The Democratization Of Life

“Printing made us all readers. Xeroxing made us all publishers. Television made us all viewers. Digitization made us all broadcasters.”

– Lawrence Grossman

The recent trend of globalization, which cannot be more than 20 years old at its best, has awakened to all of us the possibility of living a life all over the world while we sit in front of our PC. The technological advancements, coupled with the subsequent progresses in financing, investment and politics, have translated all of our aspirations to memorable careers where speed has been dictating all the terms – and those who lost out were not stupid but only unacceptably slow. In fact, I can comfortably move on to say that there are now only two kinds of people in this world: the “fast” and the “slow”. If you have an internet connection that’s faster than you neighbor’s, it doesn’t even matter if he’s much richer: you can be assured of a spot in the finals. If you can make a telephone call from Mumbai to Rio de Janeiro and make an investment in something that’s being tipped as the “next big thing”, you’ve just gone one step ahead of the race. If a helicopter is rigged with personnel from the Indian reserve security forces in order to escort an electronic voting machine to a far off island with less then 5 occupants, then you can take pride in the fact that democracy is still alive and revered in the nation. However, up until this point, I have only spoken of what a more open world with larger markets and fading boundaries can do to empower specific activities, i.e. business and politics. What can it do to empower te individual? Rather, if globalization has indeed bettered the state of the world, what is it done to better the state of an individual?

Lest we forget, there are always two sides to every coin. I can have all kinds of names and notations for these sides, and in this case, I can call them “what have you given from it” and “what have you taken from it”. Speaking of the global village, we have given it the power to dominate over everything in this world. We have given a small company in Brazil the authority to drive into a section of the Amazon rainforest, cut down a thousand trees, sell the timber and free the landscape. We have given the local authorities the power to sell that land to people interested in erecting business houses there, and we have given the company contractors the authority to sell the timber. We have given the authority to local occupants to begin building a sky scraper on that plot of land, and the traders to export the timber to South Africa, where it is serviced into being usable in the construction industry. We have enabled the ongoing construction of the business house to demand more quantities of support-grade timber, which is now brought in from South Africa, and we have enabled the respective governments to slap duties and taxes on the import and export – the money from which will eventually trickle into the household of a destitute man who will feed his family of seven. At the same time, the business house is complete and its offices are occupied by various companies who put people in their cabins just to gather more and more information for them to make more money – the kind of information that made you take a decision in the first place to let these things happen. You can wonder how we could have given it so much, and the lies in one very important outcome of this New World we inhabit: networking. You, me and everyone like you and me are now part of one very large, inexhaustible network. We’re connected together over the internet, through the telephones, televisions and radios. We’re connected through the books we read, because those who read the same books can be thought of as having the same interests and as forming similar opinions – pertaining to goals if not to ideas. In the end, we have given ourselves to belong to this network. We have opened our markets to a wider range of prospects, and we have exposed the local manufacturer to international competition. But what have we received in return?

We have received the access to information. By throwing all the fish in this world into one big lake, we’ve made sure that if ever we wanna have fish again, we just have to go fishing in that one lake. In other words, we have democratized information. If the stock market takes an alarming dip in London, one phone call to New York can disturb investors in the US enough to pull out all their funds from the British market and into other more promising economies that have shown stabler rises, say, Thailand. It is all in the open now, and if you want to get to the big fish first, it won’t help if you’re there first in the morning. Your bait has to be tastier. If you want someone to spend money on you, then you’ve to make sure you’ve got something to offer which no one else does. Ultimately, what we’ve taken from it all is what we did give it: power. The only difference is that the system which we call globalization has taken in power in one form and transformed it into power of another form. For instance, if I elect a government in my country that promises to open up its markets to a greater extent and liberalise the economy, then I will have given the global players one extra country to align with. In exchange, I will break down the walls around me that were once restraining me from reaching out to a larger customer base. If I were to design a T-shirt and think about marketing it on a larger scale, I will now be in a better position to do so. It’s like droplets of ink in water: before, the bucket was only half full. Now, it’s up to the brim. A single drop of ink can now penetrate through to a greater depth; you’ve to just be careful as to not let it get too diluted – you’re facing a larger group of people now. For the message to be driven through, you’ve to keep hammering it in.

Just as we’re now capable of transforming ourselves into uber-individuals in terms of creativity (owing to a greater number of inspirations) and productivity (thanks to the increased access to information), the family as a fundamental unit of society has also been impacted by advancements in technology. Earlier, our fathers and grandfathers had to choose between sacrificing one luxury in order to attain another; today, it’s no longer a matter of what luxury you have – but how you use them to get better results. Earlier, there existed a sizable disparity in terms of wealth and accomplishments between those who had chanced upon just one more opportunity than the rest. Today, that disparity is negligible. When a working father realizes that his job is not being threatened by earthquakes and tornadoes tearing down his office but seemingly inexplicable dips in the stock market that are capable of shutting his company down, he will look to offset risk as much as possible by making intelligent investment decisions and not building his cabin underground. He will also realize that his children have to be brough up with different goals in mind than just settling down because he will now know that there is a long way to go before that. Today’s is a world of competitors, and there are three roads one of which you can take.

