It would appear that from the day V.P. Singh was inducted into the central Cabinet, he took his role as that of a broom to clean the Congress stables of corruption. In a short poem in Hindi published early in January 1985 ‘Jhaaran Ka Dhan’ (Wealth of the Duster), he wrote:
Let me lie where I am
It is only dust that I have gathered
If you manhandle me
Even this may go out of hand and be scattered
The Hindustan Times, 9 December 1989
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Bhagwan of the Godless
I was truly grieved to hear of the passing away of Acharya Rajneesh. In my opinion, for whatever it is worth, he was the most original thinker that India has produced: the most erudite, the most clear-headed and the most innovative. And in addition he had an inborn gift of words, spoken and written. The likes of him we will not see for decades to come.
Rajneesh’s gimmickry created a totally false picture of him as a person and a philosopher. High living with fleets of Rolls Royces, free sex, frequent changes of title—Acharya to Bhagwan to Maitreyi Buddha to Osho—all that is of little consequence. He has to be judged as a thinker, and as a thinker he will rank amongst the giants.
Although dubbed as a godman, Rajneesh did not believe in God. ‘God’, he wrote, ‘is the most meaningless word in the human language.’ Neither Jain Mahavira nor the Buddha believed in God: only some of their stupid followers do so. Rajneesh did not believe in any religion. ‘All the religions have reduced humanity into beggars. They call it prayer, they call it worship—beautiful names to hide an ugly reality,’ he wrote. ‘All beliefs are blind, all beliefs are false. They do not let you grow up, they only help you to kneel down like a slave before dead statues, rotten scriptures, primitive philosophies,’ he wrote. He did not believe in life before birth of life after death. ‘This is the only planet we have, and this is the only time we have, and this is the only life we have,’ he wrote. So make the best of it get the most you can out of it. Meditating on these problems will help you to clear the cobwebs of irrationality and bring you peace of mind.
It is impossible to do justice to his great man in a few words. I would exhort my readers to read his sermons now printed in hundreds of his books. With the passing of Rajneesh, India has lost one of its greatest sons. India’s loss will be shared by all who have an open mind throughout the world.
The Hindustan Times, 27 January 1990
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Stumbling on Yoga
I have always had a soft spot for Dhirendra Brahmachari because I have never taken his yogic pretensions or Brahmacharya seriously. I envy his looks, his physical well-being, his being immaculately turned out in diaphanous kurta-dhoti which he wears come snow or sunshine. If he had stuck to yoga, I would have had nothing to say against him. Instead he began to cultivate people in power, in turn became powerful, and let power go to his head. For many years he held Mrs Gandhi and her family in a hypnotic spell. And as it always happens in our country, most of her Cabinet colleagues fawned on him till the spell was broken by her fall from power. For years he hogged yoga programmes on Doordarshan. Far from leading the simple life we associate with yogis, he went into the business of acquiring wealth: a gun factory in Jammu, a film studio in Haryana, a private plane of his own and an imported car. For the short period Mrs Gandhi was out of power, several cases including one of adultery, were lodged against him. No sooner did Mrs Gandhi get back into the saddle than Dhirendra Brahmachari was back in business and on Doordarshan. His stock declined during Rajiv Gandhi’s regime but no one had the guts to deprive him of the hegemony over his Vishwayatan Yogashram in the heart of New Delhi. Although the Ashram is entirely financed by the government, there are innumerable instances on record when employees drawing salaries from the government have been employed to work in the gun factory or the film studio. Several enquiries instituted have gone against Swamiji. Justice B.N. Kirpal of the Delhi High Court has passed strictures against him. And now a large part of his staff has gone on hunger strike because they have not received their salaries for over nine months.
Swamiji has no love for press men. ‘All of you have been bought over. You write after you have been well plied with liquor and chicken meat. I know every one of you,’ he roared over his phone to Ramesh Sharma of Public Asia when Sharma tried to probe into the affairs of the Ashram. Not to be outdone, the reporter shouted back, ‘I also know dhongis (frauds) and pakhandis (imposters) like you who hunger after pretty girls and wine.’
‘Do you know me?’ asked Swamiji.
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Why then did you describe me as an imposter?’
‘Do you know me?’ asked Sharma in return.
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Then why did you call me a wine-bibber and chicken-eater?’
I do not know how the dialogue ended. But I can make a shrewd guess how Swami Dhirendra Brahmachari will end. The besetting sin of men who dabble in religion—Yoga is a kind of religion—is hubris. He should look up the meaning of the word in a dictionary.
