Options and election 2014. .

Guest post !!!!!!!! 

General election 2014 result is on its brink. Psephologists present on every panel discussion in electronic news rooms and the entire hullabaloo over the social networks has not only given twists and turns to this election but it has become something more than an unpredictable package. 

Some people have rare air views; Atul Anand is one of them. It’s absolutely okay to take a stand. You must! It is highly imperative to stick your neck out and take a position. This friend of mine has his take on the election 2014 scenario.  

Do we really have to choose between BJP and Congress?

When I sat to write this guest post, I paused for a moment, I tried to think of some random topics. But I could think of nothing but politics, especially when we are nearing the results of general election 2014. I want to admit here that I hate those people who say “I hate politics” or “I am not interested in politics”. There is a saying which goes somewhat similar to “You may not be interested in politics but politics is interested in you” or “If you don’t want to change politics, the politics will change you”. So to those people I would like to say that please stop being ignorant and start exploring what is happening around you.

The media coverage of the general election 2014 was unprecedented. But let’s recall what the issues for this election were? Was it development or corruption? Or was it about unemployment? If Congress is corrupt then BJP or AAP is a sacred political party? The corruption by corporations would not count as corruption? Has Modi nothing to do with corporate loot in Gujarat? Well, these questions were not asked by media. The discussions around the election were largely about Modi vs Rahul Gandhi, Modi vs Sonia Gandhi, Modi vs Nitish Kumar or Modi vs Arvind Kejriwal. The media coverage was swarmed by the personal comments made by these politicians and Modi certainly had an upper hand there.  Modi has been projected as the suitable Prime Minister for this country for over last one year. He is definitely a much better orator than Rahul Gandhi. But what does he talk about? Recently he has been notorious for historical inconsistency in his speeches. I found hardly any substance in his speeches. He loves to talk in rhetoric; the rhetoric of Gujarat development model, the rhetoric of nationalism, etc. But does he discuss the details of Gujarat development experience in his speeches? Because the details of Gujarat development experience are ghastly. If this was not the case, the farmers in Gujarat would not have been protesting against land grabbing, Gujarat would not have Human Development Index lower than ten other states of India, Gujarat would not have one of the worst gender ratio in the country, Gujarat would not have one of the worst record in children with malnutrition cases. The ‘youth of India’ (which I think largely comprises of upper class/middle class Indians) see hope in Modi. But do they really know the Gujarat model of development? The claims of Gujarat development model are sham. Modi has been given out lands, natural resources and many other illegitimate favors to corporations such as Tata, Reliance, Adani, etc. Be it cheap land and loans at as low rate as 0.1% for Tata or gas deals with Reliance and Adani which cost huge losses to state exchequer.  Development doesn’t mean the development of only corporations. Gujarat has very poor record when it comes to development for all sections of society, the inclusive development. The poor of Gujarat haven’t benefited from the so-called development of Gujarat.

It would not be justified if we talk about Modi and we don’t mention communalism. It is a miracle that a CM who has been questioned about his shoddy role in Gujarat 2002 riots, becomes prime ministerial candidate of his party despite of oppositions from senior leaders.  This miracle happened with much needed support from corporations. Business knows no religion or caste. It has no morality. Modi knew it very well. Gujarat became heaven for corporations such as Tata, Reliance, Ambani and in return they gave Modi all kind of gifts, from favorable media coverage (yeah, our media is owned by these corporations) to chartered plane rides. The Muslims in Gujarat are still discriminated. Just outside the shining city of Ahmadabad you can find Muslims forced to live in ghettos. Hate-politics has been the favorite of BJP and RSS; they have mastered the skill of polarizing votes by branding the religious minorities as threat for ‘nation’. This is how Modi became ‘Hindu Hriday Samrat’. This is how a man who had no political ground in Gujarat, succeeded in replacing the senior leaders first at state level and then at national level. This is how another man, who was unknown to Pilibhit constituency, wins elections after he delivers hate-speech.

Modi calls Rahul Gandhi a Shehzada (Prince) but why doesn’t he talk about the princes in his own party. BJP has also got kinship. Whether it is Vasundhra Raje or Varun Gandhi or many other sons & daughters of political elites, they all got tickets either because of kinship or hate-politics or both. BJP is no different from Congress in almost every aspect. Both of them have got corporate backing. Both of them have got no problem with corruption. Leaders from both of the parties have presided over communal riots.

After this massive PR exercise and media advertising, if still Modi fails to become PM, I would like him to become an actor. He is great at acting. He can make fake claims about Gujarat development model. He can express fake concerns for the Dalits and the Muslims. He can even organize fake encounters.

I know for sure that this election has not been a battle between Congress and BJP, the two so-called national parties, rather it has been a battle among Congress, BJP and other political parties. It’s likely that BJP would not be able to get popular majority. In that situation, we can’t deny the possibility of a third front. After all BJP and Congress are not just the options we have got. 

Atul Anand

Brave Girls Do Not Cry.

I believe stories written are more than alphabets arranged in words and punctuation marks. They tell themselves and take you with them. Here's a short story, straight out of my heart's world

                                          Brave Girls Do Not Cry! 

