A murder long forgotten

It is very unlikely that the Nobel Committee would confer the World Peace Prize on Abdul Nazar Madani, an Islamic preacher/politician from Kerala. He swears that he is a man of peace and many individuals from politics and civil society vouch for him. Listening to his early speeches could be very unsettling. If you are a Muslim youth, you could be inspired enough to go on and plant bombs in crowded markets and 2^nd class railway compartments. If you are a Hindu youth, you could be outraged enough to join the radicals who brandish Trishuls, chant the name of warrior gods and cause general murder and mayhem. The evolution of Madani from religious preacher to credible, smart politician is interesting. He is presently under the custody of Karnataka police for acts of terrorism. His recent arrest was a mega media event, with a reluctant police camped outside the orphanage where he is based and media persons speculating on his prayer schedule and health status.

           In the event of his getting nominated for the coveted prize, India may not take the trouble of writing to 180 odd world nations to boycott the investiture function. His chair won’t be empty and he might get there on a wheel chair (he was incapacitated many years ago in a bomb blast).  Many Malayalis might even take pride that the award has gone to a fellow Malayali. When he was in jail for over nine years in the Coimbatore blasts, politicians of various hues visited him to seek his help in various elections. Seeing a hardliner Islamic preacher in jail looked good on their political CV. One wouldn’t fault them for trying to earn brownie points among Muslims for the symbolism contained in these visits. Everything is par for the course in competitive electoral politics. He was set free by the Courts since the evidence did not measure up to the rigorous standards of Indian (actually English) justice. Cynics say (meanly) that he deserved a dose of Medeival Justice which involved cutting off certain parts of his already incapacitated body as was done in the case of a Professor in Kerala. Some suggest that the book of Constitutional justice be junked and Police ought to just bump him off in custody. While in jail, his wife was implicated in a conspiracy to burn state buses as a form of protest.

In other words, Madani is always in the news and he hogs the limelight. He is watched closely by a slowly polarizing educated State which is known to have democratically elected the first communist Government in the world. One would expect the Left in Kerala to fight this slow slide to communalism. But the politics of the left in Kerala today is largely mired in rhetorical slogans, cynical arguments and impractical positions on serious issues of daily life. 

     I almost forgot what I was coming to say. This is about the disappearance of another religious preacher whose life took a different trajectory. Chekannur Maulvi’s body, it is believed, lie un-mourned deep inside the earth or a water body without the benefit of a last prayer or burial.  He was a known contrarian in a world filled with conservative Islamists. He was known to be deeply knowledgeable in Islamic law and called for reforms in many aspects of prayer and conventions. He earned the ire of conservatives. He was sharp witted and brilliant in arguments. In public debates, he would outshine his adversaries while they would be frantically scanning many books for an effective retort. The learned Maulvi could even prompt them to look at a certain page without much ado. He was a clean shaven preacher, a failed businessman and a father of many kids from his two wives. If his arguments for reform of Muslim society were unpalatable to any, the least one would expect is that his adversaries would be try to defeat him intellectually in an informed debate. The brave voices of reform in Muslim community in the early 20^th century managed to survive and live another day.  No such luck for a latter day reformist like Maulvi.

     Chekannur Maulvi was fetched from his home by a few young men on a dark night in July 1993. He never reappeared after that night. The civil society in Kerala protested feebly. Along with a few Muslims, despite the risk to their lives from conservatives, they fought for justice and called for an enquiry. A CBI enquiry was eventually ordered. Some men were arrested, some accused went abroad and some are yet to be apprehended. The needle of suspicion points to a certain hard line Islamic organization. For all practical purposes the wise ones who ordered the hit might never see a jail. They did what they did in their Lord’s service.

The Maulvi never fought an election. The Muslim League which has a strong presence in Northern Kerala, has participated in electoral politics, shared power with mainstream parties and reaped dividends for their community. If one has worked and travelled all over India, one could see the higher economic and social standards of a Kerala Muslim vis a vis his counterpart elsewhere in India. Some would say that it is an ideal example worthy of emulation: How democracy and electoral politics can slowly transform the fortunes of a community.

