Marxmen vs Rajiv Gandhi

7/30/2019 Marxmen vs Rajiv Gandhi

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A MARXIST TRIAL

A play in four scenes

Ather Farouqui

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Dramatis Personae

Amit Kumar: a young man from Uttar Pradesh. He boasts a pedigree of great

distinction hailing from the erstwhile landed aristocracy and with a father who is aminister in Indira Gandhis cabinet. Not surprisingly, he is a product of a prominentpublic school and a prestigious red-brick college, which is run by Anglicans of theChurch of England. A postgraduate student of jurisprudence at Oxford, he had taughtthis along with constitutional law while working for his DPhil.

Sunitha Kumar: an exceptionally bright and loquacious girl from the south ofIndia and a regular visitor to Oxford on weekends. She is pursuing her PhD inagricultural economics at Cambridge and hopes to return to her homeland to imposeher revolutionary ideas on Indias unwary peasants.

Prem Kumar: Sunithas fianc, pursuing his PhD in modern history from Oxford,is a Rhodes Scholar. His family, with roots in western Uttar Pradesh, has contributed

to the ranks of the Indian Civil Service for over two generations and he too cherishesa desire to continue that legacy.

Rajiv Ranjan Jha: a youth from Bihar belonging to the landed aristocracy. Hehas studied in a prestigious boarding school situated in the hillsIndias hillstations are dotted with such schoolsestablished by Protestant Americanmissionaries. Later, he attended one of the premier colleges of the country run byChristian missionaries. His father retired as a Chief Justice of the Supreme Court ofIndia.

John Samuel: born with the proverbial silver spoon and bred in the best graces ofNew Delhis intelligentsia. Alumnus of one of Delhis top missionary schools

established in 1941 by the Catholic diocese, later Samuel attended New DelhisJawaharlal Nehru University (JNU), from where he completed his masters indisarmament. His father happens to be a Professor at JNU and his maternal uncle theVice-Chancellor of this strong left bastion.

Aftab Alam: a student from Lucknow. His antecedents are not revealed.

Alice Matthews: a graduate student of British origin with idealistic values and adeep hatred of middle-class double standards.

David Shackle: Professor of Modern History, he has worked on and has a deepinterest in post-independence India. His insight into and perception of contemporary

India, although well intended, often miss the mark.

(All characters are hardcore Marxists in their worldview)


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SCENE I

STAGE SETTING

The drawing room of a sprawling ministerial bungalow at Lutyens New

Delhi. This is the official residence of Amit Kumar, a prominent Indian

politicianOxford-educated, urbane, about sixty years of age. His

house is spacious, well-appointed, with books, flowers and strategically

placed hampers of exotic chocolates in abundance. The huge French

windows usher in sunlight and open out to meticulously tended green

lawns set-off by floral borders that are a riot of colours. The time is

today, 2013.

As the play opens, Amit is pacing up and down, frequently glancing at

his watch. The air is rife with expectation. Just then, Amits man-Friday,

Laddan, enters the room with a silver tea service and a plate of

freshly-baked scones. Laddan is about fifty, but full of energy and with

a twitch in his face that is both endearing and irritating.

Laddan: Sahib, this gentleman for whom you are so anxiously

waiting, like, let me tell you, is useless; for whom you cancelled your

meeting with the PM, for whom you have kept like three TV crews

waiting outside your door, who he is? What can he do for you? In

politics not single minutes should be wasted on a person who cannot

use to you. And why he is so important? Why, you tell me? (He gets

even more agitated, but Amit smiles benevolently as he is aware that

this attack is a sign of Laddans loyalty to him). You said he will come


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timely, and also how long will he be staying? (An awful din can be

heard in the background which interrupts Laddans diatribe and

irritated, his face muscles spasm even more). These pesky kids at the

traffic signal, what noise they are making! They should be all packed

into you know into some slum. Huh!

Amit: Tsk, tsk, dont be so harsh Laddan mian! Those kids at the traffic

intersection they are the wretched of the earth; dishevelled street

children who, in a bid to earn their daily meagre bread, try to sell

tawdry Chinese-made goods to impatient drivers of imported cars.

They are our reality; dont brush them under the carpet!

Laddan: What carpet? Arent they all clean? Im sure they were

brushed by our maid yesterdayAnd retched of what? What are you

saying? Sahib you say a lot of things that just go over my head,

phoooooooooooosh! Anyway, what was I saying? Yes, right now you

should be focussing on the elections; you must win your constituency,

make contacts with rich rich and power people who will be helping

hand in our party in the next elections and giving us huge donations

which, even you lose suppose, it will help you survive in your king-size

life before you again win next round of elections and again become

minister. Will this Englishman be any help in this pursuitful endeavour?

Amit: Wah Laddan mian, your English is really improving! And your

questions are very pertinent, but right now if you close your eyes and

count to threevery slowlythe doorbell will ring and our guest will


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arrive at 11 am on the dot, as he promised. Are you ready? Close your

eyes. (Laddan with great reluctance closes his eyes, as does Amit)

Very good! Now count with me: one, two, and(before they can say

three, the bell rings). There! I told you soLaddan mianProfessor

Shackle is not only an Angrez, but also a retired professor from Oxford,

and my guru. He did not become such a great scholar from being

tardy. Now go quickly and open the door, and please speak to him only

in Hindi. After hearing the way you speak English, which is very good

for Indians like me, but not good enough for these Angrez, the good

Professor will scamper back to his homeland. Ha! Ha! (Then with a

straight face) I hope you understand. (Laddan stares at Amit, opens his

mouth, but refrains from saying anything)

Amit: Go, go, go (and Laddan disappears into the hallway to answer

the doorbell as Amit laughs. There is a murmur of mixed voices from

beyond that is not quite audibleAmit seems exited to the point of

agitation and clasps his hands in anticipation)

Laddan: Welcome, welcomecome income in

Professor Shackle: Namaste, namastekaise hain aap?

