At 5.45 PM today, Indian Standard Time, I was on television. You couldn’t see me. No, I had not magically transformed into an invisible creature. This was a phone-in where someone calls you and says you will soon go live on air. It made me check my breathing. Sometimes one does not feel so 'live'. Thoughts of me floating somewhere in the ether were quite tantalising. Then I could hear the host of the Pakistani channel (that is also beamed in the US) making important comments about some major political issues regarding India and Pakistan, and then I heard my name.
I mean, I have been called my name, and several names, many times. But someone telling an audience that here she is felt like a magician presenting a rabbit from a hat.
He was exceedingly polite and polished. I did what I always do – grrr…whirr…well, I had lots of opinions which should have stayed in their place, my head. The problem is that where this issue is concerned my views are rather unconventional. Here they were asking me about peace and I effectively said, what peace, we are antagonists. Why can I not just sometimes say things that sound good?
I also had the luxury of not being visible. This is a tip for people who do phone-ins. Please dress up as though you are on TV. I was in my home clothes, which might sound ridiculous to someone who does not know about home clothes. Home clothes are what you never ever wear outside the home. In fact, sensible people would not wear such clothes at home. So, I was, if anyone is interested in these details, wearing a rancid lemon T-shirt and a pale blue skirt that Monika Lewinsky would not wear even if someone else was on the phone. I gave this interview on Indo-Pak affairs lounging like Barbara Cartland. I know I should not state this publicly but it is all about sleeping with the enemy, no?
Then I had this bright idea of quoting a poem by a Pakistani woman poet. I have wanted to do that several times and always something happens. This time they had breaking news, so the poem went unheard. Nawaz Sharif came in the way. And I thought it was my use of the word “Damn’ that made the host say, “Humse baat karne ke liye bohat shukriya (Thank you for talking to us)”.
I think I sighed in reply.
Anyhow, I have no clue how it went and whether I sounded like Caligula doing a Cleopatra or Hamlet blowing hot air into a skull. I know it sounds arrogant to imagine that I got anywhere close to a Shakespearean tragedy. Maybe, it is much ado about nothing.
It isn’t the first time. Over a decade ago a BBC World correspondent wanted to talk to me about Indian sexuality. I met her at the hotel and she had this really big contraption into which I had to pout about Indian sexuality. She was quite surprised I knew so much. I said I was Indian. And, well, I read a lot about sexuality. I think she liked me because after she shut the contraption, she opened it again. This time she wanted to know my views about the bindi, the dot on Indian women’s forehead. I did not know these were two disparate themes and immediately jumped in about how the dot denoted something sexual.
A few years later, I got another call from the BBC. I started to get quite intellectually horny now. After all, we did have some good times, eh? Anyhow, the voice sounded like a gentleman's in the classic mould of gentlemen. I imagined him wearing a bowler hat and carrying a parasol as he walked down to the pub and sat on the leather chair, the wood-panelled walls making honeyed reflections in his glass.
He cut my internal monologue short with a matter-of-fact question about a high-ranking police officer who had misbehaved with a high-ranking female administrative officer. He had patted her on the butt and she had taken him to court. Because he was solving terrorist issues in Punjab, no one was taking any action against him. Apparently, the verdict had been announced and it was in her favour. So, what did I think? I wasn’t aware of the verdict. The Indian news channels had not yet announced it.
I honestly said I did not know. Well, I was not supposed to know because you see the BBC always gets the news first. I asked the gentleman to call back because I wanted to confirm it! I had an opinion, of course I did. And I said what I wanted to, including that it wasn’t just about the rear. It denoted a whole emotional and physical space.
Okay, thank you, it was wonderful speaking to you, he said.
It was? I can imagine him later chuckling into his glass of lager, the froth curving along with his smile.
I like to make people happy.
- - -
PS: It is hugely embarrassing that for an Urdu show - which the one today was - I requested to speak in English. I do not feel proud about it and for one who writes okey-dokey stuff in the language (or at least close to the language) this was not on. The reason I did it is because we were talking politics and I did not want to goof up more than I might already have.
31.8.09
Did I just get a fatwa?
A thrill ran down my spine. I had got what would have been called a fatwa. I am not sure whether there was prize money offered for my head or something else but it sure sounded like an edict. It came from Blogger, which gave it international appeal and made me feel like I had crossed all barriers. As some of you might be aware, I have a special affinity towards this fatwa thingie.
At first I thought it was fake but the fatwa-hungry part of me took it seriously. I awaited the time when I’d be martyred. Salman Rushdie would pen The Boor’s Last Sigh; Taslima Nasreen would finally discover a Bengali ghetto in Sweden and live happily ever after in that free country. No one would care about those drawing Danish cartoons or doing things to holy books. All the world’s attention would be on me and my rantings about holes in ceilings and skies with feelings. My poems would be deconstructed even as it is known that they were never constructed in the first place.
