WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE PRIME TIME NEWS ?

 I am a happy man these days, or at least as happy as anyone can be in this Ram rajya where even 1600 CTVs and 400 security guards could not prevent His abode from being looted by His own bhakts. To be clear, however: I am not happy because Mr. Pradhan has resigned as Education Minister (he has not), or because Mr. Modi has returned his AI generated award from Seychelles (he will not), or because Kangana Ranaut has taken a vow of silence for one year (she cannot)- all these are worthy objectives but the persona involved are genetically incapable of attaining them. So why am I in this happy frame of mind? I am happy, dear reader, because I can now again watch television at prime time, something I had given up doing because news is no longer worth a straw (more on that later). But now that we have a veritable banquet of sports laid out before us- Women's T20 World Cup, India's T20 tour of England, the FIFA world Cup, Wimbledon- my prime time is fully catered for, God's in his heaven, and Arnab Goswami, Navika Kumar and Padmaja Joshi et al  can go take a dump in the Ghazipur landfill or the Miti river, for all I care.

There was a time, about a decade ago, when news channels like NDTV, TIMES NOW and INDIA TODAY did a fairly good job of purveying domestic news, and one looked forward to the nightly prime time news. Now, however, these  channels have become pathetic caricatures of journalism, what they share with us is their paid "views", not news; their views are dictated by their corporate owners and the PMO, not the public's interest; their undisguised agenda is to praise the government and the ruling party and to run down the Opposition generally, and Rahul Gandhi in particular. The fawning and sycophancy on display every evening would, in fact, be sickening if it were also not so toxic and divisive, inciting bigotry and hatred in equal measure.

If one wishes to master the art of lazy journalism one should study the methods of our English news channels. They make no attempt to deploy reporters in the states to gather news at first hand-that costs money; it is cheaper to subscribe to feeder news agencies, most of whom are also hand maidens of the ruling dispensation. But even their inputs are rarely followed up or reported on- that will require editorial effort and journalistic ability which our star anchors and news editors lack. The easiest and least expensive option, therefore, is to dump the news and jump straightaway into a "Debate" or a "Panel Discussion" in the comfort of an air-conditioned studio in NOIDA.

The subjects for these discussions are carefully curated to ensure that no embarrassment is caused to the powers that be (which are also the powers that see, you see.) So Cockroach party is ignored, as are Rahul Gandhi's visit to, or warnings about, the Great Nicobar project, as are also events held by prominent civil society organisations to protest against govt. policies or practices, or anything that does not show the govt. or its supporting entities in good light. Equally abominable is the fact that, once these over-paid anchors get their fangs into a subject, they stick to them like leeches, refusing to let go until the last morsel of propaganda is extracted from them: the whole of April went into rubbing the TMC loss in Bengal into Mamata Banerjee's face and gloating over the defections from the TMC to the BJP, May was devoted to Hormuz and refighting Operation Sindoor, June was consumed by framing a narrative about the hypocrisy of the Opposition in condemning the Ram Mandir loot even though they never supported the construction of the temple(!), July is dedicated to Mr. Modi receiving more meaningless awards in Indonesia.                                                                                                                             It's as if no other news occurred which was worth mentioning during this period. There has hardly even been a mention of the three most consequential judgments in the last fortnight by the Supreme Court, a High Court and a district court: the right to walk and access footpaths as a fundamental right, that criticism of the government is not a crime, and a rare life conviction of fourteen "gau rakshaks" for  lynching a truck driver in 2022. Each of these judgments has the potential to empower the ordinary citizen and reverse the rot in the system, but for "news" channels they do not merit a mention, let alone an informed discussion.

The "debates" themselves are modelled on the pattern of a jury trial in Russia - the topic is carefully selected to suit the propaganda narrative of the day, the verdict is already decided and conveyed over a secure phone line to these studio mannequins, the panelists consist of assorted spokespersons of political parties, BJP supporters masquerading as "political analysts", some journalists to impart a facade of neutrality, and (in the case of Republic TV) a few sacrificial goats from Pakistan who can be impaled on Arnab Goswami's lance, perhaps for a few shekels.

But the clincher is the "star anchor", the referee who is firmly in the saffron corner, wearing a khaki "katccha" beneath that corporate outfit. In fact, the BJP spokesperson is not really needed, for all the heavy lifting for the ruling party and govt. is done by these anchors. They decide which questions to ask, who is allowed to speak and for how long, whose mike to cut off (on the Parliament model). Instead of being a moderator and leaving the exchange of views to the participants, these opionated anchors monopolise most of the available time, taking over the BJP spokesperson's role, doing all the rebutting, answering, scolding and heckling. The others don't stand a chance! In fact, given that these debates are more like half-encounters on the U.P. police pattern, I am left wondering why any sensible person even agrees to attend these disgusting episodes of journalistic homicide.