1. You stick to what you know and discard anything new and innovative as junk that won’t last the day. If this is going to be your outlook on the world, you will also find that by the end of the day, you will become part of your own idea – you’re old, and you haven’t lasted it.
2. You keep moving around without an anchor. With nothing to hold you down to a specific set of goals, you cannot have a strategy that encompasses all things. The competition in each field is fierce, and you should be able to accommodate for changes in all of them before you make a decision. In other words, you’re either a paranoid prodigy or a dead man.
3. You strike a balance between being moved around and anchored to one set of goals. And yes, it is traditionally easier said than done.

When Intel’s Gordon Moore stated his notorious law in 1965, I think he had an idea of what that law would come to mean 45 years down the line. Moore’s law, coupled with the advent of globalization in this frighteningly unipolar world, is what is making a difference today and now. Again, it’s only a measure of how fast you are. If you’re very fast, you’re one man who’s capable of changing the lives of a million men, women and their families at the click of a button. If you’re not fast enough (there’s no “slow” indicator on this switchboard), you’re one of the millions whose life is going to be determined by the guy with the faster internet connection.

(I wrote this piece while reading Thomas L. Friedman’s ‘The Lexus & The Olive Tree’, a book he wrote in 2000 about the coming of globalization. I just wanted to express my interpretation of the details of the book through this post.)

The need for the 1960s counterrevolution

Click image to enlarge

For the flowchart depicted above, you can realise I have taken up the United States of America as an example. After World War II, the rise of Marxism, primarily in the Soviet Union and the Carribean, alarmed the USA enough to ponder on some of the possibilities of quelling this new threat to the capitalist ideology.It is perceived as a threat in the first place because of the measures taken to comfortably outlast the phase. If the USA had not behaved in such and such a manner in response to the Communist stimulus, the world might not have been made aware of the problems being faced in the American administrative circles. After World War II, the nuclear race began with massive spawning and hoarding of nuclear weapons; with a seemingly juvenile tit-for-tat behaviour observed in the policies of both nations, the nuclear stockpiles became larger and larger, until finally culminating with their impotence that was brought on by the formation of the United Nations. However, in this period, capitalism did not scare Marxism as much as the other way round. The freedom even then prevalent amongst the elite intelligentsia in the West became the primary threat to the success of a new weapon, that of ideological control. What the government wanted was a gradual phasing out of any skepticism directed at the state’s (obviously highly questionable) foreign policies. To this end, the US government employed the reach of the mass media in order to twist the truth. During the Cold War period, and especially in the 1960s, Marxism and socialism were no longer permissible even as topics of discussion in universities. The other sector of business, which also the government wanted to dominate over by controlling investment decisions, was but easily taken care of by appropriate budget reallocations. Subsequently, there arose a group of orthodox reporters, journalists and editors who, to take up an important and defining example, excused the state’s aggression towards the Soviets by, instead, condemning the insurgence of the reds and playing down the US’s behaviour to a simple defense. The ‘THOUGHT CONTROL’ box at the bottom of the flowchart is the concept behind this take. With succesful thought control came succesful ideological, by which I mean the state’s overwhelming ability to unostentatiously define what it’s subjects thought and concluded. This ‘propaganda manufacturing’ continues even to this day, and could be seen with great contrast during the Bush, Jr. regime.

There was, however, a brief and welcome respite in the 1960s with the emergence and collapse of the student movement. Books on Marxism continued to be published in that period, and when students who read these books came together, they demanded the reopening of discussions on the subject. Although it was inevitable that this feeble front would soon fall (owing to insufficient support and widespread opposition), it’s effect on the populace as such was visible with the rise of the revisionists,who demanded that everyone, including people like themselves as well as the orthodox, face the facts of the world in the face. These revisionists, who included reporters like Gar Alperovitz, did indeed face heavy criticism in the beginning, but when coupled with the demands of the student movement, some discussion circles began to take them seriously. What aided them greatly was that the subject of the ideological orthodoxy, in terms of exempting the United States from sharing the blame for the mindless stockpiling and slandering, vaporised in mere weeks: analysts discovered that what they had speaking about for days was, in fact, based upon baseless assumptions that the state had driven them to consider them in the first place.

