Aid aftershocks

After the tsunami, India has been pilloried for refusing aid and offering some instead. What's wrong with being generous?

US President George W Bush's favourite bogeyman was responsible for the tsunami. Really. When the UN inspections for WMDs got singeing hot, Saddam's chaps dunked Iraq's formidable nuclear cache into the sea. Not very accomplished at reading maps (and in a panic-stricken hurry besides), they unloaded them into the wrong sea instead of the Atlantic Ocean. The deadline planned for the tsunami strike (when they were to press the dreaded N-button) was the day Bush won his re-election. However, the button got jammed on D-Day, damn tacky Third World technology, so the attack was rescheduled the day after the biggest infidel festival of them all. How appropriate that the wrath of God should strike while the infidels were smugly carolling about peace on earth, and God and sinners reconciling.

OK, relax, I'm not on hallucinogens. But seriously, this is the sort of idiotic conspiracy theory that Bush should have been fed to keep America's image as a generous world benefactor intact. He'd have bought it, even if he'd been bestseller-savvy enough to see through the nonsensical plot and pledged billions of dollars as aid, maybe even sold his beloved ranch to add to the total figure. He hates Saddam that bad. Unfortunately, his advisors haven't yet learnt how to play him, and Bush came across as a heartless old Scrooge with his first offer of US$ 15 million — bah, humbug. It is, incidentally, the amount of money America coughs up for every two hours in Iraq. Shamed at being called stingy by Jan Egeland, UN undersecretary-general for humanitarian affairs and emergency relief, the amount has been grudgingly jacked up to US$ 350 million. Germany can still sneer at him; they've pledged US$ 600 million.

But America wasn't the only country that delivered aftershocks on the aid front. India's initial grandiose gesture of refusing foreign aid and offering to pump money into similarly-affected countries has, instead, been eyed with grave suspicion. Getting too big for your boots, are you? This is the common cry in First World diplomatic circles. Sigh. Are we always going to be known as the land of naked fakirs and population explosion because not everyone here can afford the stress-busting entertainment that television provides?

We've been accused of flexing our muscles to get a permanent seat on the UN Security Council, of attempting to project ourselves as the greatest power in Asia, vying with China to put in more relief moolah. Hey, we're OK with China: Gobi Manchurian is a hot favourite with our middle class. I've heard tell in the North it's made in asli ghee; we're cool. While I can't tell you what Prime Minister Manmohan Singh was thinking when he refused aid (sadly, I'm not his confidante), I have to confess that I'm with him, purely on the psychological-tactics level.

What is wrong with holding our heads up and saying we're big-hearted enough to provide? So what if some of our villages go without electricity, water and other basic amenities? So what if our metro flyovers take years to take off? It's the thought that counts. Fortunately, money counts more and we've given in, albeit reluctantly. But we made our point, see? Maybe now those darned First Worlders will take Nostradamus' predictions about India becoming a superpower more seriously.

And, finally, let's get into individual responses. Tsunami aid became the new status symbol, more coveted than a Porsche Cayenne. The Who's Who was hysterically signing cheques with a reckless number of zeroes. Call me a cynic, but I somehow cannot believe that they were doing this because they were that moved or in case God was watching and giving them marks. The darling–jis were dripping with diamonds and tears — while the cameras were clicking, of course. The hottest conversation at Page 3 parties these days is, "My cheque was fatter than yours, the NGO I gave to is posher than yours, my photograph in the papers was bigger than yours."

Anil Ambani is my hero. The man should be grimly hanging on to his savings: he probably checks price tags on Armanis these days, but he offered a fair amount. Possibly what he used to pay for a dinner for two, with maybe a diamond ring thrown in — the Gobi Manchurian must be pretty steep at his preferred dining establishments.