This, in a nutshell, is the state of prime time news in Naya Bharat, folks. Ponder over this while I return to Wimbledon, to watch the indefatigable Djokovic take on the inscrutable Sinner, assured that the match is not rigged and the referee is not bought out .

THE CRUELEST MONTH

T.S. Eliot had dubbed April as "the cruelest month" in one of his poems; I am sure he had his reasons for doing so, but it does reveal that he was not one of the 40 million odd Indian taxpayers. For, had he been one, he would have vehemently disagreed- in India, the cruelest month is July, and it has nothing to do with a delayed monsoon or a pensioner's annual ordeal of submitting a Life Certificate to prove that he is still alive and kicking. The cruelty of the month derives from the fact that it is the month when we have to render unto Caesar what is definitely not Caesar's- a large part of the wages of our toil have to be handed over to Ms Sitharaman as income tax, along with an ITR which is as decipherable as the Dead Sea Scrolls and needs an expensive CA to do the job. 

I have just shelled out one fourth of my annual income, comprising of pension, interest from fixed deposits, a dash of capital gains, and a drizzle of royalties and remuneration for my books and articles from grudging editors and publishers. The wolf is not at my door yet, but it is getting closer every year. And, for the life of me, I cannot see the justice in the government looting a large portion of my coffers every year, without doing anything for me in return. Whatever happened to the adage No quid pro, no quid? 

I can understand a tax on my pension, since the government is entitled to recover some part of what it paid me for doing nothing for thirty-five years. I can also see the logic in taxing the interest on deposits etc.- they are passive income, unearned moolah I have not laboured for. But why capital gains?  If property prices go up it's not because of the government, it's because of relentless population growth, rapid urbanisation because the villages continue to languish in poverty and lack of development, because of the dismal failure of the Smart Cities programme.  The government's only contribution is to ensure that the cities keep deteriorating but it will take its undeserved cut of any price increase. Take shares: they go up, inspite of a failing economy and declining FDI and FPI (the government's contribution!), because of insider trading, price rigging, cronyism, and a gullible retail investor. The inexplicable rise of the Sensex has nothing to do with economic logic and the government's contribution again is zero, if not negative. So why should Ms Sitharaman get a share of this gain?

Taxing what the editors and publishers pay me (after many reminders!) is a raid on my intellectual, if not personality, rights. Writers are doing a public service by keeping alive the habit of reading, an activity (or lack of it) which is on ventilator support. Nobody reads nowadays, lacking the attention span to read more than 140 words, preferring Tik Tok reels and emojis. A recent study by the Booker Awards Institute reveals that only 4% Indians read books (about the same number as pay income tax- is there a connection here?). Nobody other than Shashi Tharoor or Chetan Bhagat make any money by writing, the rest of us get by on crumbs from the Amazon toast. We also take a huge risk every time we put pen to paper, not knowing when we might be hauled off to a police station for sedition, criminal defamation or contempt of court. I learn banks are now offering special FDs termed as Bail Deposits: the interest on them starts at a low 4% but goes up by one percent for every year you stay out of jail; the full amount can be redeemed after eight years or whenever you are arrested, whichever is earlier. Even the interest income from these deposits shall be taxable, with an "Anti-National" surcharge. There are rumours that insurance companies, sensing a great market opportunity, will shortly launch insurance policies to provide financial cover for arrests under UAPA and deportation under the Citizenship Act. Now that the Passport has been shown its place they expect this market to grow at a CAG of 20%. 

There used to be a time (which I can barely recall now) when the best things in life were supposed to be free. No longer. They are now taxed at 28% GST. It is no coincidence that the words "taxidermist" and "taxman" have their first three letters in common. The only difference between them is that the taxidermist skins you after you are dead, while the taxman does so while one is still alive. And the final question: now that it has been officially declared that no Indian has a document which provides  "conclusive" proof of his citizenship, how come we still have to pay taxes as Indians? 