Amit: Very fine, very fineand you, howyou do?

Professor: Main bhi theek hoonbilkul theek.

Laddan: Mr Amit is in waiting for you with great joy.

Professor:To phir der kis baat kichalo, chalo


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(And then the two of them enter the room. Amit and the Professor

stand apart and look at each other with great wonder. Then suddenly

they fling their arms and embrace warmly.)

Professor: Amit, just look at you. Still as stately as everwaah. Here

(he hands Amit a roughly packed parcel) is a piece of India that I

thought would be appropriate for our rendezvous. But mind you open it

after I leave

Amit: Shukriya; Nazar-e-inayat hai aapki(both laugh)but sir, you

dont look a day older! Even after more than thirty years. (He hands

the package to Laddan who roughly puts it down on an adjacent

antique table with more force than is necessary).

Professor: do not remind me-do not remind meJawaani bhi gayi,

seemaabwaghera, waghera Look I still remember the sher of a

ghazal you recited at Oxford.

Amit(completes the couplet): fasl-e gulfashaani bhi, main ab taa-

der mehfil mein ghazalkhwaan rah nahin sakta (a round of applause

and just then another person enters the rooma beautiful, middle-

aged English womandressed in Indian clothes. She claps for the

couplet, and adresses Amit): Huzoor, your youth is far from gone.

(Amit is stunned and the Professor seems to savour the moment).

Amit: Alice, is it you? Is it really you?

Alice: no, it is my grandmother(all laugh).


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Professor: This was the surprise for youas she always was, and

always will be.

Alice: Amit, just look at you, as handsome as ever. You know, you

were the only Indian student in Oxford who did not chase me or

anything in skirt. And I can tell you now; you were also the only Indian

student I wanted to chase, skirt or otherwise!

Amit (chuckling at the good-humoured leg pulling): If I had only

knownif I had only known, Alas!

Professor: It is never too latenever too late!

Amit: What an absolute joy to see the two of youamazingsit, sit

Laddan, stop staring and bring the tea and scones for everyone(and

after a moments pause) No, bring samosas instead.

Amit: Professor sahib, you still love samosas I gather?

Professor: They are the only love of my life but you have forgotten

that I like qeemey ka samosa which was introduced to me by Maulana

Azad when I met him as a young research scholar.

AliceQeemey ka Samosa and Indian historythe only two loves of

your life.

Professor: for me these are like teree aankhen as described by Faiz:

teree aakhon ke siva duniya main rakha kya hai

(They all sit downa moment of silence)


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Professor: Amit, I have been following your career from afar,

wonderful! What you have done, your achievements! You have become

more than a politician, you have emerged a true statesman!

Amit: Very kind of you, sirbut ask the Opposition members of

Parliament, and they might have a different view.

Alice: I knowI knowAmit, I have been working in India on and off

and for many years; I have been running a school for physically

challenged children in England, and we have a sister school here in

Haryana. So, I, too, have been following your career.

Amit: aah! so I have been under the microscope without even

knowing about itlike an electron in a confused atom!

Professor: You were always confused and that was your charm

because you admitted that you were confused, and always sought to

end that confusion.

Amit: It was that search that brought me to Oxford, and then into

politicsIndian politicswhere to be confused is often viewed as a

sign of wisdom!

(Laddan enters with tea and samosas)

Laddan: Mr Professor, I hope my humble offering retches up to your

expectations.

(They all grimace at the mispronunciation but the Professors good

nature does not permit him to mock Laddan and he looks at the latter

with strange affection and takes a bite of the samosa)


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Professor: Waahbilkul, ummeedon se bhi aageI did not expect

that Amit would remember my love for Qeemey key samosey!

(Laddan withdraws to the other room with a flourish)

Amit: Sir, what brings you to India?

Professor: A very special quest. My Grail Quest if you will!

Alice: He wanted to find me, like all romantic men.

Professor: aahwould that this were true!

Amit: Alice, I see that your opinion of the male species has not

changed over the years.

Alice: the truth is eternal(all laugh).

Amit: like your beauty

Professor: bas, bas. You two can romance at leisure. Right now, listen

to me as you never listened to my lectures (again laughter

unbecoming of their standing or age, but makes them regress into

studentsalmost).

Amit: Alice, thirty-three years ago, on a lovely fall evening in Oxford,

we had gathered in Amits humble dwellings, typical Oxford digs, and

had a most animated discussion about the future of India and Indian

politics, especially the future centring on Rajiv Gandhis initiation into

Indian politics. Do you remember?

Amit: How could I forget? It was an evening that changed my life!

Alice: Changed your life?


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Amit: Yes, because it made me think, probably for the first time,

beyond books and libraries and classroom lectures. It made me really

think about my own future, and the future of my country!

Professor: I knew it! I knew it! Now, do you remember the other

people in your room that evening?

Amit: Of course! I remember every one and the conversation too-

verbatim; it is as if that evening is etched on my memory forever

there was

Alice: Me!

Professor: I!

Alicealways the professor, always the professor!

Amit: oh, yes-you were there, all right. And what a speech you gave

you put Indian manhood in its place forever!