Media houses would have debates on the freedom to express sexual desires towards oneself. I’d have mikes thrust near my mouth to emphasise the point just made.
The mullahs, sadhus, priests and transvestites would come on one forum to agree. Some literary giants would join in the chants because I was assaulting their idea of prosaic prosody and had transformed the iambic pentameter into an octometer only because I like things big.
Blogger was going to make me big. Next day I looked suitably rebellious and ready for e-martyrdom. The dashboard had a few lines written in red (I think. Yes, dammit, sometimes I do.) It said, “Your blog will be deleted in 20 days if it isn't reviewed, and your readers will see a warning page during this time. After we receive your request, we'll review your blog and unlock it within two business days.”
Business days? Readers? They knew I had readers? I did? It gave me other details which are not suitable for people planning families. Isn’t stuff that is unsuitable that goes into Spam? I wanted to cry my heart out and give a little speech about how I had given my blood (A+), toil (never mind), sweat (with expensive unisex deodorant), tears (the real McCoy and not crocodile) to this little space.
This could not be happening to me. I had not reproduced salacious pictures, and I cannot help it if Modigliani and company did nudes. I had not written anything that adults under 30 have not experienced and those over that age might desire. I did write about politics, but who does not? I wrote about religion, but everyone prays. I even exposed my soul because our culture talks of the atman/rooh as though it is something tangible. I did it without any expectations or benefit to self.
I have suffered, uff, I have! Yet, I put on a brave face and sallied forth, thinking that those few people who Blogger assumes read me would take me for what I am.
Those words in red stared at me as though I were a common criminal. And, mind you, the red was ordinary font, not even embossed or engraved. I smiled the shaheed smile, the one which looks like you are carrying cyanide pellets in your head. I would be in hiding and imagined being exiled in some country where the temperature dips to an inelegant low; how would I look in faux fur and mannequin mink? And why should I not alliterate, after all it would be F’s Fatwa? I started thinking about the bodyguards who would one day pen a book about what all I did not do.
It must have taken 15 minutes of my useless time for such cogitations. By then I had read all the dos and don’ts of the Blogger Das Kapital, and nothing that I had written crossed any limits.
Yes, do what you want, I muttered. I did a cocky head nod and my mouth curled into a sneer. I was mid-way into my ‘hah’ when my test post went through. I had entered the den as a tigress and ended up chasing a ball of wool. I clicked on request to unlock. Okay, it was 20 days away before I was told to clean up and move the hell out. Then I checked the dashboard and those red words had disappeared. Did they do their checking already? Was it some Ku Klux Klan doing its underground research and waiting for me to bite the bait? Or did they believe that I wasn’t worth the fatwa spewed from the mouths of greater believers?
I knew it. This fatwa desire shall remain unfulfilled. It is entirely possible that in this holy month, it is god’s idea of doing zakat towards me.
So, friends, desperate housewives, gigolos and whoever else I have offended, do remember to keep up the vigil and all. Meanwhile, I am assuming this may just fizzle out. But if you see a note that does not let you access this blog and you really want to access it, then remember to write a nice little obit.
In my next birth I will be a blog.
PS: My other blogs here have no writing in red. Yet.
At first I thought it was fake but the fatwa-hungry part of me took it seriously. I awaited the time when I’d be martyred. Salman Rushdie would pen The Boor’s Last Sigh; Taslima Nasreen would finally discover a Bengali ghetto in Sweden and live happily ever after in that free country. No one would care about those drawing Danish cartoons or doing things to holy books. All the world’s attention would be on me and my rantings about holes in ceilings and skies with feelings. My poems would be deconstructed even as it is known that they were never constructed in the first place.
Media houses would have debates on the freedom to express sexual desires towards oneself. I’d have mikes thrust near my mouth to emphasise the point just made.
The mullahs, sadhus, priests and transvestites would come on one forum to agree. Some literary giants would join in the chants because I was assaulting their idea of prosaic prosody and had transformed the iambic pentameter into an octometer only because I like things big.
Blogger was going to make me big. Next day I looked suitably rebellious and ready for e-martyrdom. The dashboard had a few lines written in red (I think. Yes, dammit, sometimes I do.) It said, “Your blog will be deleted in 20 days if it isn't reviewed, and your readers will see a warning page during this time. After we receive your request, we'll review your blog and unlock it within two business days.”