" ARE YOU FLETCHER ? "

 It has been my experience that every District Collectorate is usually haunted by its own resident lunatic, somewhat like ancient mansions possessing their resident spectres who do not look kindly on new arrivals. These benignly deranged persons are usually quite harmless, and in them the spirit of violence is replaced by the litigatious and bureaucratic urge, as is perhaps to be expected considering the nature of their demesne. They are generally persons who, during their days of sanity, were closely involved or connected with the functioning of some wing of the Collectorate- usually the Collector's court pertaining to land disputes- and can never forget the connection thereafter, even when they drift into the twilight zone. Even in their muddled mental state they are well informed about the Collectorate's hierarchies and functioning.

     I still recollect quite clearly my first few minutes in the Deputy Commissioner's office in a district bordering Punjab, my first posting as DC, at the age of 28 . I had barely lowered my UPSC vetted posterior into the hallowed upholstery when there was a shout from the orderly outside, the door was flung open violently and a veritable salamander of an old silver- haired woman rushed inside, eyes blazing and a thick bundle of papers under her skeletal arm. A vigorous two year training at Mussoorie had not prepared one for an encounter of this kind and I wondered whether I should call out the army or impose section 144 CrPC.

    Just then the old harridan addressed me in an imperial tone. " Are you Fletcher?" she asked. Now, the only Fletcher I had heard of was an ICS officer who had been Financial Commissioner of undivided Punjab in British times, a proper Koi Hai who had made quite an impression with the local yokels by doing stupid things like intensively touring the villages, settling disputes on the spot and generally keeping the revenue officials on a tight leash- something we IAS types frowned upon. He was-hopefully-long dead. I therefore surmised the reference was to this blister.

    " No," I ventured, " but can I help you?" The aged crone gave me a withering look.

   " You!" she exclaimed, "these papers are worth ten lakhs and I shall give them only to Fletcher! I wouldn't trust you to even sign the attendance register!" And with that she left in a huff. Notwithstanding my bruised magisterial pride I made inquiries and discovered that this old lady had been quite mad for over a decade. She had seen better times and once possessed 20 acres of irrigated land but had lost it all in litigations. Fletcher had apparently tried to help her out, so her poor addled mind constantly harked back to him, and she used to haunt the collectorate looking for him, especially whenever a new Collector joined the post.

   This particular district was/is the most litigatious in the whole of Himachal. A boy from Una is not considered worthy of manhood till he has filed at least two FIRs and submitted three complaints against a government officer. The local residents have a better knowledge of the law than most High Court judges, and when making a complaint also helpfully suggest the precise sections of the IPC/CRPC/Prevention of Corruption Act, etc. that should be applied. One such libelant was perpetually parked at the gate of my residence, noting down the details of all visitors and anything that was brought into the house (vegetables, groceries, sweets, et al). Every evening he would send the list to the Chief Minister's office at Shimla, seeking an inquiry. Apparently, some like-minded gnome at Shimla used to read them, because I was once asked to explain why I had accepted two kilos of mangoes from the MLA of Amb ! This particular MLA was one Mr. Hansraj Akhrot, peace be upon him, and he was the biggest miser I have ever met. I informed the govt. in my reply that getting a kilo of anything from Mr. Akhrot was equivalent to getting back the Kohinoor from the British queen, and I should be commended for inspiring him to part with anything. The gnome in Shimla must have agreed with me because I never heard from him again.

   My second Collectorate in Bilaspur also had its own mad-hatter-in-residence. He was allowed the run of the place and could walk into any room. An orderly could stop him only at great bodily risk. The first time I tried to stop him (being new to the place) he quietly left. He came back five minutes later and handed me my transfer orders, signed and sealed by himself ! Thereafter I gave up.

   Bhagat Ram (that was his name) had a passion for obtaining signatures. He somehow managed to lay his hands on all kinds of official forms (for telephones, gas connections, driving licences, ration cards, cement permits, etc.) and would diligently make the rounds everyday, getting them signed from a clerk to the Collector: he desired nothing else. A simple scrawl made him so happy that no one had the heart to refuse him. In return he took it upon himself to maintain discipline and law and order outside my office. He especially disliked politicians (can one blame him ?) and many were the MLAs who were not allowed to enter my office. He once even disallowed the Supdt.of Police, because the latter was not in uniform! He always had a crackling salute for me, however, every morning and evening. I sometimes miss it, even today.

WHERE HAVE ALL THE DRAGON-FLIES GONE ?