Alice: Was it that bad?

Amit: No, it was that true(all laugh).

Professor: Rightthere was Alice, there was you, there was Iand?

Amit: Sunitha Kumarthough from Cambridge but intelligent! And her

fianc, Prem Kumar, was working on his PhD in Modern Indian History

from Oxford.

Professor: A Rhodes Scholar, of course.

Amit: Of course, but Sunitha was no less bright. Her PhD was in

Agricultural Economicsagriculture, economics, and modern historya


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formidable combination. And it was her letter that sparked off the

evenings discussion.

Professor: Yes, her leftist misgivings about Rajiv Gandhi entering

politics!

Amit: Precisely.

Professor: And then you answered her letter with one of your own.

Amit: Oh, myI was brave and daring in those days!

Professor: But, Amit, where are they now? Sunitha and Prem?

Amit: Aah! They had both done rather well for themselves,

unfortunately now no more with us. Sunitha taught economics at Delhi

University, and was very highly regarded in her field. And Prem was a

Civil Servant, in cadre and also in manners; and both of them had kept

their leftist cards so close to their chests, that they quite forgot what

they looked like.

Professor: Amit, you always had a way with wordsand with

thoughts.

Amit: Hence I am a politicianalas.

Professor: And Rajiv Ranjan Jha. He has also become a politician via

journalism; although, I have heard, from the opposite camp.

Amit: Oh, yesJha, a would-be Nawab from Bihar, father Chief Justice

in the Supreme Court, attended a missionary boarding school in the

hills, then a Christian college in Delhiand now spouts venom in T.V.

shows and in his writings against the very people who educated him;


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but on a personal level, he is a gentleman and kind to friends. I dont

think he can be communal. Seldom when he speaks rightist nonsense

anybody believes him; often people laugh at him and more often he

joins the fray and seems to enjoy itthere is nothing more earnest

then self-deprecating humour, so his rightist leanings can be forgiven,

dont you think?

Professor: Such positive cynicismtypical of you Amit!

Amit: I cannot be discourteous to a fellow Oxon. We still meet, and

talk about Oxford, and even play cricket together now and then.

Alice: And John Samueloh, my! You will not believe this! The other

day I saw someone I thought was a beggar, near Ajoy Bhavan. And

then he suddenly called out my name. I looked closely, and it was John!

Either drunk or stoned, not sure, but very happy. He ordered tea for

me, and quoted at length from Marx and Lenin and then asked whether

I was married or not, and when I said I no longer was, his demeanour

changed, and I realized it was time for me to leave.

Professor: Oh, myI would say, what a waste of talent! But maybe

not. John was a brilliant writerbrillianthis pamphlets could make

even the most devout capitalist into a communist; but I do not think he

ever really wanted to workjust to be

Amit: And with a father teaching at JNU and an uncle as Vice-

Chancellor, he never had to really work. Every now and then he comes


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to see mefor a cup of tea and a smoke and a talk. His knowledge is

still amazing but it is limited only to his words, I am afraid.

Professor: Who does that leave?

Alice: Aftabthe handsomest of all of yousorry, Amit, but facts are

facts!

Amit: No arguments. Aftab Alamthe light of the worldalways was,

always will be. He lit up Oxford, and he now lights up Indias leading

industrialist consortium as its Secretary General. He and I often meet,

and he still charms the world with his words and his wisdom.

Professor: Wonderful! What journeyswhat journeysand Alice, you?

You run a school for the physically challenged? Marvelous!

Alice: And before you askyou two men! Yes, I forgot Monudeep

almostafter he left Oxford and got married, I, too got married. And it

almost survivedmy marriagebut did not, in the end. And, yes,

Monudeep and I still email each other. Any more questions?

(Both men genuflect in mock tribute)

Professor: Now, Amit, somehow I want to go back to the evening in

80. The latter half of 80; after Sanjay Gandhis death. Somehow I

want to go back and again feel that energy, again ask those questions,

again search for those answerswith all of you

Amit: Sir, because of you we asked those questions and tried to give

those answers!


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Professor: No, Amit. It is because you are from a country where

questions are still asked, and answers still soughtgive yourself due

credit.

(Silence as Laddan comes in with more tea)

Professor : Laddan sahibaap bataeeyeRajiv Gandhi kaisey

Pradhan Mantri the?

Laddan: Great, very great, very very great but Madam is also great!

Professor: Madam?

Laddan: Soniaji, our leader, a very great lady!

Alice: Do not be afraid of Amit sahibtell us what you really think.

Amit:Haan, Laddan Mian, bataye, bataye, fikr mat kijiye, yeh log

Hindustani jouranliston ke tarah aap ki kahi hui koi baat Soniaji ko nahi

batayenge

Laddan: Rajivji was very goodvery goodotherwise, you speak to

Sonia-ji

(There is a sudden silence, and then a round of controlled laughter)

Amit: Arrey Laddan Mian, let us have some music. Professor you

should listen to this rendering of one of my favourite ghazals by...

(words fade away as do the lights while the music gets more

pronounced and plays for a while to enable the actors to prepare for

the next scene).


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Scene 2

STAGE SETTING

Summer of August 1980, when it is vacation time at Oxford, but when

research scholars stay put on campus and participate in free-wheeling

discussions and debates. A large room of a senior research scholar-

cum-lecturer in the teachers court of a college at Oxford. The room is

divided into two, with the outer portion serving is a study and the

inner, which is not in focus, as living quarters. The outer portion is

lined with bookcases, a few chairs and an antique writing table. It is

evident from the vocabulary of these young students that they are

hardcore Marxists, many highly influenced by Leon Trotsky.