The manifestation of argument in the great political debate

• Argument as government: In all, and especially, the industrial democracies of this world, the implementation of the decisions of the state as a discernible body on the functioning of the society is essentially a product of the great political debate. Even though a party has been elected to power, the basis of the presence of argument during the triumphant party’s tenure is contained in the fact that democracy does not halt at granting the citizen his vote, but at crediting him with having influenced the making of a decision in the senate. In fact, in a colloquial sense, democracy would indeed be perceived as the protection of the powers of the citizen on a national level at the very least. However, the strength of democracy lies not completely in the strength of this protection, but in the manifestation of these powers that have been safeguarded by it. As a result, in my opinion, democracy is not the modus operandi of a state post-polity, but the documented encouragement of debate and contention between different leaders and, eventually, different responsibilities. The face of the governing party is only the face of the nation for other states, but within, it is the citizen and rightly so. Argument, even a non-ideal one, dutifully fosters the inculcation of discipline and morality amongst the most narrow-minded amongst us, and when it is that the future of a burgeoning nation of a billion depends on the decisions of a volatile oligarchy, agreement and opposition are both equally essential in the making of a decision. One cannot afford to pin all of one’s hopes on the mindset of one man.

• Argument as representation of the voter:

The big picture

Drawn above is a simple representation of the electoral process in India. Voters from all over the nation vote to elect the central government, which may be a single party which manages to secure the minimum majority of 272 seats (out of a total of 543) in the lower house, Lok Sabha, or multiple parties that coalesce under the umbrella of a common goal. Once a party has been lofted to the center, a ministry is formed that manages the various portfolios. As I stated earlier, the decision of the citizenry in electing such and such a government is questioned in the senate when argument is used as a tool for decision-making. If the ruling party wins the argument, the investment of the voting populace is vindicated. If the ruling party (or parties) meets with formidable opposition that it cannot quell with sufficient conviction, we the people will have made a mistake, nay wronged.

• What the good arguer has: In his ‘Language and Responsibility’ (1977), noted linguist Noam Chomsky asks only the following from any man who has an opinion:

1. 1. The capability of facing the facts objectively,
   2. The usage of a rational line of common sense,
   3. A Cartesian sense of argument, per se, and
   4. A little skepticism.

Whenever there is some “breaking news” in the air, the various components of the mass media, especially the news channels on the television, turn to professionals in fields pertaining to the content of the news in order to extricate an opinion that is either valuable by itself or is made so by repeated broadcasts. Why this esotericism? Why can’t the chap behind the desk ask you and me if the country has to intervene in Angola? When the above factors suffice to define the good arguer, why is it that I must be in possession of compatible certification to but profess a one-line opinion? What must be discussed is the content and not my right to discuss it!

• Isolation of power by conserving argument: Arguments can be brought to life by interpreting information, and information is nothing but the lingual interpretation of an event, the interpretation being performed in order to transmit and convey it to people who are unaware of the occurrence of it. The information we assess and digest everyday is proportional as well as dependent on the ideals of the local government, which governs the information that it thinks its people need to come into contact with, and the ideas and opinions of the people around us that constitute the populace in general. With a democratic government ruling the central aspects of the Indian economy, finance, industry, society and other aspects of living and development, the interests of each individual vested in it demands productive work day in and day out. On the other hand, the ruling government, to carry out its wishes, needs people other than those who control its functions to fall in line with their solutions. Due to the embedding of this fundamental rule, as it were, in the roots of the structure of every democratic state, information can only play a greater role in the lives of the people of the state every day. The conveyance of this information happens through the media, viz. print, audio, and audiovisual. The print media includes newspapers, magazines, newsletters, articles, essays, stories and others; the audio media includes, prominently, radio channels; video comprises of information delivered via telebroadcasting, movies, etc. The radio and the television are two modern techniques that have stolen the limelight of sorts from the print media. Owing to advancements in technology, of these two, the audiovisual media is growing steadily as well as quickly, borrowing from the inherently faster conveyance of data, the greater accessibility, and, with the incorporation of a sense of personality, the notion of originality and being specific to a given set of peoples with respect to their ethnicity involved is also born. Therefore, keeping in mind the importance of such a medium, its regulation has to be handled with care and finesse in order to get across your message while maintaining the original intensity of the purpose and the frequency of conveying it. But in a large, immensely populous, and democratic nation like India, apart from the already very many number of television channels, there are many more being operated by political parties. Although this does not constitute any violation of any rule for that matter, using the medium as a method of propaganda is not something I would suggest. You can not initiate and run programs just because it’s there for you to. In a way, it violates the right to information. How? Information is only when it is factual and wholly interpretative in a neutral manner. When you tamper and mess with it in order to get across a message that has been interpreted in a biased manner, it is a misrepresentation of the event that has occurred. You are now putting specific ideas in the minds of the people, ideas that can invariably lead only to a single conclusion. Furthermore, but in a partly trivial way, political propaganda must always begin and end during the time of elections for the local or national government, and must be nonexistent at all other times unless it is being projected via the deeds of those elected to office. Telebroadcasting can not be considered as a deed because it is propaganda itself, and parties that use this as a tool to brainwash the plebian and proletarian population in their favour is wrong. You will notice that now, with everyone around you being highly opinionated about some political party or the other, the ability to think freely and objectively will be on the decline.