Business days? Readers? They knew I had readers? I did? It gave me other details which are not suitable for people planning families. Isn’t stuff that is unsuitable that goes into Spam? I wanted to cry my heart out and give a little speech about how I had given my blood (A+), toil (never mind), sweat (with expensive unisex deodorant), tears (the real McCoy and not crocodile) to this little space.
This could not be happening to me. I had not reproduced salacious pictures, and I cannot help it if Modigliani and company did nudes. I had not written anything that adults under 30 have not experienced and those over that age might desire. I did write about politics, but who does not? I wrote about religion, but everyone prays. I even exposed my soul because our culture talks of the atman/rooh as though it is something tangible. I did it without any expectations or benefit to self.
I have suffered, uff, I have! Yet, I put on a brave face and sallied forth, thinking that those few people who Blogger assumes read me would take me for what I am.
Those words in red stared at me as though I were a common criminal. And, mind you, the red was ordinary font, not even embossed or engraved. I smiled the shaheed smile, the one which looks like you are carrying cyanide pellets in your head. I would be in hiding and imagined being exiled in some country where the temperature dips to an inelegant low; how would I look in faux fur and mannequin mink? And why should I not alliterate, after all it would be F’s Fatwa? I started thinking about the bodyguards who would one day pen a book about what all I did not do.
It must have taken 15 minutes of my useless time for such cogitations. By then I had read all the dos and don’ts of the Blogger Das Kapital, and nothing that I had written crossed any limits.
Yes, do what you want, I muttered. I did a cocky head nod and my mouth curled into a sneer. I was mid-way into my ‘hah’ when my test post went through. I had entered the den as a tigress and ended up chasing a ball of wool. I clicked on request to unlock. Okay, it was 20 days away before I was told to clean up and move the hell out. Then I checked the dashboard and those red words had disappeared. Did they do their checking already? Was it some Ku Klux Klan doing its underground research and waiting for me to bite the bait? Or did they believe that I wasn’t worth the fatwa spewed from the mouths of greater believers?
I knew it. This fatwa desire shall remain unfulfilled. It is entirely possible that in this holy month, it is god’s idea of doing zakat towards me.
So, friends, desperate housewives, gigolos and whoever else I have offended, do remember to keep up the vigil and all. Meanwhile, I am assuming this may just fizzle out. But if you see a note that does not let you access this blog and you really want to access it, then remember to write a nice little obit.
In my next birth I will be a blog.
PS: My other blogs here have no writing in red. Yet.
How holy!
I just got a box of modak. I wrote to a friend saying that these days they have fancy ones with cranberry, apricot, figs and chocolate to cater to cosmopolitan tastes, and I so want to be cosmo. They don’t look like the real thing with coconut flakes dripping grease or going squishy with steam. But, not many things look the same anymore.
Like this deity being taken for immersion.
I can imagine Ganesha telling the chauffeur, “Hawaa aane de (let the breeze come in).” Or insisting that the car have a wireless connection so that he can figure out how the poor ones are doing it and send some blessing their way while his ‘owner’ talks to Facebook friends about the awesome puja they had and the planned evening with brie on rye bread and a Chantilly. Laterz, honey, muaah, muaah…
Sonia and Rahul Gandhi dominate. I am sure the minister knows that new and renewable energy does not possibly mean a change in the way the religion is practised?
Like this deity being taken for immersion.
I can imagine Ganesha telling the chauffeur, “Hawaa aane de (let the breeze come in).” Or insisting that the car have a wireless connection so that he can figure out how the poor ones are doing it and send some blessing their way while his ‘owner’ talks to Facebook friends about the awesome puja they had and the planned evening with brie on rye bread and a Chantilly. Laterz, honey, muaah, muaah…
- - -
So, the iftaar tamasha is going on strong. Don’t have to tell you what Ramzan is about, but it has to do with Islam that does not believe in idolatry. Look at this picture:Sonia and Rahul Gandhi dominate. I am sure the minister knows that new and renewable energy does not possibly mean a change in the way the religion is practised?
28.8.09
Wrong number?
Dialled one? Do you expect to get beaten up for it, have your hair shaved off, and then be paraded through the streets?
In Bhiwani, a village in Haryana, a Dalit youth had to go through this. Dalits belong to the lower caste. It does not matter whether they are educated or have made some money. They are stigmatised only because they are born in what is still the backward caste. It is there in the scriptures. Perhaps, it was valid then as it pointed to certain professions, although there were clear rules about how to treat the shudras. These people, even four decades after independence, carried night soil (that is, shit) on their heads in a cosmopolitan city like Mumbai. And even today in some parts of the country they have to tie a broom behind them to clean the road on which the higher caste folks will later walk. Their shadow cannot fall on these people, and they are still not permitted to enter temples.