 Biodiversity is perhaps the most unacknowledged component of the natural environment, and the attention of policy makers rarely goes beyond trees and animals, if even that. But biodiversity is much more than just trees and animals. It is the building block of nature, without which there would be no nature, or an inhabitable planet. Biodiversity is the extraordinary variety of all living things on earth. It encompasses plants, animals, micro-organisms, fungi and even pathogens, the genetic information they carry, and the complex eco-systems they create. I've learnt this the hard way, and am only just beginning to understand it.

When I acquired my half acre of land in Puranikoti village in 2002, there were only two houses here; the landscape comprised rolling, grassy hillsides with a few apple trees and some deodars and blue pine. My own plot was carpeted with wild daisies, buttercups, lilies and primroses. The place was practically overrun with bees, butterflies, cicadas and dragon-flies, and there was a continuous buzzing sound on sunny days. The birds formed the next level on the foodchain, and were in turn subordinate to the feral cats and pine martins. Purani Koti was a biodiversity hotspot!

Not any more. Most of the land in the village has been built over, the trees felled, the buzzing of dragon-flies replaced with the rasping of jack hammers and saws. To compensate I have planted more than 200 trees on my land, of the fruit and jungle varieties. But it has been of no avail, for trees alone on just one plot cannot create biodiversity. For the lowest tier of natural growth in the area- the grasses,  bushes, ferns, wild flowers, creepers - have all gone, the soil has lost its capacity to store rain and snow or to retain moisture. With the disappearance of this living building bloc of nature, the insects that depended on it have also started vanishing. A few, very few butterflies and bees still delight us but I have not seen any dragon-flies this year: I fear their niche has disappeared and they are gone for ever. In a year or two the bees and butterflies will also abandon this biodiverse wasteland. Which, along with global warming, probably explains why we can no longer grow the fruits- apple, pears, apricot, cherries- that we used to: with the biodiversity gone, there are no insects left to pollinate their flowers or birds to spread the seeds. 

This loss of precious biodiversity is rarely factored into our planning and developmental processes. What is reluctantly considered (at most) is forest or green cover- i.e. number of trees to be felled. These are quantified and valued, the amount paid by the project proponent and twice that number planted as compensatory afforestation. The loss of biodiversity is completely ignored and never compensated for. Some figures from Himachal may better illustrate the point: Himachal's forest area is 37000 sq kms (37 lakh hectares), and  a 2024 study by the Bhopal Institute of Forest management  quantifies its biodiversity value at Rs. 33000 crore PER ANNUM. In other words, the biodiversity contribution value of every hectare of the forests is Rs. 89000/ per annum. Working out its NPV over a typical 25-30 year life cycle of any project, the state should be charging at least Rs. 30 lakhs for every hectare of forest diverted for non-forest use. But this is not done because no value is attached to biodiversity.

This may, however, be changing globally, even as we in India continue to fell millions of trees every year on grandiloquent schemes that will displace the livelihoods of thousands of forest dependent communities but enrich crony oligarchs by a few trillion dollars more. Peru, for example, has become the first country in the world to give legal protection to insects (in this case its famous stingless bees). Recognizing the ecological importance of these tiny pollinators of the Amazon forests which pollinate 80% of the Amazon's tropical fruits, just this month it has enacted a law that recognizes their right to exist, to a clean and intact habitat, to regenerate, and to receive legal representation if pollution, deforestation and projects threaten their survival. Anyone, company or individual, who threatens these rights can be sued and prosecuted.

Similarly, in Wales the river Wye has received legal protection of its "rights of nature" from its catchment to the sea. The new charter recognizes the river as a living ecosystem with intrinsic right to exist, i.e the right to flow, the right to its biodiversity, the right to be free from pollution, the right to regenerate and to a healthy catchment. Any citizen can now go to court to enforce these rights. New Zealand too has given legal status to the Whanganui river. Mount Taranaki has been given legal guardianship through an 8 member Guardian Council consisting of four govt. experts and four tribal representatives: no project, govt. or private can be sanctioned there without the approval of this Council. In the Canadian province of Quebec a town, Terrasse Vaudreuil, has passed a "Universal Declaration of the Rights of the Tree" which recognises that trees are living beings with rights, that life on earth depends on them, and that humans must act "in solidarity and fraternity" with them. This lays the legal groundwork for protecting them in future. In India, the Uttarakhand High Court in 2017 had recognized the Ganga as "a living entity" with legal rights but the ruling was inexplicably stayed by the Supreme Court, and the matter continues in limbo.