The Hindustan Times, 31 March 1990
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Inauspicious Start of the New PM
I don’t know how many people noticed that at the oath-taking ceremony at Rashtrapati Bhawan while Deputy Prime Minister Chaudhary Devi Lal swore in the name of God, Prime Minister Chandra Shekhar made a solemn affirmation. I was delighted presuming that he was an agnostic. And as such would be free of superstitions which often attached to people with religious beliefs. I was somewhat disappointed by what followed. Even before he became Number One in the country, Chandra Shekhar stated publicly that he would announce the names of his ministers as soon as he was sworn in as prime minister. That was on a Friday. He didn’t announce his Cabinet the following day (Saturday) on the plea that he had still to win the vote of confidence in the Lok Sabha. On Friday 16 November, he won the anticipated confidence vote by 280 with 215 against him. I expected he would name his ministers the next morning. He didn’t. It was Shani (Saturday) as well as Amavas (moonless night), both regarded by astrologers, soothsayers and superstitious folk who believe in the occult, to be doubly inauspicious. The announcement was postponed to Mangal (Tuesday) which they regard as the most auspicious day in the week to launch new ventures. I suspect that Chandra Shekhar was prevailed upon by his simple-minded, backward-looking cronies not to take any chances with the stars which guide their destinies. Like V.P. Singh who had an astrologer as his Cabinet secretary (and whose prediction about his boss’s term of office proved woefully off the mark), Chandra Shekhar is also known to lend an ear to a friend who makes his living from astrology and has made many inaccurate predictions. And he has described the charlatan, Chandraswamy, as a personal friend. It does not behove a man holding the highest office in the country to be friendly with disreputable characters or be influenced in decision-making by people who have no political expertise. I hope I am wrong. And if my guess is correct, I am deeply disappointed.
The Hindustan Times, 24 November 1990
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World’s Largest Sari Store
A shop in Madras which has become a national institution is Nalli—the largest sari shop in the world. From its entrance door, it stretches almost a 100 yards to the end with glass cases stacked with multi-coloured saris on either side. Its two upper floors are crammed likewise with colourful textiles meant for ladies. Over 360 salesmen are on duty—all in spotless white shirts and lungis with different patterns of sandal-paste marking on their foreheads.
Its daily sales vary between 15-30 lakh rupees. Its annual turnover touches the astronomical figure of Rs 60 crore. The proprietor, Nalli Kuppuswami Chettiar, occupies a small cabin near the entrance. Its only furniture is a chair and a table for himself and another three for visitors. He spends very little time in the cabin because he goes round the store every few minutes. He opens the store at 9 a.m., goes up and down the floors checking on sales and requirements. And he closes the store himself before returning h
ome at 10 p.m.
The business house was founded by Kuppuswami’s grandfather who migrated from Andhra to Kanchipuram, the home of Tamil Nadu’s silk industry. For some years he brought his wares by train to sell in Madras twice a week. Then he opened a store in the city. He inducted his sons into the business. Kuppuswami lost his father when he was only 12. He was not able to finish his schooling when he was made a salesman.
At the time the business was largely concentrated in Madras, Madurai and Coimbatore. He has been abroad several times and plans to open up in New Delhi and perhaps in Europe and America as well. Why Nalli has done so well is perhaps due to the fact that it caters to all tastes and pockets and prices are not bargainable. You can buy a plain white cotton sari for under a hundred rupees. And you can buy the most expensive at Rs 8000 a piece.
The Tribune, 4 May 1991
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Comrade Sripad Dange
It is important for a minor celebrity to choose an appropriate time and day for his departure from the world. Dying between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. is okay because it gives newspapers time to prepare for photographs and obits. More important than the time of demise is the day of demise. Avoid days when somebody more important than you kicks the bucket or there is a devastating earthquake or a typhoon.
I thought of this when I read of Sripad Dange’s death at the age of 91. In most papers the announcement was relegated to the middle pages because front pages of all were devoted to the assassination of Rajiv Gandhi.
Sripad Dange was front-page material—the freedom movement, Meerut conspiracy case, many decades of leadership of the Communist Party of India and scholarship to boot. I had the privilege of being his host even before knowing his identity. When practising law at Lahore during the Raj days I was approached by a Communist friend and asked whether I would agree to give shelter to a comrade who was underground and in poor health. He was also being shadowed by the CID. My home was considered safe as I was not into politics and mixed with white sahibs at the Gymkhana Club. I agreed.
I was not familiar with Dange’s face. He was to have the run of my flat while I was in the High Court (my family was away in the hills). If any visitor turned up, he was to pretend to be a domestic servant and retire to the kitchen. Whenever I came back for lunch and in the evening, I would find him deeply immersed in some book or the other. His chief interest seemed to be Islamic history.
I was impressed with his learning and the cool, objective way he analysed historical events. Unwittingly he let drop information that he had been involved in the Meerut conspiracy case and spent most of his time in jail reading history books. I had no difficulty in identifying him. ‘You must be Sripad Dange!’ I told him. He smiled in acknowledgement.
One day my mother dropped in unexpectedly and found Dange comfortably seated on the sofa reading a book. Later she reprimanded me for spoiling my servants. ‘You know when you are out that new fellow you have got sits on your sofa and reads your books!’ She said. I could not reveal his identity—she would not have known his name—but promised to tick him off.
Sripad Dange spent over a month with me. Then he disappeared without saying goodbye. Perhaps he had sensed that my flat was being watched.