Inaction & Iran

Suu Kyi, HH 13th Dalai Lama, Tank Man, Neda

Of the many ways in which one can succeed in harming oneself, inaction is the deadliest. The human consciousness dwells on the various activities one takes responsibility for, and who we are and what we are capable of doing is determined by what we are prepared to do and what we are prepared to resist. To be gifted with the resources one requires in order to execute an act and then to be deprived of the opportunity to do so is simply not freedom at all; in fact, under such circumstances, freedom is meaningless. Just as power comes only with responsibility, freedom to think must come with freedom to act. When the elections culminated in Iran with the declaration of Mahmoud Ahmedinejad as being the continued president of the nation, Mir Hossein Moussavi, one of his opponents, alleged that the results were rigged. The tumult that soon followed completely overshadowed the debate as to whether Mr. Moussavi’s claims were true or false and, today, the tumult has shown no signs of abating. As I write this, I read on Twitter that an Iranian woman told CNN News that “it was Hitler” after she reportedly witnessed local security forces quell a protest in Tehran by throwing protestors off a bridge. And now, when I realise my inaction, my heart bleeds.

Democracy has always taken its toll in history. The people’s power has never been easy to establish, especially when it comes in after a monarchy or even an oligarchy. It has never been a question of trusting people with the votes – they are yet still purchased in many countries in large numbers – but only of sharing the power that comes with being the one man who leads a whole nation. As Jimi Hendrix summed it up, “when the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace.” Leaders seem to require a constant dose of reminders. Symbols need to be dug out of the monotony of one’s daily life. There was Aung San Suu Kyi in Myanmar, the 13th Dalai Lama in Tibet, the Tank Man during the 1989 Tiananmen Square massacres. And now, Neda Agha Soltan, a young student in Iran who was shot in her heart (June 20) by security personnel. Her dying moments were captured by at least two bystanders, subsequently plummetting her into posthumous stardom and also a “much needed” symbol depicting the need for democracy. For the people in Iran, for the people in Tibet, for the people in Chechnya, for the people in Myanmar, for the people in need of that freedom that permits them to think and act freely, the symbol of democracy is indeed much needed. I only hope they hold on to the emotions her martyrdom has spurred.

A letter to the CM

Sir/Madam,

Recently, the Chennai High Court upheld the decision of the Municipal Council authorities to suspend water supply to those residents who failed to pay their water tax. Although this seems like a very simple method to deal with the defaulters, the underlying consequences are multiple. In my case, I live in a cluster of apartments along the Usman road in T Nagar, Chennai, along with 20 others. When it so happens that one of us fails to pay up the water tax for various reasons, the suspension of the water supply will not happen individually but for the whole building. Does this mean the authorities see it fit to deprive even the honest tax-payer of what is due him? Water is a natural resource, and the reason I pay a tax for it is because it is delivered to the taps in my home by an institution whose duty is to do so. Therefore, it will be justified on my part to expect, nay demand, for my supply to be restored when I have paid my tax. Unfortunately, the High Court’s decision makes this impossible. My question is why the lawyers as well as the judges have upheld such a frail decision by the Municipal Council authorities.

Secondly, the law has also made it inadmissible for an apartments’ association to take any action against such defaulters, thereby making silent persuasion the only available course of action for the irked and the deprived. If such associations were given the right to disconnect the water supply to the erring resident, then the law need not step in from time to time to resolve such issues. Furthermore, with the decision making power in the hands of those who can truly and more quickly make a difference in the way things are run, a greater degree of compliance with the rules can be established as well as issues of non-compliance can be dealt with more quickly. However, with the said decision being taken, the number of cases of inconvenience in and around the city is definitely posed to increase.

What I would like to stress upon in this letter is that the Municipal Council has, in essence, not concentrated sufficiently on this issue. Although it is improper to abstain from paying one’s taxes, the actions taken thereupon to accordingly penalise the defaulter must ensure two things: first, that services to those who do pay their taxes are not disrupted in any manner, and second, that the concerned person does not repeat his or her actions again. If a such a thing as a municipal council has been established to this effect, then what they are doing does not seem right. Following a similar train of thought, it is now in my capability to demand that all branches of the Chennai Silks franchise in the city be demolished just because their T Nagar branch has failed to comply with the corresponding architectural rules. If a rule or a law is framed, then it must function and behave as one. It cannot curtail one offense by stifling a large group of similar people. I, as a citizen, can only demand that my rights and opportunities remain the same as they were previously; however, I am also driven to ponder upon the manner in which this situation has been deliberately complicated.

Mukundh V

T Nagar

(P.S. One copy each of this letter has been sent to the municipal council, the EiC of the Hindu publication, and the CM’s office. Awaiting response.)

What a fucking joke!