The Peru, New Zealand, Canadian and Wales laws are small beginnings in realising the importance of protecting ecosystems and biodiversity as a whole, not just trees and forests in isolation.  One hopes our governments, courts and the NGT take note of these developments, dispel their sense of omniscience, and rouse themselves from their  slumber, sloth and lack of understanding of ecological issues. Then-and only then- will the dragonflies perhaps return to Puranikoti and reclaim what is rightfully theirs.  

BOOK REVIEW - INDONESIA, THE BEAUTIFUL ARCHIPELAGO.

           INDONESIA- THE BEAUTIFUL ARCHIPELAGO

           BY   AFTAB  SETH

               PUBLISHED BY BIRCH BOOKS, 2026.

                            

There are two types of diplomats, as Mani Shankar Aiyar points out in the review appended to the book. The first are the wolf warriors, of the type so ably represented by Mr Sibi George of the recent press-conference-in- Denmark fame, who have no interest in their host country and are full time proselytisers of their own. The second are the sensitive, scholar type diplomats who are deeply interested in the country they are assigned to, who wish to understand its cultural, historical, political and administrative facets, so that they can project their own country's interests in a proper context and not in a vacuum. Aftab Seth, mercifully, belongs to this second, old school, and this book is the result of his efforts to understand Indonesia: he served there as Chef-de-Mission for two years in the mid 80's, and this book gives his perceptions from that time.

Indonesia- the beautiful archipelago- is the largest Muslim country in the world ( 87% of its population-240 million-are Muslim), and yet it is not an "Islamic" nation in the sense that Pakistan and Iran perhaps are. Though Islam entered the archipelago in the 13th century (on the back of trade, and not conquest, as in India) and had spread throughout Sumatra, Java and other islands by the 16th, it was never able to supplant the strongly entrenched tenets of Hindu, Buddhist and Javan mysticism elements that preceded it. As such, Islam here has become an "assimilative" and syncretic religion, and not a revolutionary one. Two other factors also encouraged this remarkable adaption of an essentially rigid religion: one, it  helped that 150 years of  Dutch colonial rule had created an elite that was "secular" and whose traditional privileges distanced them from the austerity and fraternal egalitarianism of Islam. Second, that the first two Presidents of the country- Soekarno and Suharto- who laid its foundations, both kept political Islam at arm's length. They did not consider it's divisiveness as a sound platform for the nation to build on, and instead opted for nationalism. The result was the Panchsila doctrine- one Supreme God, civilised humanity, the unity of Indonesia, democracy, social justice- which cuts across religion and cultures and is acceptable to all. It is not only a guiding compass for the nation but also a force that unites. Aftab says it has worked , for Indonesia rarely witnesses the kind of communal confrontations that we do in India.

The book provides informative thumb nail portraits of the bricks and mortar that make up the Indonesian edifice. The Bureaucracy (more Indianised than Islamic in its origins, dominated by the Javanese, drawn from secular and missionary schools, cosmopolitan and secular in outlook); the Armed forces (more aligned with the bureaucracy than with Parliament, the real repository of political power); Parliament (more representative of the country's ethnic, regional and religious diversity than the bureaucracy) ; Political parties (so structured as to rule out the revival of Islam in any disruptive form); the Legal System (which still shows the influence of colonial period racial and social inequalities, one where secular courts exist side by side with Islamic ones (albeit with limited jurisdiction), one in which there exists a tension between adat or customary law and Islamic law; Media and Press (flourishing but tightly controlled-not through proscribing or censorship but through hints, nudges and discreet phone calls). What I found particularly fascinating is the competitive jostling between the major religions- Islam, Hinduism, Christianity, Buddhism- as also between the ethnic groups, persistent but  without any violent animosity. The government plays an important role in maintaining this equilibrium; one can't help but feel that there is a lesson here for our own Indian establishment and society. 

Of particular interest to the Indian reader would be the chapter on Education because it shows how Indonesia has been able to bridge the contentious chasm of competing religious pedagogy. The state's education policy, observes the author, seeks to foster a tolerant, plural and multi-polar society. Towards this end religious instruction is an integral part of its education system, but care is taken to ensure that Islamic education is balanced with secular faculties. As in India, there is a parallel structure of madrasas, but these teach secular subjects too in equal proportion. In fact, says Aftab, the madrasas are a force for the modernisation of Islamic education and the loosening of ritualistc teachings. This is borne out by the fact that the orthodox ulemas oppose the madrasas! Just as the Islamisation of the nation's society was a gradual process, so too will the modernisation of Islam be an incremental process, feels the author, and education will play a big role in this. Surely, our own ulemas and leaders of the Muslim community can learn from this example instead of resisting reform at every stage.

