Maverick: Global Bubble of the Revivalist
by Farzana Versey
Covert, December 15-30
Those who left have it good. While Prime Minister Manmohan Singh wants them to return home as “brain gain”, the right-wingers have been lauding them for precisely the same reason with an additional halo – the global revivalist.
In one of the fancy social satsangs at the altar of Mammon the luminaries wanted to know where Hindus figured on the world stage. There was no talk about India. It is precious, then, to talk about marauding Mughals and Christian missionaries. Does this not amount to merely following those notorious footsteps, the only difference being monetary power added to spiritual piffle?
Has anyone tried to understand how in those hundreds of years of occupation, India did not become a Muslim or a Christian nation? Those Hindus who converted to certain sects, like Bohras and Ismailis, are among the most educated and successful people in the country today.
In the world of the freshly-minted sophisticated anti-secularist, such details do not matter. To this mind the restoration of a hotel must be seen in the context of the Somnath temple which rose after each fall. It deviously disregards the fact that the rebuilding has been carried out by the management that has also generously set up a non- religious Trust to rehabilitate those who were affected in other areas as well. The global clock-turner is busy patting his back over restoration of places of worship and landmark sites, but there is absolutely no concern about resurrecting the ordinary citizen’s right to livelihood and dignity.
Listing the achievements of expatriates is typical of this tunnel vision. Of the few that become entrepreneurs or have prominent careers, there are thousands who perform ordinary tasks. Many have entered those western countries illegally or gone through agents after a lot of effort. Instead of wondering why this happens, this neo world citizen with a limited cultural baggage is basking in the reflected glory of achievers who had to go elsewhere to make their fortune and earn their fame because their homeland did not nurture their dreams.
The Knights and Nobel laureates refer to their Indian roots only when there is a bit of exotic drama required. How can they be considered a part of revivalism of ancient culture? Would they identify with the dubious idea of taking religion to new lands? They are on Forbes power list because of how much they influence society. Osama bin Laden is sharing space, too. If some build temples, then there are others like Swraj Paul who donate to the London Zoo. They pay huge sums to political parties in their adopted lands to get leverage for themselves and not their faith. It is quite simply business acumen and social opportunism at work. It has got nothing to do with keeping the flame of any potential Ram Rajya alive.
Yoga and levitating gurus is old hat and has little to do with healing powers and more to do with hype. It did not start with the new revivalists but old hippies. Being honoured and having festivals celebrated work as totems for ethnic minorities who may indeed possess talent. But, as Venkatraman Ramakrishnan made it amply clear, his “nationality is simply an accident of birth”. He would not want to be hailed as a global Hindu hero or be placed on the same pedestal as ashram evangelists.
In the excitement over the well-heeled, fossils of accruing mutual fund culture whose high-walled existence is no better than ghettos, the revivalist boasts that his religion is the only one that does not have a history of massacres. Loss of memory means ignoring the past of what some rulers did to demolish Jainism from South India between the 8th and 12th centuries, and the contemporary history of the Sikh carnage, the Mumbai riots and Gujarat genocide. To clothe these in the garb of a global phenomenon that has risen from the suffering of centuries is skulduggery and hypocrisy.
Perhaps it might do them well to ponder over a small fact that those Hindus who are today a part of the White House clique have been appointed by a half Muslim, half Christian.
Shall we call such resurrection a case of appeasement since delusional apocalypticism can only be a mirage?
Showing posts with label covert. Show all posts
Showing posts with label covert. Show all posts
15.8.09
The Indian Colonisers of India
Maverick: The Indian Colonisers of India
By Farzana Versey
Covert, Aug 15-31
I miss those days. They would exclaim, “Oh, Indian!” and all you had to do was blush and give them some spiel about the Taj Mahal, rickshaw pullers, Tanjore paintings, the Kama Sutra. If you dressed the part, with hippie beads and prints dyed in colours designed to fade, then you had it made. You were just the sort of stuff George Harrison would pull strings with.
I miss those days. Today, India at 62 has become a cosmetic surgery miracle. Now when they exclaim, “Oh, Indian!” you must sound world-weary because jet lag is a part of your life. The princess-pauper act won’t wash anymore. You are seen as a triumph because of amnesia. Look, they say, she has gone through so much and yet come out trumps.
Talking of which, Fareed Zakaria had informed them that when he used to visit home in the 80s Indians did not show much interest in “the important power players in Washington or the great intellectuals in Cambridge. People would often ask me about Donald Trump…He symbolized the feeling that if you wanted to find the biggest and largest anything, you had to look to America.”
This is hyperbole, a trait that westerners find so charming, especially in the new improved India. It is another matter that Donald Trump represented nothing more than an apartment tower, a few good women and a toupee. We continue to be mentally colonised by the US, mainly because of the franchisee deals, but it was the British Virgin king who managed to get in and became worthy enough for a Vijay Mallya to emulate.
However, to pass the test of the nouveau Indian you need more than allegiance to a pint of beer and a frequent flyer card. In fact, you don’t need to announce who you know, but how much you know about who you don't know. A mouse click is your key to education.
