All Things Considered

Romancing Modi

Narendrabhai has Arjuna-like clarity of vision. Narendrabhai literally is the lord of men, a leader among leaders and the king among kings. Let me attempt to paint another picture: October 2, 1869, Porbandar, Gujarat — the birth of Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, the father of the nation; October 31, 1875, Nariyal, Gujarat — the birth of Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel, India’s man of steel; December 28, 1932, Chorwad, Gujarat — the birth of Dhirubhai Ambani, India’s greatest entrepreneur; and September 17, 1950, Vadnagar, Gujarat — the birth of Narendra Modi.

November 1984, Once Again

It’s twenty-eight years after, so why are the Delhi University authorities so morally afraid of some telling pictures of the 1984 massacre of Sikhs? Why did they deny permission to the students to stand with the pictures inside the campus, and hold a floating exhibition travelling around the country on the idea of injustice as public memory? What compels this act of Chinese-style censorship?

I Love My India…

You might call me a pessimist, but I am not running away from the ritual of bitter realism which we drink like bad faith every day. You might pump yourself with film stars selling their miscellaneous products on television — ‘I love my India’ — and you might suddenly fly on the all that gas balloon of superpower, nuclear power India; but, honestly, you must be joking.

Superman of the Holocaust

In the Revolution of Nihilism, Herman Raushning makes chilling revelations about the rise of fascism with Hitler at the helm. With a bloated megalomaniac fascist like Narendra Modi muscle-flexing his way into the faction-ridden BJP’s incomplete dream sequence, here is an extract from the book which might appear relevant in the current morally corrupt and politically/ethically disintegrating social fabric of contemporary India.

Kiss the cracked lips of May

“We comfort ourselves by reliving memories of protection. Something closed must retain our memories, while leaving them their original value as images. Memories of the outside world will never have the same tonality as those of home and, by recalling these memories, we add to our store of dreams; we are never real historians, but always near poets, and our emotion is perhaps nothing but an expression of a poetry that was lost.” 

Gaston Bachelard, The Poetics of Space: The Classic Look at How We Experience Intimate Places.