If reforms had to come from within, then the Maulvi had the right credentials to sound the bugle call and seek a debate. In a world of increasing intransigence and rigidity, the Maulvi stood alone, called for reforms and disappeared from the face of earth one evening. He didn’t get the justice that is enshrined in our constitution. He wasn’t called for TV debates with the bearded worthies ranged against him. Nowadays, he is written about more as a victim of a criminal case than as a scholar of Islamic studies. The mainstream society has almost forgotten him.

Therein lies the irony. Abdul Nazar Madani might yet win the prize for peace, with a few right noises and some deft political manoeuvring; while Chekannur Maulvi rests peacefully…unheard and unmourned.

Death in the time of Climate Change

And quietly she came, in the night, slowly taking away life on earth, spreading wrinkles in skin, callouses in hands, aches and pains slowing movement. Sometimes she came like the whirlwind, snatching away young life, bubbling with energy, fresh skin, beautiful hair... The body is washed, clothes changed, perfumed candles lit. Invariably, relatives turned up to weep, priests came to bury or burn, rituals performed. Then the living got on with life to face just another day.

   The dead don’t worry no more about old age, fears of being poor and indigent, not whether children would fight over one’s belongings on earth. Death is eternal, inexorable and induces a hush in thoughts, in conversations. There are obituaries, increasingly exaggerated legends and hidden values of the deceased that everyone failed to see when they lived.

    M.P Narayana Pillai is a writer who was much ahead of his times- A journalist who transmuted into a story writer. His works of non fiction aren’t available easily anymore. He loved to shock the gentle, staid Kerala society. He shook the notions of political correctness in an increasingly hypocritical society. He wrote on politics, sex, middle class morality and turned conventional wisdom on its’ head. He could foresee the advent of cable and satellite TV so many years before technology took baby steps. He advocated sponsorship of roads and stadiums named after dead rich guys whose relatives won’t mind sparing some rupees to get their forefathers’ names etched in stone; and not after political personalities whose successors treat the country as inherited property. It could defray the cost of construction and who cares if they are named after rubber tycoons in Kottayam or Cashew kings in Kollam. He advocated reservation for Nair caste- who else has family gods, who else usurps priestly duties, who else has matrilineal system? Tribals, of course and if the stuck-up Nairs don’t see the benefits of reservation, they ought to be consigned to mental asylums, he said. So all ye Nair warriors- stop bragging about dubious lineage and sit in dharna in Kerala Government Secretariat, said he.

       And he wrote about suicides and other more painful forms of death. He advocated for the right of humans to die at the time of their choosing. Jains starved to death. Vedas spoke about spreading the holy Darbha grass on river banks and awaiting death. It was the Semitic religions that spread canards about suicide. They spread the belief that your life doesn’t belong to you but to some woozy creature in the sky called god. This wasn’t done with altruistic aims. It is smart to spread that belief to prevent mass suicide among slaves- wouldn’t it destroy the medieval empires if slaves decided to resort to mass suicide and put their masters in a spot? If poultry chicken had brains won’t they expedite their relentless march of death, thus depriving their owners of juicy meat and revenues? 

  If Pillai were alive, he would have reiterated his theories on suicide in these times of climate change. The burgeoning billions of living, breathing humans and their reckless consumption of energy and goods have really raised questions about sustainability of our planet. He would have advocated peaceful, painless suicides. He would have written against burning dead bodies, against using wooden boxes and marble plaques to bury them. He would have argued that it is better to dig a big hole, lower the body sans clothes, fill it with red soil and plant a fruit tree… He would have found a ready supporter in me…

Closure

It has been almost two years since I started writing this blog. When I read old posts, I am often embarrassed with my immaturity and poor ability with words. Given a chance I’d rewrite most of the stuff I had written earlier. Still I doubt if they’d look any better.

But the one piece for which I get most responses still remains “The autumn of a Naxalite.” That story itself is part of the reason why I started this blog. I looked around for someone to write it then. I wrote it myself before I forgot much. It was just an evening’s conversation with a man who was trying to move on with life, putting his past behind him. When I re-read it recently, I felt that there is more about me in that story than about the protagonist. 