Many years later in England I ran into my old college friend, C.H. Everette of the Indian police. He had been head of the CID in Lahore when Dange was staying with me. I asked him if he had known that Dange had stayed with me when he was underground. Everette smiled and replied, ‘Of course! We had your flat under surveillance all the time. We did not want to arrest Dange but keep a watch on his movements, and the people who visited your flat when he was there.’
After Independence I told Dange what Everette had said when he came to dine with me in Delhi. He conceded that it was probable. ‘At that time the British were not eager to arrest Communists, they wanted to use them against nationalist forces when the opportunity came.’
The Tribune, 8 June 1991
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Tagore’s National Anthem
Now that I have thrust my hand in the hornets’ nest by criticizing Tagore’s fiction, I may as well take up another contentious issue: the genesis of his song Jana Gana Mana which we adopted as our national anthem. At the recent BJP convention, proceedings began with the singing of Vande Mataram instead of Jana Gana Mana.
It is possible that Messrs Advani and Murli Manohar Joshi harbour the suspicion that Jana Gana Mana was composed in honour of King George V’s visit to India. Tagore denied it but the suspicion that it was so started from the day it was first sung in public. This happened at the All India Congress Conference in 1911 at Calcutta. The session began on 26 December with the singing of Vande Mataram. The next day (27 December) was devoted to speeches welcoming King George.
It was on this day that Jana Gana Mana was sung. The session ended with the singing of Rajbhuja Dutt Choudhary’s Badshah Hamara. Many Calcutta papers assumed that Tagore’s song was also in the same vein. The Statesman of 28 December 1911 wrote: ‘The Bengali poet Babu Rabindranath Tagore sang a song composed by him specially to welcome the Emperor.’ The Englishman of the same date wrote: ‘The proceedings began with the singing by Babu Rabindranath Tagore of a song specially composed by him in honour of the Emperor.’
The Indian of 29 December accepted the version: ‘When the proceedings of the Indian National Congress began on Wednesday December 27, 1911, a Bengali song in welcome of the Emperor was sung. A resolution welcoming the Emperor and Empress was also adopted unanimously.’
If Tagore did not agree with this interpretation of his composition, he certainly said nothing about it at the time. It is more than likely that Indians then did not make any distinction between loyalty to the country and loyalty to the King Emperor. Besides that, Bengalis had good reason to be grateful to King George: he formally annulled the partition of Bengal made by Lord Curzon in 1905 which was bitterly resented by Bengali Hindus.
It was much later that Tagore himself categorically asserted that the words ‘Bharat Bhagya Vidhata’ did not refer to the King or the Prince of Wales but to God. We must accept the Gurudev’s word.
When the question of choosing a national anthem for the country came up before the Constituent Assembly, the choice was between Vande Mataram and Jana Gana Mana. Iqbal’s Saarey Jahaan Se Achha Hindustan Hamara was put out of reckoning because Iqbal had been recognized as one of the founder-fathers of Pakistan. Gandhiji was in favour of Vande Mataram.
On 29 August 1947, he said Vande Mataram should be set to music so that millions can sing it together and feel the thrill. They should all sing in the same raga, with the same bhava. Shantiniketan or some other competent institution should design an acceptable raga.
What settled the issue in favour of Jana Gana Mana was the strong Bengali lobby backing it and the fact that it was easier for military bands to play, than Vande Mataram.
The Tribune, 5 August 1995
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Bala Sahib Rejects God
Bal Thackeray has finally rejected God. It took a personal tragedy (the death of his wife) for enlightenment to come to him. I came to that conclusion half a century ago without going through any traumatic experience. All I did was listen to arguments of people who preached the existence of God, reject them as illogical, and formulate a personal religion of my own: no God, no Prophets, no scriptures, no prayer or places of worship. I was convinced that the only true religion was kindness to living creatures and preserving the environment. If Bala Sahib had done this in his youth, the situation in our country would have been very different from what it is. Not only did he not liberate himself from irrational belief in a supreme and benign power, he continued to believe and propagate the supremacy of the religion he was born into—Hinduism—and, following the logic of his assertion, gave less respect to other religions. You don’t have to exercise your mind very much to see what a difference it would have made to the country if instead of asking people to affirm ‘Gaurav se kaho hum Hindu hain (Say with pride we are Hindus), he had
coined the slogan ‘Gaurav se kaho hum Hindustani hain’. And instead of gloating over the destruction of the Babri Masjid and threats to teach Muslims a lesson, he had organized Shiv Sainiks into a voluntary force to protect the lives and properties of people of all races and religions. He would have earned our respect and gratitude.
Despite often invoking Bala Sahib’s wrath against me for an indiscreet remark about his hero Chattrapati Shivaji—he threatened to have me beaten up in Bombay and his Sainiks burnt my effigy at Flora Fountain—I have a sneaking admiration for his forthrightness and the firm way he puts down dissidence and indiscipline. All he has to do is to raise his sights beyond Mumbai and Maharashtra and speak to the entire country without distinction of race, religion, language or caste. If he does that I will be happy to enrol myself as one of his Sainiks.
Notes On the Great Indian Circus Page 13