Amit: (Amit starts reading the letter aloud but slowly the writer of the

letter, Sunitha, appears in the background and speaks as the light

dims over Amit and focuses on her.) Dear Amit:

As you know, Prem and I plan to return to India in a few months time,

to get married and settle down in our respective professions. This will

be the best way of realizing our dreams of a proletarian revolution, a

movement more powerful than the one for freedom. India needs

another revolution, and in the changed scenario, Oxbridge is just an

oasis. Our karmbhoomi should be India. It is upon us to carry forward

the great legacy of Marx and Engels, embellished further by Lenin.

Because of them our beloved red flag flutters gloriously over one-third

of the world today. It would be no exaggeration to say that it is due to


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Marxist revolutions that colonization has waned and our motherland

breathes the fresh air of democracy.

I fear, however, that our efforts might count for nothing. I spoke to

Prem a few minutes back on the phone. He is in India for his parents

30th wedding anniversary but will be returning tomorrow. I am sharing

with you the shocking news he gave meRajiv Gandhi plans to enter

politics! I wonder if our decision to go back to a country which is

destined to doom is right. Suddenly, I am not so sure. The exploitation

of farmers back home perturbs me constantly. I have always wanted to

liberate them from the clutches of bourgeois terror. We have to do

away with all patricians and lords. We have to resolve all class

antagonisms. This is why I plan to join a university there, to train the

finest young minds in agricultural economics, which is very vital for

bringing about a revolution in agriculture. You will agree that a

farmers revolution is the only way to save India, of which our

comrades have been dreaming and planning for decades now. Of

course, any agricultural revolution will have to start with land reforms.

We also have plans to publish a literary journal, to which the finest

from academia could contribute. The content, we feel, should have a

leftist orientation if it is to benefit our society. It should be a medium to

further the class struggle.

As you know, Prem has some great ideas about reforms in various

sectors, especially the Civil Service. After all, two generations of his


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family have served with great pride in the Civil Service and, in all

probability, the coming generation will follow suit. Prem too is planning

to opt for it. He wants to be part of the executive of a modern,

representative state. This looks to him the way forward to address the

issues of equity and governance. He, of course, has two very good

offers, one from a British company owning tea gardens and another

from Burmah Shell. He may accept one of these, to start with. But

eventually, joining the IAS remains his goal.

As for me, I would like to sign up with an institution that undertakes

cutting-edge research. I would prefer not to be confined to a narrow

beat, because when it comes to academics, I favour an

interdisciplinary approach. I have a great aversion to academic

activities which are at the beck and call of big businesses, glorifying

bourgeois chauvinism. We have to harness the productive forces for

the benefit of the proletariat. The shrewd bluff of the industrial houses

was first called by the great visionary Nehru and, certainly, Prime

Minister Indira Gandhi is no less a visionary. These industrial houses

are still out to destroy old-established national industries and replace

these by their explorative ventures.

Had Pandit Nehru and Indiraji both not fully understood the shrewd

modus operandi of capitalism, Indians, by now, would have become

slaves of a few big business families. Indian economics, I feel, has to

have unique, indigenous roots, with Marxist underpinnings, of course


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taking inspiration from successful non-capitalist systems, as we all

know for a fact that it is only the proletariat that can bring about a

Marxist revolution. But this is not possible unless we completely

understand the dynamics of dialectics without digressing from Marxist

principles and practices in the name of interpretation as and when

circumstances change. You know how fervent I am about ideological

issues, hence this note. I thought of calling up Prem again, but it is not

easy to discuss all this long-distance. So I decided to write to you, a

dear friend, patient listener and a good host with perfect mannersa

real gentleman. Your family is in politics associated with Congress.

Who knows better than you the sociology of Indian politics and the

working of our political leaders? We also hold your scholarly work on

law and jurisprudence at Oxford in great admiration. You are steeped

in the Nehruvian tradition though you are not in Cambridge, alas!

I digress, so let me pick up where I left the thread of this letter: without

Panditji, even Gandhis vision could not have been realized. It is also

true that because of him, left-wing political parties in India, particularly

the CPI, are forced to follow a centrist path. This has helped suppress

extremist positions and saved them from being excluded from

parliamentary politics. I wonder if you would still like to return to the

motherland, when you have no chance of becoming Prime Minister,

now that Rajiv Gandhi is set to enter politics. As just an MP or a junior

Minister, you will have to bow and scrape to a person who, my


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comrades here in Cambridge are certain, does not even hold a basic

degree. I have neither the time nor the inclination to research his

qualificationsthat is, if he has any. Moreover, I dont want to be

impolite to him, considering he is a Cambridge alumnus, the breeding

ground of most of the top communist leaders and intellectuals in India.

I also believe that as a person he is basically nice, true to the tradition

of Anglican gentlemen.

What an irony, though, that a pilot will one day become our Prime

Minister. I am sending a copy of this note to all our comrades in

Oxbridge. It is with a sense of desperation that I seek their advice on

how India can be saved. If Prem insists on returning to India, I will not

resist. You know how much I love him and how earnestly we wish to

get married. I know his family expects a lot from him. My father, a

scientist, also rendered great service to the country. It is only by

chance that Nehru and he were at Cambridge together. My father,

fortunately, put his knowledge to the best use of the country.

