The empty ball

Who are you? A bleeding heart liberal? a snooty conservative with empty pockets? What do you stand for? I ask myself. I really don’t know the answer to that. As a public servant, I shouldn’t be speaking of my political beliefs; but let me admit I have none. Long ago, I thought I stood for the weak. I liked to see the mighty bite the dust. I derived inspiration from tales of dark horses who came from nowhere and won races. Then? What happened to change all that?

 I somehow started smelling bullshit in the bleeding heart liberal agenda. We have heard the social activists living in Jor Bagh houses, who went to elite schools and sniffed from cocktail glasses paying lip-sympathy to the poor and the marginalized. They roll their vowels and mouth these nothings to stay relevant and appear good on TV. An economic conservative can cut through a lot of bullshit. Unfortunately they are mostly well bred horses from the stables of corporate houses. Where do I stand then? 

      This angst flows from the stories about India’s Maoist problem. Sitting comfortably in Australian shores these problems appear so distant. But something tugs me deeply and I can’t help giving vent to these feelings. In the last few days I have heard Indian academicians sitting in England ranting about the failure of the State in “delivering development” -as though it is a pepperoni pizza or a café latte that one could order, have it custom-made with right mix of ingredients and get it delivered. I have heard writers in Fab-India clothes eloquently accusing India of surrendering tribal land to corporate interests- as if they’d like to preserve tribal culture in a zoo and charge 10$ a pop for a peek into their lives by foreign tourists in cargo shorts and cameras. I have heard romantic revolutionaries carrying laptops abusing the government for unleashing violence and I have heard ministers and politicians talking of solving these problems with an iron hand. What more can I say?

       I still receive a lot of responses for the story ‘Autumn of the Naxalite’ in this blog. Many people choose to talk to me or email me instead of writing public comments on the blog. Some are very critical and some appreciative (undeservingly)- some have (wrongly) concluded that I have dormant sympathy for the Naxal movement, while some say that I haven’t even scratched the surface of the problem by talking to one man. Some point out errors in the story, which I swear were inadvertent. I have only tried to highlight the human dimension of a poignant story; not of a failed movement- maybe I have failed in my task...

     There is an even more tragic aftermath to that story that I haven't written about- about a father’s struggle to educate his children, the social ostracism that a jail term brings and a lot many other things. A doomed life is bad enough. The closed door of opportunities to build your children’s lives is frustrating. I have acutely felt this helplessness added to my inability to assist in any way. But that is no reason for anyone to go back to a violent movement. It is for us to open our eyes to see what is happening in our midst. Maoists, I am sure like all hard core leftists suppress the personal individual narrative for the larger cause they believe in. Just as there is no living model of a just society that a 6^th century prophet spoke of, there is no living proof of the equitable, socialist societies that the latter day dogmatists of the left movement aspired for. 

So what are they fighting for? What does violence beget? What have they achieved for society or for themselves? certainly not a just society; maybe just a few despondent fathers who tried and failed to rebuild their lives after a long jail term. India once crushed the movement the old fashioned way- with might and guns. I earnestly wish it won’t come to that again. Meanwhile, the Jor Bagh activists might like to roll up their sleeves and start small industries in tribal lands and try giving jobs to landless tribals, if they can’t stand the sight of big corporations. Thus they can put their spare cash to some good use. Even better, they can apprentice as public servants for a  few months and try to “deliver development” in the badlands. I am sure they won’t go anywhere near a TV studio after that. experience. Probably the western liberal ‘sham’ democracy that these activists criticize looks like the only long term workable solution available before us. Let us bet on it and try to make it work, by tweaking it, decentralizing it and empowering it. Where do I stand, then?

    Maybe I am a deconstructed Marxist, rushing to the finishing line with an empty ball clutched tightly to my chest- the ball of rationalism and inclusiveness. There is no hot air called socialistic society in that ball; nor personal greed working the magic of larger good. But I think I will add a dose of allergy to empty talk of failure of development in TV studios and a dislike of organized religion’s power to divert our attention from issues of livelihood to the salvation of soul.

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Some favourite quotes….

“All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing”

Edmund Burke  (1729 - 1797)

"With or without religion, good people can behave well and bad people can do evil; but for good people to do evil -- that takes religion."

Steven Weinberg (1979 Physics Nobel Laurete)

Puppy Love

Isn’t it wonderful to have a pretty young girl doting on you in middle age? What if it is a female pup with white mane and brownish long hairy ears, with a huge bellowy bark? I’ve found love again. The object of my affections is Saba, my landlady’s puppy. She came in May from Queensland by air, a small cute cross-breed of Golden retriever and poodle. She was tiny when she came but she has grown bigger and her white mane has started covering her eyes now. She spends her time out in the grass gnarling at passersby, twisting her head vigorously chewing something or running amok in the garden. In the mornings she would wait at the kitchen door for the Missus to give her breadcrumbs to eat. She would sun herself in the grass, sniff the air and drive away the parrots and Cockatoos that seek grains in the garden. She is an endless source of pranks and amusement. Let her in the house and she will make way with a pair of slippers or socks. But there is some bad news. She has a congenital kidney problem and the prognosis is that she may not last long. I am hoping that by some miracle she recovers. We would miss her more than anything else when we leave Australia.

Chathu was always keen to have a pup at home. For the last so many years we’ve been living in flats in big cities. The inconvenience of taking the dog out for its’ daily poop always deterred us. I had a dog called Benny long back, with a dark band around his neck. He looked like a cross between a mongrel and an Alsatian, but his ancestry is largely unexplained. During Vishu, a festival of fireworks, I tied some crackers to his tail and set them off. He ran away from home and didn’t reappear for several days. I started crying and my Mom sent delegations to search for him in the village, amid much admonitions of having got just what I deserved for treating the dog cruelly. After three days he reappeared out of the blue. I was overjoyed and swore never to scare away my dear puppy. He died years later at ripe old age. I didn’t think of having a dog ever after that. But Saba just might make me rethink my resolve when we get back to India. It is nice to have someone welcoming you when you get home.
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We finally did that trip to Alice Springs and the long road journey to Uluru. Alice Springs is typical heartland Australia. It is a small outback town. The long drive from Alice Springs takes 5 hours each way. We did that in a hired Toyota Kluger which drives like a breeze. There were acres and acres of desolation, with vast stretches of bare countryside with patches of bushes. There are four small outback stops with shops displaying the quaint inscription “No shirt, No service”. That sounds so much from another era, while aboriginals walked shirtless and white Australians wore top hats.

One is more likely to find regular Aussie binge drinkers without a shirt these days. The Ayers Rock, a large monolithic rock looks as if it dropped down from another planet. We gazed at it at sunset and sunrise and drove to the Kata Tjuta National park nearby. While there were sandstorms while driving to Uluru, it was raining when we were driving back. The weather varies from day to day in this country. There are places where it hasn’t rained for twenty years. While it was hot when we landed in Alice, it was chilly when we left. The long trip fulfilled an old dream of mine. I remembered it was this vision of Australia in “A Town like Alice” that finally drew me to this country to spend a year.