Rarely has a man’s creation been more popular than the man himself, in this case, the Common Man – the ageing bespectacled man in his checked jacket. “Why does he look so helpless…Why doesn’t your Common Man get angry?” I had asked. For a moment, the master of punning looked helpless searching for a retort, then his expression turned angry and he blurted: “…With the Chautalas and Devi Lals around, what can he do?” (Those days, the National Front government was gripped by a crisis when Chautala was re-elected the chief minister of Haryana). He was clear; he blamed politicians for the sad plight of the common man. Then, calling back through the throng of autograph seekers he said: “You can quote me on that.” There was something impish and child-like about Laxman. Deep down, he strongly empathized with the common man. It was this empathy that had millions of readers looking at his cartoons the first thing before moving on to the day’s headlines.
A COMMON LIFE
Laxman’s inspiration was David Low, the famous British cartoonist. “He was the only cartoonist I was exposed to in my early childhood,” Laxman admitted. Low later visited him in Bombay. There were many, kings, queens and heads of states who sought him out.
But this nation’s conscience-keeper once learnt the hard way the perils of being a common man. His car had broken down on Marine Drive in Mumbai on his way back from office. For over an hour, he stood on the road with his thumbs up, pleading for a ride. Not a single car stopped. It was little consolation that the next day, all the newspapers in the city carried this story on their
front pages.
It is ironical that this celebrated cartoonist was at one time denied entry into the JJ School of Art for not having the “right” talent. That denial hurt him deeply. To young aspiring artists his advice was: “Don’t go to any art school; it kills your creativity.” He also encouraged them not to copy but develop their own style.
With his passing away an epoch has ended. The man who worked with The Times of India since 1948 for over five decades, leaves behind a humungous body of work that should be treated as a national heritage. The best tribute to this genius would be to bring back cartoons to our front pages. Rasipuram Krishnaswami Laxman is dead, long live the Common Man!
Ashim Choudhury is the author of “The Sergeant’s Son