The elections are underway in India – a procedure notably documented and followed because of the nation’s status as the world’s largest democracy. At a heady one-point-two billion people, the leaders elected to power ride on the opinions and judgments of millions and millions, which in turn magnifies the importance of the decision making process by a large amount. As much as numerical parity says that one vote in a billion will not make a difference, it is that one vote which will decide the country’s political orientation, diplomatic position, and many other such things, but most importantly, the country’s future as a whole which depends on such things. Which is why, before the electoral processes kick in, I could see thousands and thousands of posters lined up along the roads and valuable energy wasted in lighting up whole blocks with strings of tube lights in Chennai, India. My local MLA shows up on what looks like an age-old red Plymouth, his voice blaring forth from a megaphone held aloft by a loyal supporter – if I look closely, I can see he’s my building watchman. More than anything, I’m sure it was the packets of free biryani and cigarettes which enticed him to go on this campaigning spree. If I ever become a politician, I’ll keep those things in mind; rather, I’d rather not eradicate poverty completely – I don’t see a rich bastard coming forth for so less to do so much. Anyway, the throng continues to make its progress around the area, the clamoring ultimately culminating at the local cricket ground, where a stage seems to have been materialized out of nowhere. If this point were to be the centre of a circle with a mile-long radius, then I’m sure all residents falling in this zone would have uninterrupted water- and power-supply for the last 3 weeks.

Election paraphernalia on display

Just to see what the hoopla is all about, I proceed to the grounds, which is packed to the brim – half with people who actually want to see what this guy’s capable of, and the other half, paid for with the aforementioned rations. Although the event is scheduled to begin at 6 in the evening, the MLA doesn’t bless the gathering with his opinions until it is 8 – and as an attempt to appease the crowd, loud and noisy music is played all the time. When he finally comes in front of the microphone, there is a momentous lull. Everyone is silenced, including the eternally crying child, who seems to have been silenced magically. Was the kid paid for too? I don’t know. These guys could go to any lengths to garner a vote, and that’s with the kid’s name being mentioned on the register. The music has also stopped, thank the lord, and he begins. First, it’s the introduction.

My Totalitarian Society

I am falling in quality. The writer in me is dead. I don’t know when or how he died. He just did. And I miss him. I spend time these days listening to music. My sleep cycle has been distorted. I am losing more and more classes by the week. I thought it would get better, but it is only getting worse. I can no longer wake up in the mornings. It is as though I am beginning to abhor the rays of the sun itself. I spend more time with a smaller and smaller group of people. Unlike before, I don’t want to run around in large groups all the time. I am liking being alone. Especially in my room, with my books and my food. I shouln’t have purchased food. I shouldn’t in the future. I have been listening to the same song for the past 10 minutes. I like the song. I don’t know what half the words mean. I once had a friend. He taught me how to listen to the lyrics of a song along with its music. Since then, even though the music was bad, I would listen to a few songs because I liked their lyrics. But now, again, I’ve lost my interest in the lyrics. Only the music. My old collection of good-music songs is lost. It happened when my laptop broke down. I am now spending useful time these days trying to find new-music. I found one a few days back, the one I am listening to. It is surprising how music can affect your thoughts. It tells you what to think and how. It gives you a cinematic feel. It raises the curtains without so much as a whisper. The actors tumble out onto the stage, with the only promise of a good exit. That too if only they put up a good show. And that they do! I like it when a movie plays in my head. I can be in a big, fancy theatre, with the whole room to myself. Or probably someone else with me. Not a girl, not someone to hold hands with. Only to see what his or her reaction would be to being alone in a big, fancy theatre. With a nice and mushy movie playing. My dreams in the night are like this. Or not my dreams. The few minutes I spend awake just before falling asleep, thinking of something to send me to sleep. I like the big, fancy theatre. Maybe it is my demise. I spend so much time awake in the theatre watching a movie that does not exist, I spend my mornings sleeping. It doesn’t matter how many alarms ring – I switch them all off – or how many people bang on my door – I tell them I am already awake and getting ready – I always sleep till noon. I have no time to write my book these days. It was all going well till my laptop crashed. I lost 200 pages then and there. It is not a good feeling to start anew on the dream of your life. 200 pages is no small thing. Two of my friends helped me get back on track. One of them said shit happens, the other said it was what I deserved. One encouraged, one discouraged. It was a perfect combination. I like having challenges that others can’t solve. I had a  Sanskrit teacher at school who once told me about a devotee of Krishna. The devotee, he said, prayed to the Lord everyday, asking Him for all the challenges one could face in life, and along with it, the mind to tackle them. That is a perfect prayer because it is not selfish. It is deserving of a devotee to be blessed like that. The challenges and the mind to tackle them. I only wish the rest of my classmates had listened to him, the Sanskrit professor, with more interest and sincerety. I listened to him with interest and sincerely so. Those words became my prayer. But, at some point, you lose track of what is a challenge and what is not. Everything becomes a challenge, and your belief in Go becomes fanatical. You become a religious zealot. You think God is touch with always, and he is testing you always. You begin to think you are special, one of a kind, while you are only becoming more and more mad. In the end, which is I think the beginning of this madness itself, you become shunned. Your mind collapses into your body. You become a materialist. Your faith in God is saturated with meaningless prayers. You look for pleasure, for entertainment. When that happens, you negate the existence of God. You call him a scoundrel for screening all these pleasures of life away from you. You ask him why it is your apparent duty to worship Him when he has done nothing for you. He, obviously, will not seem to answer. You will look for newer and newer faiths. Newer realms of pleasure. To err is human, and therein lies the end to this tale. To err. We err. I do. I know you do. I know he does, and I know she does. Everyone does. It is natural to do so. Which is why we have given perfection the title of godliness. It is a surrender. Society, today, is a growing farce. When everyone who is part of it is a fake, how can the society itself be real? Would you call a zoo full of plastic animals a real zoo? Isn’t it a toy zoo? I think it is. The society is fake, a duplicate. It has become a simulation. You can only use it to see Utopia. But the real Utopia can only exist when there are real people in the world. As long as there are no real people, there will only be a fake Utopia. Fake politicians will fight for fake governments. Fake diplomats will argue over fake agreements. Fake soldiers will wage fake wars. Fake teachers will teach fake subjects, and fake students will take down fake notes. Fake people will have sex and give birth to fake babies. Yes, I do ask you not to dispute the innocence of a just born child. but, if a child is destined to be brough up in a fake society, I do not believe in the fake innocence the child will come to bear. Sometimes, people deserve to know the truth. So many movies are made. Good movies. These movies have such strong messages against totalitarianism. But they fail at one point. It is not governments that are totalitarian. It is the society. It is a fake society that knows it is fake. It is a deliberate debauchery. The people know they are not for real. It is not a totalitarian government we should be afraid of. The threat is the totalitarian society.  