Let us not for a second deviate from our aim of complete revolution

and stopping Rajiv Gandhi from becoming the Prime Minister. We need

to end dynastic politics in India. We need to get away from the

clutches of these burglars. This is not possible without a total

revolution, which seems imminent. This revolution will not exactly be

the one visualized by Marx and Lenin, but will be based on the ideology

projected by Trotsky.


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With revolutionary regards,

Comradely,

Sunitha

Amit (reading out a letter he has penned in reply):

Dear Sunitha:

Your letter is very thought-provoking and raises a lot of issues. I share

your concern and wonder if Prem and you, along with your comrades,

could meet me on Friday evening in my digs for a detailed discussion. I

am sure we will all squeeze in somehow. I know this will spoil a

pleasant summers evening for you, but discussing the future of India

with a view to saving it for the rule of the proletariat will be time well

spent. There will be plenty of good sherry on the house. I look forward

to welcoming you.

Yours sincerely

Amit


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Scene 3

STAGE SETTING

The same as the previous scene. A group of five Indian students, along

with a British girl, Alice, and Professor David Shackle in Amit Kumars

room.

Amit: Good evening all. Good evening, Professor Shackle.

Professor Shackle: Good evening Amit. Sunithas invitation

prompted me to join you. Nothing interests me as much as the subject

of post-independence India. Had to swallow the bait (grins).

Amit: Sure Professor, your words will help us in disentangling the dark

colonial web. (Welcoming Alice): Nice to see you.

Alice:Thanks Amit. A summers twilight to ponder over the future of a

country with a lot of potential and which is ripe for a revolutionthe

prospect seems enchanting. I have been boning up on the post-

independence history of India and I must admit, I have grown pretty

tired of punting.

Amit: Genius has a flair for words! But Alice, why are you so cynical

about Indias present? Is Monudeep a reason for it?

Alice: I am surprised that you have deconstructed cynicism in one

clause! (After a long pause) I confess, you are partially right. By

mentioning him you have hit the bulls-eye. I am afraid Monudeep has

returned to Calcutta for good. His parents have found a suitable match

for him. A pescetarian virgin! Bowing to his parents wishes, Monudeep


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is now delivering sermons on the spiritual aspects of love. A recent

survey shows that educated Indian girls and women are masters of

false moaning to keep their unsuspecting boyfriends and husbands in

good humour, rather making fools of them, particularly those girls who

belong to the elite club and who lose their virginity without a second

thought and deftly fool their husbands on their wedding night,

convincing them that the coy bride has never heard of lovemaking. As

a matter of fact, Monudeep revealed the astonishing dimensions of

Indian morality that if a lady sleeps with her fianc, he never trusts her

and always thinks that she must have slept with others as well. I am

sure any British psychiatrist will go to loony if I narrate to him all that

Monudeep told me about Indian mens bestial acts with their newly-

wed brides in the bridal chamber. I have decided to cut off all contact

with him. The Bengali match is thanks to his father who, by the way,

met his future daughter-in-law here at Cambridge while she was

studying for her masters in English. Not because she loved English

literature or the so-called synchronic value for literature in Bengalis,

which is a complete farce but because it would fetch her a good

Bengali match. Talk of hypocrisy! Oh and Monudeeps parents look

down on anything Indian and, in keeping with their class

consciousness, they want their daughter-in-law to be a typical Bengali

Brahmin of aristocratic lineage. Picture perfect of course complete with


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false moans and allwhat a travesty! And serves Monudeep right for

he deserves every bit of this charade! I hate Indians!

(Alices voice rises and she ends up crying, making the atmosphere

sombre, with nobody knowing what to say. Amit looks visibly upset).

Amit (Finally summoning up courage): Friends, shall we get down to

business? Please help yourselves to some sherry. May I request

Sunitha to fire the opening salvo?

Sunitha(putting on her game face): Comrades, lend me your ears and

tongues before pilot Rajiv Gandhi crashes Indian democracy by

becoming the Prime Minister and wrecking our future. Actually, after

hearing the news about Rajiv joining politics I wrote to Amit, with a

copy to all of you. So here we are. Let me start by saying that we are

not even sure whether Rajiv Gandhi became a pilot on merit. But it is

certain now that he will become our Prime Minister. As I wrote to you,

he probably did not even complete his graduation. He got enrolled in a

flying club owing to that much-celebrated family name. Of course,

none of us have the time or inclination to research something as

insignificant as Rajiv Gandhis graduation, but we are very concerned

about a mere pilot becoming the Indian Prime Minister. Amit, what say

you?

Amit (playing Devils advocate): But dont you think he should be

given a chance like any other Indian citizen?


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(An immediate outcry as Sunitha voices everyones opinion) Sunitha:

By reducing such a complex matter to this simplistic level, you are

trying to insult our perceptions. Rajiv Gandhi is much more than an

ordinary citizen. Why do you think we are gathered here? Although we

shouldnt forget that he is just a symbol and his importance is limited

to this discussion.

Amit: Be that as it may, Rajiv Gandhi is a manifestation of

dynasticism, which for you comrades is no less than fascism as neither

U.S.S.R nor China has any experience of democracy! His elevation

bodes ill for a young democracy. If the dynasty survives, everything

will be destroyed. But I think that it should be left to the people of

Amethi to choose, dynasty or no dynasty.

Rajiv: Everything related to Rajiv Gandhi is bound to be undemocratic

in the present system.

John: Exactly! What is strange about it?

Sunitha(mumbling): The media is also in his right pocket!

Amit: Cant that be fought on an ideological basis?