 Then I started getting a flurry of mails- in the last few months. I discovered that the story has become a link in some websites which are known for extreme left positions. The mails came mostly from people who were reluctant to express their opinion in the blog itself. I had journalists requesting me for a meeting with Bhaskaran. ( He was reluctant to meet journalists). I heard from NRIs who, in the midst of their cosy existence, reached out and told me that the story reminded them of those dark days.  I also had a phone call from a friend who seemed to think that some of the facts have been disputed in another story that appeared in another blog. I was also told to remove a name which I had mentioned incorrectly (I removed it immediately- if anyone has an old printed copy of that story, it could still be seen). Some readers complemented me for the truly neutral stand I had taken in the story. (That’s what comes of many years as a faceless bureaucrat- one learns to be ambivalent about everything!!). Some wanted me to write the story of the victim’s son- who must be about my age. How they lived through the aftermath of the brutal murder. I am just a passive watcher of the left movement who wishes that the Indian society and state could obliterate vast divides in our midst- so that future generations do not drift to violence. I am no writer-Only a pretender who wishes he could write.

The Missus is worried that these developments would slot me as a sympathizer to the Naxalites/Maoists and cause me trouble in my unspectacular career of a Babu. I have no such fears. In the social scale, I am somewhat closer to the meek and deprived classes. When I read about protests in front of a writer’s house, I was more shocked by the address of the neighbourhood, than by the undemocratic nature of the protests. No one is surprised by the writer’s overt sympathy to secessionism or Maoism. I am shocked by the duplicity in characterizing every instrument of the Indian State as conspiratorial, corrupt and brutal- while living in tony Chanakyapuri addresses. Do they realize what their strident critique does to the spirit and morale of small foot-soldiers of the State who are earnestly trying to make a difference, while living solely on Sarkar wages? Can we have an apprenticeship scheme in Government, where NGOs, journalists and even Maoists can do a stint as Government Officials and help out in streamlining land records, relocating slum dwellers, preventing crime and maintaining roads, power and water supply in this vast populous country with a noisy democracy? They’d be a lot less shrill after that chastising experience.

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        It has the makings of a potboiler. It has everything, a slice of history, the romance of revolution, police brutality and lives quietly falling away like autumn leaves.    It was a policeman suffering from pangs of conscience who opened a can of worms.  He confessed that Varghese’s (the Naxal leader of the 1960s) murder was no encounter- but a cold blooded murder by police, on the orders of senior policemen. It set in motion a whole new process, a CBI enquiry and trial, which culminated in the sentencing of a retired Police Officer, who is in his 80s’, to jail. Does it bring closure to Varghese’s killing? The old man may not last out his sentence in jail. He was known even in those days as the demolition man of the Naxal movement. But remember, this was the 1970s. Institutions of law, policing etc were effective but not evolved.  

Funnily enough, I can see it from the police perspective. As guardians of law, it is their duty to preserve peace. The guys who attack police stations, burn and kill stand against every democratic institution. The very same establishment that they are striving to overthrow cannot afford the luxury of a trial. So, a cold blooded killing it is. Did the cops do it for money? Did they do it for revenge? Did they do it out of a sense of righteousness? 

They did what they did: driven by circumstances. Do we get closure to Varghese’s killing by sending an old man to jail? No. Let us hold a mirror to ourselves and promise that it won’t happen again.

The Gods are crazy

It has been two eventful months. Firstly, I have shifted base to Chennai and reunited with the Missus and Chathu. The average workday is longer and hectic. The workplace is 16 kms away but involves a commute of about two hours, dodging buffaloes, trucks, speeding buses and a vast multitude of two wheelers that swarm around you. I have joined a gym near my place and have been following a punishing ritual. I have also started learning to play classical Guitar along with Chathu. So there is hardly any time to update this blog. To the handful of readers who keep a watch on this space, my apologies. I might never learn to tweet and avidly post inane messages on face book. I am not pretentious enough to believe that the readers of this blog are dying to know what happens in my personal life.