Legally and politically they are termed Scheduled Castes/Tribes, and the term Dalit was given to lend them an identity. It is way better than being called Harijans (children of god) that Mahatma Gandhi patronisingly anointed them with.
This is what Suresh, the young man, said, “I was trying the telephone number of one of my acquaintances on Monday when I inadvertently dialled the number of Dharam Singh (another villager). The moment I realized my mistake, I apologized immediately and disconnected the phone.’’
That is what we all do. And the person either tells us it is okay or bangs down the phone. But not for him. The next day the person who received the call brought six of his friends. They tonsured him, tied him to a motorcycle and dragged him through the streets, hitting him all the while. He could not go to the cops because they threatened him.
The police have yet to register a case and are, like old Indian bureaucracy, “looking into the matter” and that too because the Dalits have demanded action.
Will they get justice? No. I am going by precedent.
And here the papers are screaming out kitschy ads about the best Ganesh pandals for which there are prizes. The deity is fed, the devotees are fed. This is the god of prosperity. Prosperity for the few. The sculptor still lives in poverty. The guys who fix those neon lights will not prosper. The fat cats will become fatter cats. The ones in the middle will think they will get something out of all this. Make a statement. The Elephant God made from different materials.
Is prosperity about this? We should be ashamed about instances such as the one I mentioned, and it is really insensitive to say, oh, what is new? No. It is not new. And it has to be restated. That is the tragedy. So, feeding gods is not going to make your home a better place and priests dunking themselves in buckets of water are not going to bring rain.
We are ethically becoming poor. Damn all the exotica. I guess, I have got the wrong number…
In Bhiwani, a village in Haryana, a Dalit youth had to go through this. Dalits belong to the lower caste. It does not matter whether they are educated or have made some money. They are stigmatised only because they are born in what is still the backward caste. It is there in the scriptures. Perhaps, it was valid then as it pointed to certain professions, although there were clear rules about how to treat the shudras. These people, even four decades after independence, carried night soil (that is, shit) on their heads in a cosmopolitan city like Mumbai. And even today in some parts of the country they have to tie a broom behind them to clean the road on which the higher caste folks will later walk. Their shadow cannot fall on these people, and they are still not permitted to enter temples.
Legally and politically they are termed Scheduled Castes/Tribes, and the term Dalit was given to lend them an identity. It is way better than being called Harijans (children of god) that Mahatma Gandhi patronisingly anointed them with.
This is what Suresh, the young man, said, “I was trying the telephone number of one of my acquaintances on Monday when I inadvertently dialled the number of Dharam Singh (another villager). The moment I realized my mistake, I apologized immediately and disconnected the phone.’’
That is what we all do. And the person either tells us it is okay or bangs down the phone. But not for him. The next day the person who received the call brought six of his friends. They tonsured him, tied him to a motorcycle and dragged him through the streets, hitting him all the while. He could not go to the cops because they threatened him.
The police have yet to register a case and are, like old Indian bureaucracy, “looking into the matter” and that too because the Dalits have demanded action.
Will they get justice? No. I am going by precedent.
And here the papers are screaming out kitschy ads about the best Ganesh pandals for which there are prizes. The deity is fed, the devotees are fed. This is the god of prosperity. Prosperity for the few. The sculptor still lives in poverty. The guys who fix those neon lights will not prosper. The fat cats will become fatter cats. The ones in the middle will think they will get something out of all this. Make a statement. The Elephant God made from different materials.
Is prosperity about this? We should be ashamed about instances such as the one I mentioned, and it is really insensitive to say, oh, what is new? No. It is not new. And it has to be restated. That is the tragedy. So, feeding gods is not going to make your home a better place and priests dunking themselves in buckets of water are not going to bring rain.
We are ethically becoming poor. Damn all the exotica. I guess, I have got the wrong number…
26.8.09
Open Letter to Arun Shourie
Dear Mr. Shourie:
Very impressive performance. But I am disappointed. There was a time when you would quote Faiz and Faraz and not Hickery Dickery Dock…these days you have started quoting damned angrezi fairytales. Where is your swadeshi tongue, sirji? You call the BJP leadership ‘Humpty Dumpty’ and ‘Alice in Blunderland’, the latter is such an overused pun by sophomores. Just thought I’d let you know. You use the term “kati patang” (a free floating kite).
You have taken on the onerous task of becoming notorious. I saw a bit of you on TV last night walking on the green, green grass of Rome, oops, home, in a red shirt. Very fitting, for you have quoted the Chinese chilman, no, no, not the iron curtain but Chairman Mao and said it was time for “bombarding the headquarters. Clean up everybody from top. Bring 10-15 people from the states who are competent and honest and dedicated and reconstruct immediately’’.