A few pages are devoted to describing the various political parties in the country, its  relations with other nations (including India), the author's interactions with prominent Indonesian leaders, the shared attributes of our two civilisations. This may not interest the average Indian reader, but these pages contain precious nuggets of reflections and observations for the ones who wish to better understand the complex genetic structure of Islam and how it has adapted itself to different domains: the brand of "Gandhian Islam" (Islam with a human face) espoused by President  Abdur Rahman Wahid, the concept of Indonesia as a "non-secular but non-theocratic state", the legitimacy or otherwise of relocating mosques as provided in the Quran and the Hadith, the competitive "neo-orthodox" and "neo-modernism" trends in Indonesian Islam. These teach us not to regard the religion as a monolithic one but one with many variations.

The latter part of the book takes us on a tour of the islands and regions that make up the country- Aceh, West Sumatra, Yogyakarta, Java and Bali, the last two bastions of Indic influence. Of them, Bali appears closest to Aftab's heart, perhaps because its rich artistic culture- dances, masks, wood carving, stone cutting and sculpture, paintings, museums and monuments- appeal to his own refined senses and tastes, or perhaps because his wife, Nilima, had trained in Balinese dancing! Incidentally, Aftab does not forget to remind us of the love Rabindranath Tagore had for Indonesia, his visits to Yogyakarta, Java and Bali, and his own efforts to promote Tagore's message of assimilation of cultures and humanism.

This book is a more than welcome effort to get us to know more about a country with which we have a lot in common, one which at its nearest point is only 90 kms  away from us (less than the distance between Delhi and Karnal!) but about which we know less than nothing. Quite clearly this book is a labour of love for Aftab Seth, among the last of a vanishing breed of scholar- diplomats.

GYMKHANA CLUB AND THE POWER OF MYTHS.

Delhi's chatterati, who always need something more than just fried peanuts with their gin and tonic, are abuzz these days with the latest canapes: the Modi government's hostile take- over of Gymkhana Club. It's not a done deal yet, but rest assured that our higher judiciary, with judgments like Ram Mandir, SIR, Umar Khalid, Aravallis, Hindenberg/SEBI, Pegasus, etc. under its belt, will finally approve non-passive euthanasia for  this last watering hole for the drones of South Delhi.

No one, of course, believes the reason cited by the govt. itself for the action, viz, that the 27 acres is needed for security/defence purposes: this is the default position of the govt. for all decisions which push the boundaries of legality and/ or good sense. Hence, there is much feverish speculation about the real motives for this surgical strike: the Club's administrative and financial mess, non-payment of dues to the government, turning the entire area into a semi-militarized zone so that a Bangladesh, Nepal or January 6th type of incident never happens, fear of the Cockroach Janata Party, a real estate operation which will ultimately benefit the Melodi loving leader's cronies. But all this assumes that this govt. acts rationally, which past decisions do not bear out. I have, therefore, a different take which matches the leopard's spots, as it were.

The BJP is a party which is founded on, and which survives on, myths- past, present and future. It originates from the myths of ancient India-our epics, Akhand Bharat, the existence of plastic surgery, aeroplanes, nuclear missiles thousands of years ago, etc. In the present it rules on the strength of other myths- Vishwaguru, fastest growing economy in the world, leader of the Global South, wolf warrior diplomacy, "ghar me ghus ke maarenge", developed country by 2047, Net Zero emissions by 2075, and so on. None of these myths are based on facts or have a rational basis, but constant reiteration has converted them into legal fiction and have kept the BJP in power for more than a decade.

Gymkhana Club is a victim of two such myths-  Lutyen's Delhi/ Khan Market gang (which work actively against the BJP), and Colonial Legacy (which diminishes our own glorious culture). Both are fake, or at least selectively applied to suit the government's narrative.

The BJP believes that the privileged residents of Lutyen's Delhi are inimical to the party and conspire against it, and that Gymkhana Club is its hub. Wrong. There is no such thing as Lutyen's Delhi and the Khan Market gang became the Khanna Market gang in 2014. The 2800 hectares known as Lutyen's Delhi is occupied by politicians, mostly of saffron hue, who subsist on subsidies many times that enjoyed by the members of Gymkhana: serving bureaucrats who cannot even take a toilet break without written approval from their political masters; and industrialists fully house-trained by the ED, CBI and Income Tax. They ARE the BJP!