She hugged the trunk of the oak tree as if it can soak all her feelings at that moment, tiny drops had started trickling out of her eyes. Her long hair strands were dangling with air like gusty waves in the sea. She was overwhelmed. Sometimes in life, you need to hold on to something stable, and in order to get out of uncertainties which sorrows start amassing. Oak brought that stability.  Life had changed; it had taken a freaking spin. The rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds were the dominant sounds but she could clearly hear her heartbeats. Those birds had chirped and the leaves had rustled every day for years whenever she had come to this garden. Her mind was there with that little girl and her tears belonged to her. The oak took her down the memory lane. Those were memories now, the memories which were delicately preserved in her heartbeats, the memories of lost love, the memories of ragas and songs in the most familiar voice, the memories of this garden where she stood to hug the oak, the memories in which even when you are a 6 whole-year-old girl and you can’t do without your grandmother. Miera had been shy and withdrawn back then in contrast to what she was in life today. Back then she had a lovely lady in her life. She called her grandma.
                                      
 
                         

“Grandma…grandma…please come…come please…..” she had sobbed stamping her little foot which wore red and white coloured shoes. Those shoes she still has them… those little shoes. Grandma had brought them for her. Her hiccups were heard and those chubby 6-year-old cheeks were stained with her tears. Grandma was out to the market doing her favorite chore of bringing vegetables. Little Miera had gone hysterical not seeing her grandma when she woke up in the evening after her siesta. Those tearful scuttling eyes had gleefully sparkled when she saw her grandma approaching with a bag full of leafy green stuff. She paced towards her grandma and had wrapped her subtle arms around her grandma’s legs. She could only reach up to her grandma’s knees. Her grandma had kept the leafy bag aside and cupped her tiny face in her elderly fingers. “Brave girls do not cry” She had told Miera. Miera had flashed a fairy smile now. That was fifteen long years ago. A long time. Today she felt like growing into that little girl with those red and white shoes again. She could trade her worldwide fame for that. Her canorous voice was known to the world today. Lean and lovely, Miera Nair was a terrific singer today. Her voice not only topped the music charts but it made its way straight into the hearts of people. A few hours ago today she had held the award in her hands. The award was the national award for the best singer. She had received the award in an astonishing state of pleasantness. The camera’s flashes were on her. The golden in her golden black silk sari was radiant in the lights. The award she held in her hands was only visible to her in clarity, the rest of her sight got blurred at that significant moment. She remembered that morning when grandma had introduced her to a big instrument to her.

“Grandma”

“Hmmm…”                                                                                                                                                 

“What’s this?”
" It is Harmonium beta"

Grandma had started playing that instrument which six years old Miera thought resembled a big box. Soon Miera’s little fingers got accustomed to that box like an instrument and her voice had started matching its sound. Early mornings before School, her grandma awakened her for the music practice in the garden under that giant oak. Her grandma was her music trainer and her best friend. She was a great Carnatic musician herself who transferred this art to her little granddaughter. “Music is divine Miera. It connects you to the Divine. Your notes must come out from within” grandma explained to her whenever the pitch in the ragas was not correct and Miera would nod and re start singing that note again with all her heart. “I promise grandma I will give this art my best” Miera promised looking into the eyes of her grandma. In those eyes, she had seen this dream of becoming a great singer. She understood her grandma’s eyes.

Then one day there was this long slender instrument known as Tanpura that grandma presented before her. “It would improve your high pitches.” She had declared. Meira was intrigued by the beauty of this new instrument and she felt the goosebumps on her hands when she had held this slender instrument for the first time. Goosebumps…oh those goosebumps…She experienced them while holding this slender award in her hands. She stood there holding it, cherishing it, and made her way to the podium for her acknowledgment speech when the anchor’s microphone echoed her name. She was there in front of a cheery crowd, amidst millions of her fans in the audience but her eyes were in search. In search of someone that she had lost, in search of someone who had weaved the fabric of her voice, in search of her grandma in the audience. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen” she began in her charismatic confident voice. “My Grandma who made me what I am today could not live to see this day. She told me “Music is divine. It connects you to the divine” She repeated her grandma’s line with a smile and a tear that had escaped the private backwater which she had stored in her eyes. “This feels divine!” I dedicate this to you grandma” “Thank you all” She was close to tears. The applause filled the air. The enthralled audience was in all praises to this talented 21-year-old damsel whose heavenly songs reached into their hearts. Her parents were proud of her. She had got down the stage to the maddening media crowd who were eager for her clicks and bytes but Miera, all she needed now was her solitude and Grandma. She made her way out of the hall. She reached her car, started it, and drove in frenzy. Maybe she was delirious, maybe she wanted solitude desperately, maybe she never knew what it would feel like living this dream which her grandma saw for her or maybe she was lost. The wheels of her car stopped there in front of her old house. Though the walls were old now they felt the same to Miera as when she was 6 years old. She lumbered to that garden filling her eyes with every detail of the home. That chair on which her grandma sat reading newspaper had lived out of a touch of time. The living room was still living where she had run escaping her grandma who wanted to oil her little girl’s hair. The kitchen cupboard was still the same where her grandma used to keep Gooday cookies which made Miera’s good days. Recollecting all those memories she had reached that garden which was her first music school. That garden made her feel closer to her grandma who left the earth and Miera a couple of years ago.  Only one thing had made Miera survive this loss and it was music. So there she was hugging the old oak, remembering the promise that she made to her grandma of becoming a great singer one day. She had kept her promise. She had the award but no grandma. Nothing in this world can be felt as deeply as a loss. Like songs that beautify your soul, like memories that connect you to your existence, like a mirror which shows you the exact, like roads which ask you to move forward, her grandma now lived in the four chambers of her heart, Singing to her the most beautiful songs. The values, music, and grandma's love were carved in Miera's being.

It was a dry summer day, as deciduous trees do, oak was shedding its leaves like once grandma had shed life. There had fallen a splendid tear on dried oak's leaf which lied at its foot. She wiped her tear as she knew grandma won't come today with a bag full of leafy vegetables to wipe them off her cheeks. 'Brave girls do not cry', she was grandma's brave girl. She managed a smile and hugged the oak more tightly and contented.