I have always maintained that the RSS is the madari (juggler) of the BJP monkey. You have only confirmed it.
A report mentions that you have asked the backstage organisation to take charge, saying that it had been “too democratic’’ and had given too much leeway to the party. You reminded the Sangh that the BJP was its most visible face, its “biggest instrument’’ and could not be left to its own devices. “It should keep an eye on the moral conduct of the party like an eagle.” Then, you challenged the party: “Do what you can.” You have come to believe that there is no space for dissent in the BJP which is being treated like a private property, and no criticism is tolerated or discussed.
This, unfortunately, is double talk. As you know, the instrument, whatever be its size, works on the signals the brain sends out. There is a contradiction when you talk about lack of dissent and at the same time ask the RSS to take charge and do an Operation Expunge. “My prescription is jhatka (one swift execution), not halal (slow execution). Saare, saare (lock, stock and barrel). There should be a transformation.’’
This seems to be your token anti-Islamism. Anyone with some knowledge of biology and slaughter will tell you that in such deaths, the blood congeals and the fright of imminent death poisons the system. You have been a part of it all along.
You talk about “mutual protection and projection’’ within the BJP. Yet, you propped up Narendra Modi as the prime ministerial candidate. Now, because he has banned the Jinnah book, you are on the “it is a scholarly exercise and needs to be seen in that light” trip. For your information, Mr. Modi’s government has banned a few films recently that tackled communal issues; some were art-house types. Did you raise your voice then? It is not as though people were not thrown out of the party before or forced to leave. Remember Govindacharya? Or even Uma Bharti?
In fact, you did not quote any fairytales all these years, and it is not as though the party has overnight had a great fall or blundered through Wonderland. The BJP for most of its life has been in the Opposition. And when it was in power, you supported it with gusto.
If it is the party’s attitude towards Jinnah and why poor Jaswant Singh is being hounded while Advaniji got to sit and play leader-leader, then let me assure you that you can continue to quote Faiz and no one will accuse you of blasphemy. You can even quote Iqbal and it won’t matter.
The current rebellion is also like the mutual protection/projection you are getting ethical about. Watch how the drama is unfolding. Former RSS chief K S Sudarshan has now come to your rescue for handing the organisation the big baton publicly. He said that Jinnah was “a true (Indian) nationalist”. Is this news anymore? But, all those who made these subtle differences between hardline and moderate in the saffron Parivar have been finally outed. The BJP has been soft on you because you have the blessings of the Big Boss. This same RSS and its cohorts treat the Indian Muslims with suspicion. I want to know where is our certificate of nationalism? Not that we need it from anyone, but the blatant hypocrisy is mind-boggling.
You have been a hero. When you exposed that big cement scandal everyone who had never looked at cement beyond what is used for buildings suddenly began to think of it as something very important. A. R. Antulay fell from grace, whatever he had of it. Indira Gandhi, it is widely understood, got a good deal from those deals. You got the smaller bakra. The question is: how much of it was you and your reportage and idealism? You were with the Indian Express, its owner Ramnath Goenka was your guru. He had an axe to grind with Mrs. Gandhi. He had a lot of dope. You got it, did your thing and became history.
Well, these idealistic feeds can be cruel. Goenka was known to not like heroes, especially those he had created. As he had said about you, “But this racehorse will destroy my tonga.”
You were shown the door. It was seen as a huge tragedy. You got to write columns. That is when you became an authority on Faiz etc. Well, your columns were very, very long, so many of us just read the beginning and the end. Some of us discovered Urdu and Pakistani poets because of you. You did this for a while. Then you moved to the Times of India. Imagine that nice little place where every Establishment is ‘mutually protected and projected’. In those days it wasn’t so much about Page 3. It was all Page 1 and editorials. So we still read you because of aforementioned verses, instead of seeing your pictures holding a glass of spiked rooh-afza.
Later you joined the BJP and because you were clean and looked it, we stayed with you. Yet, you never said anything. Now you are doing so. It is difficult to understand. As Alice would say, “I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, Sir, because I'm not myself you see.”
Perhaps a fitting tribute to what you were would best be expressed in the words of the Mughal Emperor, Bahadurshah Zafar:
ya mujhe afsar-e-shahaa na banaya hota
ya mera taj gadayaa na banaya hota
khaak_saari ke liye garache banaya tha mujhe
kaash khaak-e-dar-e-jaanaan na banaya hota
Yours with hope,
Mad Hatter (“No wonder you're late. Why, this watch is exactly two days slow.”)