I often miss the feeling of self importance that comes with a job at the Central Government- The feeling that you are in the midst of momentous decisions that have a huge impact on everything. As a middle level bureaucrat, I had increasingly come to rely less and less on people- for the simple reason that there are few below you, who can be ordered to do things. Hence the trivial acts of producing notes, write ups, analyses etc almost completely rest on you. Then there are the grey haired eminences who brutally dissect what you have written.

But I am very relaxed now. There is no tension that accompanies every Parliament session, every high powered meeting and there is no lurking doubt that you are always watched- no matter how exemplary your conduct is. Also, work moves faster. There are people who are reasonably competent and could be trusted to produce analyses, write ups and other such trivia. There is better discipline. Since this is a factory, employees punch their cards and don’t complain about that Punjabi Bagh DTC bus that runs late and reaches South Block only at 1130 AM. (Kya Karein Saab…)
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Karun Lalla, the Child- God, found an existence of His own over the dusty lanes of a sleepy little town. Soon Lalla grew into a mythological warrior and demolished the opponents, among who, were a 20 faced demon and a hedonistic guy who ate and drank six months and went on to sleep another six months. (Aah! To be born again under his skin…No day job? No commuting? Who was sponsoring him? Nestle? Parle? Pepsi? Curlon pillows?). Soon the Child- turned-warrior found a place inside the dome of the revolutionary He-God. The Merciful He-God shot to fame by turning anti-establishment in the 4th century when all one had to do was to obey the king- who rather whimsically worshipped the sun, moon, wind and the queen’s puppy. So the He-God shaved off his mustache, grew a beard, sanctified multiple sex partners, selectively agreed with theories on origin of mankind and killed the king. His followers brutally exhorted their followers to kill and maim those who believed in Other-Than-He. No place for a She there or Pretender-Gods…
The Child God’s followers finally splattered the vote bank of the nation and reduced the dome of the He-God to rubble. The Child-God (who for the purposes of elections and symbolic worship, underwent genetic therapy and growth-stunting surgery, remained a perpetual child) managed to get the country’s famous advocates to argue his case in musty courtrooms and air conditioned TV studios. The PR guys promoted his case for free. Meanwhile the He-God, claimed a stake on the dome (and present ruins) where he was once ensconced. The Lallaites argued that the He-God fought against such symbolism in the 4th century whereas the birthplace of Lalla was important to His followers. After much murder and mayhem (in which an estimated 650 small town artisans died and some Mumbai based smugglers were arrested), the judges in the musty courtroom ordered that the 60 acres of land be divided among the Lallaites, the He- Goddites and the Uttar Pradesh Wrestling Federation- who surprisingly had a piece of paper that said that the entire land belonged to them- and that their ancestors had used the land for mud- wrestling and growing vegetables. There was another bunch of Jholawallas who wanted the land to be turned to secular and non religious uses like building a hospital, stadium, Shopping Mall or Massage parlour. They sounded very disappointed by the faith- based division of land which could have been put to productive use to generate employment. Yet another bunch of followers of the Child-God and He-God variously attired in sackcloth, ashes and long flowing beards said that both Gods stood for the larger good of mankind and the killings by both sides are not sanctioned by scriptures. That left their followers terribly confused, who till now believed that their respective Gods are warriors, not doves.

So finally the Child-God and the He-God have equal portions of the land along with the UP wrestling federation. The next battle is soon to begin with corporate bigwigs adopting the Child-God and neighbouring countries adopting the He-God with financial support from oil sheikhs. The UP wrestling federation is soon going to appellate court claiming that only they have documentary evidence of ownership and the Lallaites and the He-Goddites have based their claim on hot air and dodgy history. The child- God and He-God have now mobilized followers to build worship-halls made of gold. A verdict from higher court is expected in... ahem.. another 65 years. Watch this space!!