Sunitha: Nonsense. The major newspapers are owned by industrialists

and edited by their chamchas, to whom Nehru never gave a lift,

working tirelessly only for the survival of the National Herald. Of

course, Ms Gandhi has followed Nehrus line as far as the media is

concerned. But in the overall scheme of things, media management

will be sidetracked into shabby arguments. We are talking of the future


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of a country here, where common people should choose a candidate

and it should appear as their free choice, not some match fixed in the

dressing room.

Amit: What do you mean? If he loses electorally, then would you

consider him to be an actual winner?

John (taking a deep breath): Of course, yes. As of now, India is not a

democracy. Democracy means something else. Look at China.

Amit: Which year?

John (Sternly): In 1977, when the CPI (M) came to power in West

Bengal and the Congress became history in the politics of the state,

didnt you see the cultural revolution through the student movement

and the teaching fraternity as a reflection of the great Chinese model?

Amit: Student and teachers movement and China. I mean a

movement that is not planted by the government. Alright! In West

Bengal, where I am sure the CPI (M)s teacher and student unions will

make our universities another instance of the killing fields of

Kampuchea. There will just be the politics of slash and burn. The

college and university teachers will resemble the habitants of the

collective farms and psychiatric wards of Russia. The university

departments and colleges will become the blood-soaked streets of

Poland and when the movement of the non-working will start appealing

to the teachers in other states, it will spread all over the country,

making the whole educational system something of a graveyard. Talk


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of a revolution! The first notable achievement of the CPI (M)

government was the strikes that it organized in hospitals, including

emergency wards, something that until then was unheard of. I have

great confidence in the skills of leftist trade unions and their

philosophy of dismantling the very basis of any institution which can be

of some use to nation building in a young democracy like ours. Please

take it from me that if the CPI (M) survives even one term, the workers

of the State will completely forget about working. The whole of West

Bengal will turn into one vast adda. The states economy will survive

on the tax payers money from the rest of India, which the Centre will

provide to avoid another famine. So, we have a new religion, namely

that of the CPI (M), and it is the new opiate of the masses. I am not a

soothsayer and the CPI (M) does not need my advice, but by the time

its term in West Bengal is over, the state would have certainly seen a

situation of a civil war and insolvency, which could spread across the

whole country. Is it with blood that you want to paint out country red?

Professor Shackle: Sunitha, I can see that middle class morality will

not permit any change. Historically, Bengal soon forgot the great

famine, because the urban bourgeoisie, though very small in size, was

decisive in policymaking and was not affected by it. Every inconvenient

truth, thus, becomes an aberration for it. In India, the elite and the

middle class have no explanation for poverty because they remain

unaffected. They lead a privileged existence. The bourgeoisies


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favourite pastime is self-perpetuationand Rajiv Gandhi belongs to its

ranks, a protector of these chartered burglars.

Amit: There is a political elite and economically oppressive class in

India. And Rajiv Gandhi was born into this class. We need to put things

in perspective here. Will all gathered here recount how they got to

Oxford in the first place? Did you make it on merit or your ability to

utilize your connections? Come on, self-confessions are in order!

Rajiv: (renouncing all humility) For me, it was merit certainly. I made it

on my own steam. I am here because I graduated from one of the

topmost colleges of India. Three generations of my family were

educated in the best schools and colleges of the country. My father

was called to the Bar in England, later returning to India for legal

practice. He first became a High Court judge and was subsequently

elevated to the Supreme Court, retiring finally as the Chief Justice.

Amit: So you think that you got to college on the basis of merit? Prior

to that, are you sure that your admission to the prestigious-school-in-

the-hills was on merit? Do you really think that any school or college in

India could afford to turn down admission to the son of a judge of the

Supreme Court? Here, I must say that the existence of your particular

schoolor others in the same leaguedoes not reflect merit. These

came into existence because of the arbitrary action of the-then ruling

elite, which never failed to act in an unbearably autocratic manner. So

such schools were provided with everything absolutely free, including


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as much land as they wanted, at the expense of poor Indians. And such

largesse made for class consciousness. Everything, including

education, has been commodified. From the very beginning, students

in these schools are made to feel that they belong to a different,

superior classthat of the rulersbecause of their birth in a privileged

family.

(Short pause, dejected sigh) Unfortunately, most of the top Communist

leaders have only studied in these schools and colleges. They hail from

the same aristocratic background. For them, being Marxist is

fashionable. It distinguishes them from others and makes for a class of

its own. Their posturing has got absolutely nothing to do with a

classless society. Even 33 years after independence, the majority of

Indians cannot even think of getting their children admitted to these

schools. By the way, the annual intake of the school you are talking

about is just 80. Are you trying to tell me that only 80 children in the

whole of India are meritorious?

John: But all the good schools, including Doon, also admit a few

children from the less privileged sections of society.

Professor Shackle: How many?

John:Two every year.

Professor Shackle: But this is just a minuscule percentage of the

vast legions of the underprivileged in India!


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Sunitha: Excuse me Professor, but you will not understand Indian

sociology. It is too convoluted for a foreigner. By the way, how many

children from the less-privileged sections of society does Harrow

admit? Dont forget that class and identity consciousness and ills such

as nationalism which is now the synonym of Hindu communalism are

the gift of the British to India.

Professor Shackle: I am surprised that despite your Cambridge

training, you have become an expert at oversimplifying complicated

social realities. May I say at the risk of being termed racist that elite

Indians are masters of double standards?

Sunitha: This is not done, Professor! You are, I am sorry to say,

reducing complex sociological facts to simple mathematical equations.