The retired bureaucrats and defense forces officers who haunt the Gymkhana bar also did a "ghar wapsi" years ago. I am a member of various groups of retired officers, and I can confidently state that the vast majority of my brethren- 75-80%- support the BJP ideology, 10-15% may not but will not open their mouths for fear of jeopardizing their pensions. the rest are so soaked in gin-and-tonic they can't press their own doorbell, let alone an EVM button. Those who possess the courage and the conviction to criticise the government are few and far between, and getting fewer with each successive election.

Lutyen's Delhi (and the Gymkhana) are, therefore  de facto BJP territory, as both Sanjay Jha and Vir Sanghvi have also pointed out, and the BJP knows it. So why take over the Club? Pause that question for the nonce, dear reader, we shall come to it later.

The "Colonial mind-set" myth is used as an alibi for this govt's failures, to distract attention away from them, and to find a convenient whipping boy to rally the troops, or voters. Gymkhana is the whipping boy this time, to burnish the BJP's non-existent credentials as the champion of the poor, and to divert the voters' attention away from the goodies being gifted daily to the crony oligarchs. How can this bunch of effete elites and their colonial era club ( so goes the specious argument built on a false myth) be allowed to grab valuable govt. land and live a subsidised life when 800 million have to be fed on doles? Such a narrative, refined by Mr Amit Malvia, contains all the ingredients of the Colonial myth- alibi, distraction and scapegoat. That it is patently false (like the Khan Market gang myth) is beside the point- myths appeal to us precisely because they provide an escape from reality.

Gymkhana Club is a victim of these two myths. But it is just the beginning: this narrative, perhaps a counter to the Cockroach movement, will be rolled out across the country- the Maharashtra govt. has already served notices to 16 prominent clubs in Mumbai. For what an authoritarian or fascist govt. needs at all times is an "enemy" to rally the nation behind it. Voltaire had said "If  God did not exist it would be necessary to invent Him". Replace "God" with "Enemy" and you have the reason why colonial era Clubs are the new enemy, and why 6000 members of Gymkhana will now have to find another watering hole in this urban jungle. Never underestimate the power of myth making.

Am I sad ? I don't really know. I was not a member of Gymkhana- my application was rejected after a waiting period of ten years without assigning any reason. But I shall miss its nonpareil mutton cutlets- they don't make them like that anywhere in India. They probably WERE a colonial hand -down, but then not all legacies are bad, are they?

A BRIEF GUIDE TO OFFICIAL DINNERS.

 

 

The IAS, unlike its progenitor the ICS, will bequeath few memories other than those of Chief Secretaries being voted the most corrupt by their own colleagues or launching inquiries against their predecessors. But as the service now heads for an inevitable merger with either the Vivekananda Foundation or the Observer Research Group, it is heartening to note that it will leave behind at least one innovative institution—the Official Dinner ( or OD). There are two major practitioners of the OD: the Army and the IAS. The former has an advantage in the matter of finding funds (and reasons) for justifying ODs, because it can debit all expenses to Raising Days, Regimental Days and Shobha Des, but the IAS has to be more inventive because it is under the ever watchful gaze of some whistleblower or CAG just waiting to ambush them with a book titled THE ACCIDENTAL INVITEE or NOT JUST A DINER-THE DIARY OF  A NATION’S AUTONOMOUS GOURMET. It is for this reason that the IAS is given a higher pay-scale than the Armed Forces: explaining the loss of a dozen tandoori chickens from the pantry of Hotel Holiday Home requires far more management skills than accounting for a dozen missing jawans on the LOC.

Recruits to the IAS are initiated into the arcane ritual of the OD in the Academy at Mussoorie. Its presiding capo di tuti capi (or Director) hosts mock ODs frequently where the basics are spliced into the probationers’ DNA. I still remember two of them: one, “never open your mouth till the food is near it”, which perhaps explains why the IAS is so reluctant to open its collective mouth and speak out. The second rule stipulated that one should never speak ACROSS the table, but only to the persons on either side, even if the guy on the left happened to be a carbuncle from the IFS or the bloke on the right a blister from the IPS, and one was desperate to chat up the lady across the table with a view to marrying her because she had been allotted one’s home state ( UP, in most cases) while said one was exiled for life to Nagaland.                                                                                                                     We were also taught the difference between a butter knife and a fish knife (the former for marinating one’s political bosses and the latter for gutting colleagues), between a soup spoon and a dessert spoon ( the former for raking it in and the latter for being politically correct). The uses of the versatile “chamcha” is something we discovered for ourselves later, and adopted as the most valuable of all cutlery.                                                           The most draconian rule was that when the Director stopped eating and put down his knife and fork, everyone stopped eating too. Since the Director, as befitted a Godfather, was the first to be served and the 400th probationer served about twenty minutes later, by the time the former finished masticating and had begun the excavations with his toothpick, about 200 of us had not even sniffed the soup. This accounts for the fact that the IAS is always first in line at the feeding trough: it’s a hard lesson learnt well.