Random thoughts

If someone were to say that in general women write better than men, I’d seriously be inclined to agree with them. Many of my favourite writers are women. I envy the fact that they are (arguably) better equipped with powers of observation, they pay more attention to detail and they have a sophisticated world view. I had read somewhere about the debut novel “Zoya Factor” by Anuja Chauhan before I left India for a year in early 2009, but never evinced much interest because I thought it had something to do with that great game our entire nation is hostage to- cricket. I thought it was chic lit, a pretty young thing trying her hand at writing, full of abbreviations, fashion trends, and youth lingo I might not be able to follow. Surprisingly, I loved this book when I got around to reading it. It is a rip roaring read. Something tells me that this writer will go a long way. Although at times I felt the book could’ve been shorter, it is peppered with interesting incidents and hilarious phrases like “trying to tell in a ‘subtle Bihari Vajpayee’ way” and analysing fielding “poishuns”. I was really impressed with the style- of cool abandon. The story is a bit contrived, of a world we don’t inhabit, the descriptions are funny and the end is altogether unexpected.

The other surprise was “Notes from an Indian Conservative” by Jaithirth Rao. Conservatives are not exactly the toast of the season in the Post Bush era. When corporate honchos of the conservative persuasion write or appear on TV, I am convinced that these guys are so divorced from reality. This book is rich in ideas and contains a lot of sensible thinking on governance, foreign policy etc- except for a few jarring notes. Goes to show that conservatives shoot from the hip- not like bleeding heart liberals who try to look good all the time.
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I never understood diplomacy- especially the concept of holding government level talks. In the year I joined the Defence Ministry, on a pleasant November morning, I went to office, as usual wearing a half sweater. When I reached my office, my boss told me she was busy and asked me to represent her in Ministry level talks with French Defence Ministry delegation. When I reached the venue, I saw that all the members of the Indian Defence Ministry have come decked up in suits- even the leader of the delegation, one of the rare senior officers who wear sweaters to Office. I panicked and felt out of place suddenly. So I told myself that the clothes one wears aren’t so important, took a deep breath and went in. In a room full of suits, I sat in the front row, wearing a half sweater, looking like a flunkey. Even the note takers were in suits.

Worse was to follow. There was a lot of talk of the deep bonds and friendship between the two countries and the need to take the relationship forward. Most of it hot air without any substance. When it was my turn, I mumbled something which sounded very trivial compared to the nice, prepared speeches which preceded mine. I came out deeply scarred by the experience. Ever since I have always been wary of such meetings. My sympathies went out to the Foreign Minister of India who is being criticized for not defending the Home Secretary in Islamabad. Damned if you do: damned if you don’t.
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We are all set to showcase India as a rising power. Have we really thought why chairs are hired at Rs 8000 and air conditioners hired at Rs 4 Lakhs a piece for the Commonwealth Games? Why aren’t we surprised or shocked? If you thought that reputable Indian companies would love to do business with the government, think again. Most middle class Indians think corruption is the biggest problem with governance. I disagree. I would rate incompetence as the biggest problem. Lace it with liberal doses of corruption and archaic procedures; you have a lethal combination- enough to take the country 50 years back in time. Any bill for material supplied to the government does not get cleared for payment in a hurry. And the self important Babus at the top are blissfully unaware of what it takes to get payments sanctioned for legitimate business done with the government. It would take many visits to decrepit government offices and the convenience of small Babus in several departments, who are eternally on tea-break or have a different interpretation of the rule or wear their honesty on their sleeve, or are corrupt until a consideration is paid or are just absent from work. We also have a complex set of rules and procedures which are a throwback to the colonial era where the natives were considered dishonest and he/she needs to be actively monitored- All in all, a system which suffers from an excess of oversight and procedure, backed by a corrupt and ill-equipped workforce. These problems at the operational level translate into serious issues of governance. So ultimately who does business /supplies goods to the government? The sleazy business person, who has inside knowledge of the mysterious workings of the government, knows how to fix the maze of issues, has deep pockets and needs to be compensated for the long wait for getting things done. So you have a situation where margins are huge, transaction costs are high and returns are unpredictable. Isn’t it a wonder that the government still runs? I hope a time will come when a good or service is supplied to the government, the sanction is done online by the official who inspects it and the payment gets credited to the suppliers bank account electronically on the same day. A percentage of such transactions could be audited every year. Probably then the best companies in India might not shy away from dealing with the government…

Still can't get away from the fact that even by our wildest and most pessimistic government standards, Rs 8000 for chairs and 4 Lakhs for air conditioners look absurd…