Risking humility, may I remind you that sociology itself is dictated by

politics, which in a democracy is a game of numbers all about

mathematics? Some facts may appear simple but, any simplistic

analysis will make for confusion.

John: Sorry Professor, but I agree with Sunitha and think you are

terribly mistaken. I respect your interest in Indias democracy from the

point of view of a Professor of modern Indian history, but you outsiders

are incapable of understanding the intricacies of our system. You tend

to lose your way in superficialities.

Alice: Amethi, unlike the rest of India, was nurtured by the Gandhi

family. Anybody from the Nehru family can win an election from there.


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Professor Shackle: Amamati what is that?

Amit: That is the name of the constituency of Rajiv Gandhi.

(Addressing the others) Dont you think the presence of only

Stephanians and the alumni of Presidency College in this room reek of

elitism? Just give it a thought, 690 million Indians and out of that, just

five to six, hailing from St Stephens or Presidency, are sitting here

discussing Rajiv Gandhi. Am I the only one here who finds this

incongruous?

(A short silence follows as everyone tries to think of a suitable retort)

Sunitha (Clearly unable to think of one): Where has the present

system got us in 30 years?

Amit: Where should we have been?

(Everyone looks at Amit in disbelief that he actually has any doubts

about the fact that the country should have been anywhere but where

it is. The purposeless alternative syndrome being difficult to question,

Amit chooses to remain silent, despite the disbelieving looks).

John: (as the discussion seems to have got derailed and is on the

point of fizzling out): I cannot understand how Ms Indira Gandhi

chooses to surround herself with mediocre people, particularly after

returning to power. She has, shockingly, developed a great appetite for

sycophancy. Most of the people around her are jokers-cum-brokers.

They can convince her about the fitness of any immoral scheme.

Amit: How can you say this?


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Bobby: Havent you heard the latest? Her chamchas have convinced

her that Dom Moraes is a part of a gang of renegades that includes

Nayantara Sehgal and Gayatri Devi. So she has not bothered to go

through Doms text, a labour of love by Leela and Dom and the

biography was abandoned by Ms Gandhi even without reading it. Poor

Leela is still trying to figure out where things went wrong.

All: Shame!... Shame!... Shame!

Amit: Are you blaming Ms Gandhi or her chamchas? By the way, what

she did to Shakuntala Masani, an over-ambitious lady with an

aristocratic family background and married to the same class, but

below average and exceptionally mean, cannot be condemned. She

was not fit to be a corporator but, being an off spring of the chamchas

of the English, she spoiled her family and had been fighting for her

overrated ambitions, hoping Ms Gandhi would be instrumental in

fulfilling them, which I am glad she did not do. I am pretty sure the

future generations of Shakuntala Masani will develop good fiction for

every possible benefit. Not a bad proposition!

Aftab: Doms plight is undoubtedly the handiwork of a particular

chamcha who is the scum of the earth. Dont you know that without

having the talent of a mobster you cannot survive in the Congress?

You are snubbed by those above you and, in turn, you snub those

unfortunate to be below you. The big fish swallowing the small. Nehru,


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though he was short tempered at times, never snubbed or insulted

people.

Amit (thinking): I dont know what you are talking about, friends.

Every sentence that you utter is either contradictory or has no

relevance to the larger picture of Indian democracy. I wonder why?

And I am sorry to say that in abusing one godforsaken chamcha, you

gentlemen are abandoning your sanity and being plain cynical.

Rajiv: I am sorry. You know how much I like Ms Gandhi. But I cannot

imagine her in the company of such charlatans.

Bobby (in anger): Because of these chamchas, the Congress party is

now left with no ideological base. The Gandhi household has become a

favourite topic for the gossip columns and cocktail parties of shallow

socialites. Even in the CPI, the votaries of Nehru stand marginalized,

with only those darned chamchas of Ms Gandhi on top.

Amit: Do you think Mohit Sen is a chamcha?

Rajiv: Of course not. As far as he is concerned, he cannot even be his

wifes chamcha. Dont you know that he has been completely

marginalized in the Communist Party on the accusation of being a

chamcha of Ms Gandhi? Mohit Da is, perhaps, the only soul who has as

much affection for Ms Gandhi as Nehru had for him.

Aftab: And because of Ms Gandhis chamchas in the CPI, it is losing

both its ideology and mass base and collapsing like a house of cards.

Amit: Who exactly is your concern? Ms Gandhi or Rajiv?


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John: Both. The unfortunate part is that the shrewd chamchas of Rajiv

Gandhi, who style themselves as his friends, will mar Indian foreign

policy. To Ms Gandhis credit, she never got trapped by capitalism and

kept both the industrialists and America at bay, keeping socialism

alive. But Rajiv Gandhis cronies, like those who were responsible for

the fall of Sanjay Gandhi and gave a bad name to both Sanjay and Ms

Gandhi, will sell the country to capitalism. Their attempts to convince

her to play another dynastic trump card are nothing but a capitalist

conspiracy.

Amit: Even if one were to believe you, what could be the possible

reasons for the people of India reverting to Ms Gandhi? Does it indicate

a preference or trend for democracy in the days to come?

John: What do you think lies ahead in the wake of Maruti Ltd?

Amit: (tired of the discussion) Biscuits, anyone?

John (taking umbrage): A big conspiracy is afoot to take over the

Indias can making market by foreign manufacturers. The forces of

production will end up on the losing side. What does Sanjay think this

will lead to? Some kind of an automobile revolution for the emerging

middle class? Or further and more systemic subjection of the workers?