The Right Side Of The Line

I grew up in incredible India, or so the tag line of the advertisement (that advertises the nation) says. It’s a nation of more than a billion people, which makes it the world’s largest democracy. But all that doesn’t seem to inspire anyone in India to adhere to a path of honesty and austerity. It’s not whether there exists the necessity of a need to, but it is because it is impossible to. Following after the British structure of government, the quantity of paperwork involved with anything is massive and predictably inefficient. But more than anything else, it is the way we take to it that marks the spot: we take to them as necessary evil. I don’t think anyone in India has ever really understood the importance of each piece of paper they sign, each bill of value they pass around – whether over the table or under it. We just do because of two simple reasons: we don’t know what it does because we don’t have the time to, and we do it anyway because someone else who can make things happen wants it done. Adherence to a politicial cause, in other words, is limited to the upper echelons of power. When you decide to get into politics, you have to be politically motivated. You don’t have to be patriotic – you only have to emboss the impression on other people that you can’t be knocked down, and if you are, then you can get back up in no time. You need to lick ass, you need to touch feet, you need to be the one all the others need to bribe to get things done. As much as you say it’s a roadblock to national prosperity, corruption is inevitable. 

And in such a country as this, if one is truly inspired to espouse a political cause so much as to stand up and speak for it, then one is jeered at, shouted at and spat until one decides to see it for what it is, or seldom for what others have made it to be. For example, in a nation of approximately 1.5 billion people (that’s around 20% of the world’s population), 240 million live on less that Rs. 20 a day – that’s a sign of abject poverty. If you were to stand up for them, you have to embrace a political cause, and here’s why: all causes have been embraced by the number of people on a money-minting campaign in the Indian political scenario, and if you pick a side of the wall, you’re on the political side. Even the top of the wall. Or under it. So anyway, standing up for them or banishing them: you’re rooting for someone. Forget being politically correct, you can’t be non-aligned anymore. Although no one seems to care for this thought, I do because it constrains development. I can’t seem to be able to do anything without donning political connections as a perpetual garb. Furthermore, the need to pass around as much money leads to the obvious localisation of resources, but that’s an economic residue, and I don’t want to spend time on that now. Political belief, as it used to be in the 1940s and ’50s when Mahatma Gandhi called out to the good of the nation to join political parties, has collapsed in the face of blatant distrust with and outright rejection of the state of affairs. And this has also cascaded into a siphon effect, resulting in something resembling a sewage pipeline network. Those who truly seek to do something are shoved to the sidelines. The only thing that can save us now is an abrupt and wholly miraculous change of heart within those on the thrones.

They have to begin to listen rather than speak all the time. They forget that we permit them to be there only so our voice is heard in the Hall of Power, not theirs. You promise land, you promise water, you promise homes. But what is it that we truly ask for? Have you promised to listen?

With the issue of every cause being commoditised as a tool to draw crowds and manufacture emotions, free speech is a luxury that has to be paid for – and it doesn’t come cheap. The only fact that has our nation clinging on to the frail strand of democratic nobility is that we all vote to elect our leaders (on Electronic Voting Machines). I’m sorry to say this Dr. Kalam, but Vision 2020 will only serve to be a bait. We will plod towards it with enough measures of luck and strategy, but Vision 2200 is more realistic. It’s not that I’m being pessimistic – I’m only being, again, realistic. I have my hopes too that India become a nation to be looked up at by others, but prefixing the word ‘incredible’ in an advertisement is only alliteration styled after the ideas of others. 