When Nandan Nilekani quits Infosys to join the government, he announces, “I will be going to lead a programme to give identity to every Indian. But today I am losing my identity.” With this self-effacing comment he is no different from those who claim to do something for the country. In martyr-deadpan tone, he says, “I’m supposed to work with 600 government departments knowing fully well that no two government departments get along with one another.”
This is the mature brash, fired in the kiln of hubris. It has to be accepted. Our prime minister concurs: “I sincerely hope that in due course we can enlarge the involvement of intellectuals in governance.”
While it is true that some of our bumpkin type ministers were counter-productive, is there any guarantee that those with education and resources will truly make a difference? For being a co-founder and co-chairperson of a company for 28 years, the new India is expected to blindly accept the sagacity of such intellectuals.
When Rajiv Gandhi brought in Sam Pitroda, the results were evident in small towns where PCOs sprung up. It may not have been a revolution but it was something that people in those places needed. This same man will now probably head the Vedanta University, spread across 6000 acres of land, that will have research wings and Olympic style sports complexes. Who is this for? We are getting more and more elitist and brushing the dirt under nuclear submarines.
The public figure patriot is one who knows how to shrug with panache. Shashi Tharoor stands with hand on heart while the national anthem is being played because that is what he did in America. He forgets he is contesting an Indian election, but his goof-up is forgiven. He now represents the external affairs ministry. However, those buying plastic flags will be taken to task because it is an insult.
The airlines are losing money, yet Narendra Modi spends Rs 90,000 a day on flights.
It isn’t that all was well earlier. We had the ‘India is Indira’ times, but we also had an alternative. These days even dissent has become upwardly mobile. People throw shoes at ministers and not slippers. The minister smiles beatifically because, as they say in the west, s**t happens. This time the “Oh, Indian!” isn’t a smirk directed at the literal. Freedom’s just another blurb designed for the Oscars.
By Farzana Versey
Covert, Aug 15-31
I miss those days. They would exclaim, “Oh, Indian!” and all you had to do was blush and give them some spiel about the Taj Mahal, rickshaw pullers, Tanjore paintings, the Kama Sutra. If you dressed the part, with hippie beads and prints dyed in colours designed to fade, then you had it made. You were just the sort of stuff George Harrison would pull strings with.
I miss those days. Today, India at 62 has become a cosmetic surgery miracle. Now when they exclaim, “Oh, Indian!” you must sound world-weary because jet lag is a part of your life. The princess-pauper act won’t wash anymore. You are seen as a triumph because of amnesia. Look, they say, she has gone through so much and yet come out trumps.
Talking of which, Fareed Zakaria had informed them that when he used to visit home in the 80s Indians did not show much interest in “the important power players in Washington or the great intellectuals in Cambridge. People would often ask me about Donald Trump…He symbolized the feeling that if you wanted to find the biggest and largest anything, you had to look to America.”
This is hyperbole, a trait that westerners find so charming, especially in the new improved India. It is another matter that Donald Trump represented nothing more than an apartment tower, a few good women and a toupee. We continue to be mentally colonised by the US, mainly because of the franchisee deals, but it was the British Virgin king who managed to get in and became worthy enough for a Vijay Mallya to emulate.
However, to pass the test of the nouveau Indian you need more than allegiance to a pint of beer and a frequent flyer card. In fact, you don’t need to announce who you know, but how much you know about who you don't know. A mouse click is your key to education.
When Nandan Nilekani quits Infosys to join the government, he announces, “I will be going to lead a programme to give identity to every Indian. But today I am losing my identity.” With this self-effacing comment he is no different from those who claim to do something for the country. In martyr-deadpan tone, he says, “I’m supposed to work with 600 government departments knowing fully well that no two government departments get along with one another.”
This is the mature brash, fired in the kiln of hubris. It has to be accepted. Our prime minister concurs: “I sincerely hope that in due course we can enlarge the involvement of intellectuals in governance.”
While it is true that some of our bumpkin type ministers were counter-productive, is there any guarantee that those with education and resources will truly make a difference? For being a co-founder and co-chairperson of a company for 28 years, the new India is expected to blindly accept the sagacity of such intellectuals.
When Rajiv Gandhi brought in Sam Pitroda, the results were evident in small towns where PCOs sprung up. It may not have been a revolution but it was something that people in those places needed. This same man will now probably head the Vedanta University, spread across 6000 acres of land, that will have research wings and Olympic style sports complexes. Who is this for? We are getting more and more elitist and brushing the dirt under nuclear submarines.
The public figure patriot is one who knows how to shrug with panache. Shashi Tharoor stands with hand on heart while the national anthem is being played because that is what he did in America. He forgets he is contesting an Indian election, but his goof-up is forgiven. He now represents the external affairs ministry. However, those buying plastic flags will be taken to task because it is an insult.
The airlines are losing money, yet Narendra Modi spends Rs 90,000 a day on flights.
It isn’t that all was well earlier. We had the ‘India is Indira’ times, but we also had an alternative. These days even dissent has become upwardly mobile. People throw shoes at ministers and not slippers. The minister smiles beatifically because, as they say in the west, s**t happens. This time the “Oh, Indian!” isn’t a smirk directed at the literal. Freedom’s just another blurb designed for the Oscars.
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