---
(c) Farzana Versey
Very impressive performance. But I am disappointed. There was a time when you would quote Faiz and Faraz and not Hickery Dickery Dock…these days you have started quoting damned angrezi fairytales. Where is your swadeshi tongue, sirji? You call the BJP leadership ‘Humpty Dumpty’ and ‘Alice in Blunderland’, the latter is such an overused pun by sophomores. Just thought I’d let you know. You use the term “kati patang” (a free floating kite).
You have taken on the onerous task of becoming notorious. I saw a bit of you on TV last night walking on the green, green grass of Rome, oops, home, in a red shirt. Very fitting, for you have quoted the Chinese chilman, no, no, not the iron curtain but Chairman Mao and said it was time for “bombarding the headquarters. Clean up everybody from top. Bring 10-15 people from the states who are competent and honest and dedicated and reconstruct immediately’’.
I have always maintained that the RSS is the madari (juggler) of the BJP monkey. You have only confirmed it.
A report mentions that you have asked the backstage organisation to take charge, saying that it had been “too democratic’’ and had given too much leeway to the party. You reminded the Sangh that the BJP was its most visible face, its “biggest instrument’’ and could not be left to its own devices. “It should keep an eye on the moral conduct of the party like an eagle.” Then, you challenged the party: “Do what you can.” You have come to believe that there is no space for dissent in the BJP which is being treated like a private property, and no criticism is tolerated or discussed.
This, unfortunately, is double talk. As you know, the instrument, whatever be its size, works on the signals the brain sends out. There is a contradiction when you talk about lack of dissent and at the same time ask the RSS to take charge and do an Operation Expunge. “My prescription is jhatka (one swift execution), not halal (slow execution). Saare, saare (lock, stock and barrel). There should be a transformation.’’
This seems to be your token anti-Islamism. Anyone with some knowledge of biology and slaughter will tell you that in such deaths, the blood congeals and the fright of imminent death poisons the system. You have been a part of it all along.
You talk about “mutual protection and projection’’ within the BJP. Yet, you propped up Narendra Modi as the prime ministerial candidate. Now, because he has banned the Jinnah book, you are on the “it is a scholarly exercise and needs to be seen in that light” trip. For your information, Mr. Modi’s government has banned a few films recently that tackled communal issues; some were art-house types. Did you raise your voice then? It is not as though people were not thrown out of the party before or forced to leave. Remember Govindacharya? Or even Uma Bharti?
In fact, you did not quote any fairytales all these years, and it is not as though the party has overnight had a great fall or blundered through Wonderland. The BJP for most of its life has been in the Opposition. And when it was in power, you supported it with gusto.
If it is the party’s attitude towards Jinnah and why poor Jaswant Singh is being hounded while Advaniji got to sit and play leader-leader, then let me assure you that you can continue to quote Faiz and no one will accuse you of blasphemy. You can even quote Iqbal and it won’t matter.
The current rebellion is also like the mutual protection/projection you are getting ethical about. Watch how the drama is unfolding. Former RSS chief K S Sudarshan has now come to your rescue for handing the organisation the big baton publicly. He said that Jinnah was “a true (Indian) nationalist”. Is this news anymore? But, all those who made these subtle differences between hardline and moderate in the saffron Parivar have been finally outed. The BJP has been soft on you because you have the blessings of the Big Boss. This same RSS and its cohorts treat the Indian Muslims with suspicion. I want to know where is our certificate of nationalism? Not that we need it from anyone, but the blatant hypocrisy is mind-boggling.
You have been a hero. When you exposed that big cement scandal everyone who had never looked at cement beyond what is used for buildings suddenly began to think of it as something very important. A. R. Antulay fell from grace, whatever he had of it. Indira Gandhi, it is widely understood, got a good deal from those deals. You got the smaller bakra. The question is: how much of it was you and your reportage and idealism? You were with the Indian Express, its owner Ramnath Goenka was your guru. He had an axe to grind with Mrs. Gandhi. He had a lot of dope. You got it, did your thing and became history.
Well, these idealistic feeds can be cruel. Goenka was known to not like heroes, especially those he had created. As he had said about you, “But this racehorse will destroy my tonga.”
You were shown the door. It was seen as a huge tragedy. You got to write columns. That is when you became an authority on Faiz etc. Well, your columns were very, very long, so many of us just read the beginning and the end. Some of us discovered Urdu and Pakistani poets because of you. You did this for a while. Then you moved to the Times of India. Imagine that nice little place where every Establishment is ‘mutually protected and projected’. In those days it wasn’t so much about Page 3. It was all Page 1 and editorials. So we still read you because of aforementioned verses, instead of seeing your pictures holding a glass of spiked rooh-afza.
Later you joined the BJP and because you were clean and looked it, we stayed with you. Yet, you never said anything. Now you are doing so. It is difficult to understand. As Alice would say, “I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, Sir, because I'm not myself you see.”