The Confused Politician: A Story

There once lived a confused politician in a small city in south India. His name is immaterial here in this story, but he had a name that spoke of an ancient hero and his more ancient heroics. He was born, as most confused politicians are, in a small village a few hundred miles south of the state capital. His father was a poor farmer, and his mother worked in the now decrepit mill, both for meagre wages. He had five sisters and one brother, all younger. One gloomy evening, his father passed away due to a fever brought on by dyspepsia. The confused politician was only five. His mother took care of them all by herself. She worked day and night, and toiled and poured her sweat into everything she did, just so she could send her children to school. However, there came another gloomy evening when she also passed away, and the confused politician was left all alone in supporting his brother and sisters. He had harboured dreams of his brother becoming a doctor and his sisters being married off to respectable husbands who held white collar jobs. As for himself, he’d like to think of himself as the man behind everything, the invisible puppet master who pulled the strings of their budding worlds.

Days passed. And so did months and years. The confused politician was older now, although not too old. His brother was a bus conductor – well on his way to becoming a doctor. His sisters were back in the village. He was proud of the youngest of them all: she had come closest to completing her high school education. But all this didn’t matter. The confused politician’s mind had begun to focus on a bigger dream, a larger dream, a more wholesome dream. He had satisfactorily overcome the challenges that life had posed to him as yet, and now, it was his turn to take the reins and ride his own chariot. The confused politician had decided to become a politician.

Some nights, before he went to bed in his little pyol at ten in the night, he could hear speeding jeeps on the streets with microphones held aloft by little boys. They would shout into the empty streets and sleeping houses about their Great Leader, a man of will and purpose, who would solve all their problems. They would plant flags in all nooks and corners, and they would brighten up the whole street with hundreds of tubelights strung out on wires that seemed to have appeared magically. And then, the confused politician would run out into the street to find himself one amongst thousands, all gathered to hear the Great Leader speak. And when the Great Leader said something about his nativity, his culture, or the foreign rulers, the crowd would erupt in cheers, and the confused politician could feel his blood rush in his veins and arteries. This was where he belonged, the confused politician thought, this was his calling in life. Opportunity had deserted his door in his little village, but now, in the Great Capital, it had come crashing through the roof. And so, the confused politician joined the party that appealed most to him, the Great Party.

The Great Party had its office on the Great Street. When the confused politician arrived there, nobody would let him in. There was a big bustle there throughout the day. Stupid looking men would stand near the door, carrying great black boxes pointed at a lady holding a black cyilnder, and they would talk to each other all day long about God-knows-what. Finally, one day, they let him through. The confused politician walked in, bewildered by all the people inside – most of them important going by the white shirt-white veshti combo. After a few minutes, he was before the Great Leader himself.

And he fell at his feet. The Great Leader laughed a grizzly laugh, and hoisted him up by his shoulders, and gave him whatever-it-is-that-they-give, and sent him back into the dark streets. You would think the confused politician would be sensible enough to understand how the system worked now, but the confused politician was in his early stages of confusion.

Years passed. The confused politician was the right-hand man to the Great Leader. Persistent hard work and relentless confusion had brought him this far. When the he finally felt that he had truly grasped the reins of the chariot of his life, the Great Leader died of a stroke. The party people were all sad, and the mood in the office plunged from exuberant to melancholic within a matter of a few minutes. But soon, it climbed back to mania when they all realised the confused politician would now take up the stead of the Great Leader, and would be a Great Leader himself. And so, they repainted the HQ a bright white, they wore their finest silken shirts, sported their brightest smiles as the confused politican stepped out of his new and white Toyota Qualis and into the room of the Great Leader. His room from today onwards for the rest of his life, and the thought made him smile. His right-hand man asked him why he was smiling, and the Great Politician said, “Finally, my turn to do something good for the people”.

Everyday, hundreds of the rich and the poor would walk in and out of the building, either giving large sums of money or taking small ones. The confused politician was now an important man. And he felt important, too. Whenever he walked outside his building, groups of men and women holding black boxes and black cylinders would swarm around him, and magically, he would see his face in the television that night. He always loved it when that happened. The knowledge of technology had failed to amaze him and he had abandoned it as a child. But that ignorance had deprived him of nothing, or so he believed. Over and above everything, the confused politician was a happy and confused man, and that’s a very happy man.