   Since the IAS controls 600+ districts, 100+ Ministries and a few thousand programmes, finding a reason for throwing an OD is never a problem. There are a few, however, that deserve special mention:

THE PSU (PUBLIC SECTOR UNDERTAKING) DINNER: held after every Board meeting, it is meant to console the officers for the huge losses they have notched up. Intended to occupy the commanding heights of our economy, our PSUs were dislodged from there even quicker than the Pak soldiers from the heights of Kargil. Now in the valley of death, their officers will not go, however, without a fight- sorry, bite- hence the dinners, slotted under “ Any other item” in the agenda.

THE EAP (EXTERNALLY AIDED PROJECT) DINNER: EAPs are a kind of international CSR where other countries give us moneys as aid, and then take them back through consultancies, technology transfer and equipment. We are usually left with only enough money to host a dinner every quarter, on which we spend every remaining dime lest they take that back too.

THE CENTRAL TEAM DINNER: when Secretaries in Govt. of India can no longer stand their wives’ cooking they usually take off to a state to “ review progress” on various schemes. The review consists of visits to temples, golf resorts, shopping on the Mall and a seven course dinner at night. The strong batch- mate network and an innovative menu ensures glowing reports for the state govt.

THE FAREWELL DINNER: modelled on the Last Supper, it is given for senior officers who are about to kick the waste-bin- i.e., retire. It even has a Judas in attendance- the guy who is hoping to succeed the retiree. There is, however, a notable departure from the Biblical allusion: whereas Christ went on to a glorious crucifixion and rose again on the third day, the IAS worthy rises again the very next day, reemployed in some Commission or Tribunal. The farewell dinner is usually organised by Judas himself to ensure that the retiring potentate is artfully estopped from coming back into the service. It is not surprising, therefore, that on occasion officers have to be brought screaming and shouting to their farewell dinners. In my case the Chief Secretary had to send a bulldozer to ensure my presence ( actually, the roads were snowed in, but I have a sneaking suspicion the CS was covering all contingencies!).

THE RAJ BHAVAN DINNER: no IAS officer ever wants to attend one of these ghastly death-watches, but an invitation from the Governor is actually an order. We go to such dinners half choked by “ bandh galla” coats originally tailored in the Academy when we were chinless wonders, now wrapped around Adam’s apples of the extra large variety which would have shocked both Eve and the serpent. These dinners are solemn, if not funereal, affairs; the victuals are really quite good though the only spirit in attendance is one of nationalism. Ministers bump into senior bureaucrats, the Governor bumps into the furniture and everybody escapes as soon as he can after the national anthem has been played for the third time.

   All ODs share two traits. One, there has to be a Chief Guest, who is generally the Chief Minister or the Chief Secretary: although having either dampens the evening, it is a tactical necessity to ensure that Finance doesn’t object to the bill when presented. The Chief Guest in Himachal, which I haunted like Banquo’s ghost for 35 years, just HAS to wear either a maroon ( BJP) or green ( Congress) Himachali cap, depending on which party is in power. The smarter ones have now started investing in Aam Aadmi caps, just in case.

   Second, and this is something Mr. Vinod Rai may like to look into when he has time from his six current assignments, is a peculiar feature in all OD bills: the number of chickens consumed ! The per capita average is two, which appears high even if we factor in the disappearance of all other shades of meats post Yogi Adityanath. Are IAS chaps such solid trenchermen, what with their selection grade ulcers and apex scale haemorrhoids ? Not really. The answer lies in the fact that since all liquor is impermissible at govt. dinners, and cannot be so billed, therefore this Hippocrene beverage is billed as chickens. A peg of single malt is worth a whole chicken, a scotch two legs, a shot of rum is equivalent to a wing, a glass of wine equals a breast (its for the ladies, see) and so on. Quite ingenious, and definitely deserving of the two additional increments the IAS gets over its peers. And this  also provides the answer to that much asked question: Why did the pair of chickens cross the road? Answer: they didn’t want to become a single malt !

   Now that I live on a pension and am unable to cross that road too often I generally make do with KFC chicken nuggets.