Where will the land for these factories come from? Will it not be a

death sentence for our farmers? Two hoots they care for the serfs, the

labourers, the ones on the shop floor.

Amit: Is Jyoti Basu a capitalist ploy?


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Bobby: In a capitalist dispensation no individual is safe. If not Jyoti

Basu, his sonor if he does not have a sonhis nephew or a son-in-

law, will work as an agent of capitalism. The magpies are not hard to

spot in each of these communes. They are all out to feather their own

nests.

Aftab: I have no knowledge of Jyoti Basus family, but I can assure you

that in the Indian system, even Marx would have betrayed the working

class for his own selfish reasons. No one can be immune to it. No one

can resist corruption in our beloved country. Money is a whore that

seduces you to the deathbed of your morality.

Amit: I must confess gentlemen that I am stumped with the level of

this discussion. Do you have any idea what you want from life?

(The sherry having been consumed by now, some of the people drift

off, but the hardcore Marxists hold forth)

Rajiv (putting his arm around Amit): Who does? But Im glad that at

least you have the guts to say what you believe in. But let me assure

you, this is only possible in an Oxford room. If you plan to enter the

den that is Congress politics, you must first bid goodbye to your free

thinking.

Amit(sotto voce): And do you believe you will remain a communist if

Rajiv Gandhi is swayed by capitalism, bidding goodbye to Nehruvian

socialism?


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Rajiv: We wish Rajiv Gandhi remains a custodian of Nehruvian

socialism!

Amit: And if that happens, what will you do?

Rajiv: In that case, I shall be very happy to work as his unpaid

secretary, as is the Congress tradition, and will convince him to set up

a grand memorial to M.N. Roy in Dehradun, where today no sign is left

of the great visionary. Even locals dont know where Roy lived.

Amit: So can I be audacious enough to presume that you, my brother,

mean and wish Rajiv Gandhi well?

Rajiv and others (sotto voce again): Of course yes. Why not? We wish

his family well too. If he upholds the Nehruvian tradition, he could be

the natural leader India needs.

Aftab: After all, Rajiv Gandhi is a Cambridge man and even comes

close to challenging his class aspirations naturally. What he is in dire

need of is good advicestarting from reading Nehrus writings and not

giving ear to opportunistic academics.

Sunitha:There is no hope, comrades. We may debate it ad nauseum,

but in a society governed by the bourgeoisie, where large-scale

commodification and baseless reification is an accepted norm,

promoting commodity fetishism, leaving the modes of production

confined to the capitalists, there can be no permanent revolution

because the strong footed pig called capitalism can overpower even

the most powerful of revolutionary waves. There can be no class


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antagonisms because systematic deprivation will kill the voice of the

proletariat. The agglomerated population of the bourgeoisie with their

brand of reactionary socialism will barbarically clip the wings of this

once golden bird. Under the tyranny of Rajiv Gandhi and his chamchas,

hypostatization will render our dialectical materialism, our revolution,

lost forever, condemning it as an unfinished story.

Amit: What in the world is the matter with you? Why these highfalutin

phrases? Do they signify anything?

Sunitha: They say its better to keep your mouth shut and appear

stupid than to open it and remove all doubts.

Amit: (Giving her a long look) Thought as much!

Alice: Why do you waste your time on these jackasses? I mean the

cronies of Rajiv, assuming for a second that he will succumb to their

designs?

Rajiv: What if he does?

Alice: Then Rajiv himself will be a celebrated loser and India a far

bigger one. But, more importantly, I will be heading for the pub. If we

dont leave now, it will soon be closing time and there is no malady

that a good bitter cant cure.

All stand up.

(The Amitabh song comes back, lights fade out as the group leaves the

room. Let this play for a while to enable preparation for the next

scene.)


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Scene 4

STAGE SETTING

Return to the sumptuous sitting room at Amits house in the present

time. Sounds of slogan-shouting from outside, against the PM. Only

Laddan is seen holding tea-tray, pacing up and down. He goes to the

window to listen shakes his head.

Amit enters quoting a couplet: Ik baazeecha-e-atfaal hai duniya

mere aage

Hota hai shab-o-roz tamaasha mere aage

For me, the world is nothing but childs-play

Every day for me is but a circus

(Professor and Alice return to the room. The slogans die out).

Professor: Amit, do you think the road you have chosen is the correct

one? Could it have been different, could it have been better?

Alice: Professor, whatever road it was, it was the one takento be

philosophical about it now is irrelevant.

Amit: No Alice, we have to constantly learn, from our mistakes and

achievementsthat is why I love historynot for nostalgia alone, but

for we can learn from it.

Professor: I think you both are right, we must constantly learn, and

also constantly experience through our actions thought and action

combined is the way forward.

Alice: Sir, you sound like a Hindu philosopher.


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Professor: Maybe I am, maybe I am

(There is a moment of silence, all three are still but Laddan breaks the

reverie and interrupts their contemplation),

Laddan: Mr Professor Sir, the High tea is becoming cool, lets proceed

to the dining room. (They all leave as Amit, following the etiquette of a

good host, gestures that he will follow his guests. But, he lingers by

the antique table and picks up the gift that the Professor brought him.

He examines the roughly-wrapped-brown-package and tears open the

wrapper in childlike anticipation with a grin.

When he realises that it is one of the kitschy bobbing plastic flowers,

Made in China, which the street children sell on the intersection near

his house, his face clouds over and he loses his smile as the lights fade

out).

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Marxmen vs Rajiv Gandhi