One morning, he woke up to find the sun shining bright and beautiful outside his window. The sky looked awesome, he thought. While he was smiling into the world outside and above his head, he heard a commotion below. He looked down onto the street to see some poor people fighting to get into the HQ. He opened the window, disgusted, and shouted at them to get away. He called his right-hand man in and barked at him to ask the watchman to let no one in. Today had started beautiful, and it would end beautiful. After getting back his calm, the confused politician switched on his television and saw his face smiling on the screen. He smiled even more. And then, he thought, why not do something today instead of lazing around? And so, he thought once more of those poor people on the streets, and wondered what they were doing here bothering him. He wondered why they weren’t at home, toiling away like his diseased mother and dyspepsic father, eager to send their children to school. And then, the confused politician and Great Leader realised these people had to pass exams. That’s preposterous, he thought! And so, he declared a reservation for the backward classes in the IITs and the IIMs for upto 27% of the total seats. There, problem solved! Now, they would be busy in the morning to send their children to school, and the confused politician could spend a more beautiful morning without having to shoo people through his windows.

The next day morning, he woke up to find a more brilliant sun shining in the skies, and little wisps of clouds here and there. He smiled to himself and cautiously looked down into the street. No poor people shouting at his gates. The confused politician smiled more. And then, a phone rang outside his office, startling him out of his Utopic visions. He gave a start and began to furiously walk toward the door. Just then, it banged open and his left-hand man walked in. He was holding what looked like a phone without wires in his right hand, and said, “Your supporters want to erect a statue in your honour on the Great Busisest Street”. The confused politician smiled. Today was turning out to be more and more brilliant! He immediately nodded his approval, and the plans were made, and the documents were signed, and the money was poured. The next thing he knew was that he was sitting in the front row of a gala ceremony organised by every conceivable organ of the state where important businessmen (with white collars, mind you) came to talk about the Great Leader. And the Great Leader smiled at his statue.

He woke up the next day and looked at the skies. He did not like the look of it, as was evident from the absence of a smile on his face: it was overcast, and the sun was nowhere to be seen. The air smelled damp and muddy, as though it had rained through the night. Indeed, it had. Glum, the confused politician looked down into the street. No poor people. He turned his head towards the door. No phone ringing. Something was odd about today. He walked out of his room. There was the usual bustle, and this restored the Great Leader’s faith in the normality he thought he had established around himself. Suddenly, his PA jumped up from behind him. The Great Leader was startled.

“What?!”

“Haven’t you heard, sir?”

“Heard what?! Tell me quickly!”

“There was a big accident last night, sir, on the Great Busiest Street. Your statue’s pedestal having taken up most of the space in the left lane, a lorry had hit it by mistake, skidded over to the opposite lane and crashed into a bunch of oncoming cars and vans.”

“What are you trying to tell me?!”

“22 people have died, sir.”

Today was a bad day. Today was a very bad day. Today was a very, very bad day. Today was a… I think you get the point. The confused poltician in the Great Leader pondered. Something had to be done. If the statue was not removed, then protest groups would rise up. The Great Opposition Leader would stage dharnas against him! He would lose the majority! But that must never happen. But what if the statue was removed? Then the Great Busiest Street would not be greeted by the stony smile of the Great Leader! But there was a deeper intention there as well: when the time came for the Great Leader to step down and for the Great Opposition Leader to take over, the GOL would have to have the statue removed for obvious reasons. That time, it would be too convinient for the Great Leader to stage dharnas against him! Ha!

But that opportunity was being robbed right from under his nose now! He would have to do something. And so, the confused politician announced a compensation of a lakh rupees for the family of the bereaved and fifty thousand rupees for those injured. But he refused to remove the statue.

Election day arrived. It was judgment day. Naturally, the confused politician lost. The GOL came into power, and he removed the statue, that’s the first thing he did. When the Great Leader called for a rally to oppose this blasphemous act, nobody gathered. Who would? The statue had killed 22 people! And the Great Leader’s office was taken over, and he had nowhere left to go. Luckily, his left-hand man had saved up some of the confused politician’s money, and had purchased a house with it. It was directly on the Great Busiest Street, and the confused politician took up residence there.

He awoke the next morning, and looked at the skies. The sun was there, bright and shining. No clouds whatsoever, and the confused politician blanched. It would be a good day for the GOL, he thought, which meant it would be a bad day for him. Things couldn’t get much worse: he was no longer smiling at himself through the television screens, and important people didn’t pass through his doors, and men and women with black boxes and black cylinders didn’t swarm around him if he took a walk outside. He was almost a nobody. Suddenly, he jerked out of his stupor when he heard a commotion outside.

Large earthmovers had assembled, and engineers and contractors were busy discussing something. He learned from one of the coolies at work that the GOL was having his own statue installed. The confused politican was enraged. He caught a taxi to the GOL’s house, his old house, and alighted to discover a large number of people shouting at the watchman on duty. He barged into the throng and began to shout at the watchman to let him in. The watchman didn’t respond. The confused politician got ticked off more and began to shout louder: something had to be done! Then, someone at the front door pointed up, and they all looked up.

A hand was outstretched out the top window, and it was shooing them away like they were mongrel.

(And it happens only in India!)