Perhaps a fitting tribute to what you were would best be expressed in the words of the Mughal Emperor, Bahadurshah Zafar:
ya mujhe afsar-e-shahaa na banaya hota
ya mera taj gadayaa na banaya hota
khaak_saari ke liye garache banaya tha mujhe
kaash khaak-e-dar-e-jaanaan na banaya hota
Yours with hope,
Mad Hatter (“No wonder you're late. Why, this watch is exactly two days slow.”)
---
(c) Farzana Versey
25.8.09
Oops, I did it, did I?
Sometimes, one gets the weirdest feedback. This one does not deserve to be reproduced, but I feel like a bit of pop psychology.
"Sheesh! Just three words can describe you completely---'obsessed with sex'."
I was also called a pseudo intellectual, and I don't know whether it is due to my obsession with sex.
I don't know when it started, but the term pseudo intellectual has gained more currency than the euro.
People who are called pseudo intellectuals...Pop proponents, classical divas, liberals, secularists, mavericks, communists, old hippies, new punks, protestors, abdicators, sitting-on-their-ass-and smoking-hashers...
Funny thing is, almost all these categories of people do not give a damn about labels. And to fake intellectualism is like so duh...especially if you rock as just what you are.
This brings me to the three words that are supposed to describe me: Obsessed with sex. What I find intriguing is that someone says "sheesh" to that. It means that the person is...
a. Averse to sex
b. Thinks a lot about it
c. Guilty about thinking a lot
d. Does a lot of it and projects shame on others
e. Is obsessive about other things
f. Is afraid of women who speak their minds
g. Is afraid of women and their needs
h. Is afraid of not being able to meet those needs
i. Is afraid of himself, and so calls her names
More importantly, the person does not know me and has not read enough of my work.
Perhaps, the person just had to say something that would make me feel horrible. Sorry, I feel nothing of the kind. To me the human body and intimacy are Nature's gift to make me going...And I love gifts!
80 per cent of what I have written here or elsewhere would constitute sex, religion and politics. Even what I write about the sky or eyes or balloons would boil down to sexing them up or they can become a political statement in the larger context.
And why is only sex seen as such a huge thing to be 'open' about. Hey, religion is a bigger turn-on for many and politics, my gott, the kiss of Kissinger got that right about its power...the ultimate aphrodisiac.
"Sheesh! Just three words can describe you completely---'obsessed with sex'."
I was also called a pseudo intellectual, and I don't know whether it is due to my obsession with sex.
I don't know when it started, but the term pseudo intellectual has gained more currency than the euro.
People who are called pseudo intellectuals...Pop proponents, classical divas, liberals, secularists, mavericks, communists, old hippies, new punks, protestors, abdicators, sitting-on-their-ass-and smoking-hashers...
Funny thing is, almost all these categories of people do not give a damn about labels. And to fake intellectualism is like so duh...especially if you rock as just what you are.
This brings me to the three words that are supposed to describe me: Obsessed with sex. What I find intriguing is that someone says "sheesh" to that. It means that the person is...
a. Averse to sex
b. Thinks a lot about it
c. Guilty about thinking a lot
d. Does a lot of it and projects shame on others
e. Is obsessive about other things
f. Is afraid of women who speak their minds
g. Is afraid of women and their needs
h. Is afraid of not being able to meet those needs
i. Is afraid of himself, and so calls her names
More importantly, the person does not know me and has not read enough of my work.
Perhaps, the person just had to say something that would make me feel horrible. Sorry, I feel nothing of the kind. To me the human body and intimacy are Nature's gift to make me going...And I love gifts!
80 per cent of what I have written here or elsewhere would constitute sex, religion and politics. Even what I write about the sky or eyes or balloons would boil down to sexing them up or they can become a political statement in the larger context.
And why is only sex seen as such a huge thing to be 'open' about. Hey, religion is a bigger turn-on for many and politics, my gott, the kiss of Kissinger got that right about its power...the ultimate aphrodisiac.
24.8.09
The RSS is Islamist?
The mailbox is a hugely interesting place. Yesterday, I got an email from a self-styled Hindulogy Foundation. The recipients were mostly movers and shakers; I was, I suppose, the shaker.
I shall reproduce most of this note, without changing anything, including capitals. It is addressed to Sudheendra Kulkarni who has quit the BJP:
For someone who is berating the RSS, which is largely responsible for the Hindutva resurgence, I wonder why the writer is so enthusiastic that Islam dies in the next century (very convenient, Mr. pseudo Nostradamus, since none of us will be around). And why this eagerness to see the US as a Hindu nation?
The internet has spawned a whole bunch of people who find sustenance in these theories.
