Mediocrity is a big
bore. What can be interesting about
people fighting for power, money and manipulations? I never took interest in politics for a large
part of my youth and my well-wishers said it was because I was too full of
myself. They were not entirely wrong, I
agree. I was an egomaniac to a great
extent. But I was interesting enough to
entertain my well-wishers. Otherwise
they wouldn’t have taken me as seriously as they did.
Eventually I began to
take interest in politics. I was forced
to. The massacre of the Sikhs that
followed Indira Gandhi’s assassination jolted me, but I rationalised it as a
reaction, disproportionate though, to the brutal killing of a prime minister by
her own security guards.
When Graham Staines was
burnt in his wagon along with his two sons aged 10 and 6, I was hurt too deeply
to write about it. The gruesome act was
perpetrated by Bajrang Dal fundamentalists who claimed that Staines was
converting Hindus into Christians. I
have always opposed religious conversions.
But I have always defended works of charity carried out by religious
people because India needs such works.
The kind of work that was done by Staines had no comparison with the
kind of violence perpetrated by Bajrang Dal.
India does not need violence.
What hurt me beyond words was the killing of the two innocent boys. Nothing justifies such cruelty. Such cruelty makes religion and culture a big
mockery.
While a dominant
political party harped on Islamic terrorism in India, it failed to look at its
own terrorism, the kind of violence unleashed on the country by its
allies. This led me to take interest in
politics.
A decade and a half after
the murder of Staines, the missionary made an appearance in the novel which I
was writing (and which is still in the process). Let me quote the passage from that novel:
Graham Stuart
Staines and his two little sons were burnt alive in their station wagon by some
Hindu fanatics in Orissa. Father Joseph
was extremely worried about certain happenings in many parts of the country. Christians were the targets of many recent
attacks in Gujarat where churches were vandalised wantonly. Maybe, a new leader was emerging, thought
Father Joseph. Religion has been the
handmaid of political power more often than not.
The Staines
couple worked among the poor tribal people neglected by their government,
particularly those inflicted with leprosy.
They brought dignity to human lives.
“They
corrupted the tribal culture,” explained Mahendra Hembram, one of the killers.
“How did they
corrupt the tribal culture?” asked the prosecutor.
“They made
the people eat beef. They made the women
wear bras. They stuffed sanitary pads
between the women’s legs.”
The new leader who was
emerging in the novel goes on to become the Prime Minister of the country. A lot of massacres were perpetrated in the
meanwhile, the Gujarat riots of 2002 being the most unforgettable.
What is interesting about
such politics? What can be interesting
about communal hatred, violence and massacre?
Along with those, now we have the comedy of petrol and diesel prices rising
like an arrogant but whimsical kite whose thread is in the hands of a boy of
the type that Shakespeare immortalised in King Lear: “As flies to wanton boys
are we to th’ gods, / They kill us for their sport.”
My grocer and vegetable
vendor and fish vendor, almost anyone on whom I depend for my essential
requirements tell me, “When the fuel prices rise, everything becomes dearer
because everything is brought by transport systems that depend on the
fuels.”
So I decide to tighten my
belt and sit before my laptop converting my hunger into words for blogs. That’s not interesting exactly, I guess.
I find myself longing for
statesmen instead of politicians. I long
to listen to at least one political leader today who can tell us that there is
a way ahead of this mess that the country has become. I turn the pages of the three newspapers with
which I begin my mornings hoping to read at least one report that gives me
reason for hope. Perhaps, that hope is
interesting. Hope was the last item in
Pandora’s Box.
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