Now, we come to Sudheendra Kulkarni. I can vouch for one thing – he is willing to listen and talk even if you are not on the same page as he is. The problem is that I knew him when he was a Marxist and I was trying to be one. You know how it is…I did not know he was a card-holding member of the CPI (M), though.
It is believed that the L.K.Advani speech about Jinnah was his work. Therefore, his taking up for Jaswant Singh is not unusual.
He has explained his reason for quitting:
How can one respect the discipline and have ideological differences? This discipline is a part of the saffron ideology. Everytime anyone raised protests, they would come out with this discipline thing. Oh, we are so disciplined. We have in-house elections, we follow rules, we manage to gather people to collect bricks and stones.
Now, what I would like is to read a book by Sudheendra Kulkarni. A man who has worked closely with both Atal Behari Vajpayee and Advani and in his early life with the Commies will have very interesting things to say.
As for the JS book, I repeat what I had written. What has he said about Savarkar, Golvalkar, Godse? Why is everyone cashing in on the cash-cow leaders and forgetting those who continue to be a part of the saffron ideology to which Jaswant Singh belonged until just the other day?
And, please, all these experts should just take a deep breath before they pronounce the death of the BJP. With all these departures, and its blaming Varun Gandhi of all the little people in the world for part of the debacle, and the post-mortem they will only conclude that they need the elders to guide and the second rung to go forth and conquer. Narendra Modi is considered young. And he is only going to get stronger.
I shall reproduce most of this note, without changing anything, including capitals. It is addressed to Sudheendra Kulkarni who has quit the BJP:
Dear Shri Kulkarnni,
Congratulations for liberating yourself from the Slavery of RSS led Shakuni Parivar.
I knew that you, Jaswant Singh & my Guru Shri Arun Shourie can't opt for lifelong Slavery of this criminal organisation which has given birth to the criminals like Godse, Purohit, Pragya etc etc.
Let's work together to expose the real ISLAMIC IDEOLOGY & CHARACTER of RSS, so that gullible Hindus do not fall into their Pseudo -Hindutva trap.
Divine was graceful on me when I saw the demise of RSS led Shakuni Parivar in 2002 itself just after famous GUJARAT EXPERIMENT of RSS.
RSS is not an iota of Hindutva. Hindutva apeal can't be confined in the tiny brains of people like Sudarshan & Mohan Bhagwat. I have made following two imminent forecasts:
1. ISLAM will not see the SUN-RISE of next century.
2. US will become a HINDU NATION by 2100 AD.
Anyway I am very grateful to you & Jaswant Singh for displaying courage, which is missing in most of the Hindus throughout the Globe.
- - -
Wah, bhai, wah. When the RSS does the dirty it becomes Islamic.For someone who is berating the RSS, which is largely responsible for the Hindutva resurgence, I wonder why the writer is so enthusiastic that Islam dies in the next century (very convenient, Mr. pseudo Nostradamus, since none of us will be around). And why this eagerness to see the US as a Hindu nation?
The internet has spawned a whole bunch of people who find sustenance in these theories.
Now, we come to Sudheendra Kulkarni. I can vouch for one thing – he is willing to listen and talk even if you are not on the same page as he is. The problem is that I knew him when he was a Marxist and I was trying to be one. You know how it is…I did not know he was a card-holding member of the CPI (M), though.
It is believed that the L.K.Advani speech about Jinnah was his work. Therefore, his taking up for Jaswant Singh is not unusual.
He has explained his reason for quitting:
“I have concluded that I cannot make any meaningful contribution to the party any more as I have ideological differences with it as it stands today…I want to have the freedom to express my views and be sincere to my convictions. At the same time, I respect the discipline of the party and, therefore, I have stepped out.”
How can one respect the discipline and have ideological differences? This discipline is a part of the saffron ideology. Everytime anyone raised protests, they would come out with this discipline thing. Oh, we are so disciplined. We have in-house elections, we follow rules, we manage to gather people to collect bricks and stones.
Now, what I would like is to read a book by Sudheendra Kulkarni. A man who has worked closely with both Atal Behari Vajpayee and Advani and in his early life with the Commies will have very interesting things to say.
As for the JS book, I repeat what I had written. What has he said about Savarkar, Golvalkar, Godse? Why is everyone cashing in on the cash-cow leaders and forgetting those who continue to be a part of the saffron ideology to which Jaswant Singh belonged until just the other day?
And, please, all these experts should just take a deep breath before they pronounce the death of the BJP. With all these departures, and its blaming Varun Gandhi of all the little people in the world for part of the debacle, and the post-mortem they will only conclude that they need the elders to guide and the second rung to go forth and conquer. Narendra Modi is considered young. And he is only going to get stronger.
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