In the lament of an Indian who fancies himself or herself as a liberal-secular, and cannot come to terms with the reality that a vast majority of the nation’s voters have endorsed Modi, lies the real intent of these people
Such inconvenience! First this terribly hot weather, and now Narendra Modi’s victory. It’s a double whammy. What am I, the hardcore liberal, supposed to doIJ Of course I have begun to pack my bags. And there is so much packing to do. I will be in exile for five years at the very least, and possibly five more after 2019. India is going to burn, and the scorching sun will not be the only reason. There will be famine; there will be earthquakes; there will be the outbreak of an epidemic; man will slaughter man; Hindus will butcher Muslims; young women across the country will be put on surveillance, even when they enter the washrooms. The idea of India is now under siege. Ooph! Bad days are here with Modi as Prime Minister. Whatever is wrong with the votersIJ They will pay, pay, pay…
Meanwhile, I have better things to bother about. For one, I have to decide my destination. There are many liberal countries out there with welcoming arms stretched all the way to me. I have to only say ‘yes’ and they will fall over themselves to take me in their bosom. I am the persecuted (or to be persecuted) child of India, after all. The US, which denied Modi a visa, should have been a natural choice. But then, look at what they have done to Assange and Snowden. Also, the Americans have begun to warm up to Modi. Such infidels! Wait, I have found my country — liberal and secular to the core: Saudi Arabia. So what if women as second-class citizens have to eat their burgers from under their veils and men as subjects have to bow before the king and call him ‘Your Excellency’ in ArabicIJ It’s better than having to call Modi Prime Minister.
I am not sure if I will be joined by my other valuable co-liberals who too like me had announced months before that they would quit India if Modi were to become Prime Minister. To be fair, they must have made the commitment without realising that the day would dawn this soon for them to redeem their pledge. They would not have really wanted to leave a country where they have established a flourishing cottage industry out of slandering Modi. But then all their efforts had been targeted at ensuring that the butcher of Gujarat did not arrive at 7, Race Course Road. Now that he has, thanks to the voters’ stupidity, it is unlikely that the sponsors and promoters of my liberal friends are going to invest good money after bad. They must be running around like headless chickens — and Modi may not have necessarily sliced their necks with the dagger he carries underneath his Hindutva robes.
Nevertheless, I am certain not to be entirely alone in my renunciation of India. I wish to be in eminent company. I have tried to contact well-known writer, UR Ananthamurthy, who had been among the first to announce his resolve to leave the country in case Modi became the Prime Minister. His mobile phone is switched off. He should not have gone incommunicado. At least he should have guided me on how to make money out of threats. Remember, after he made his famous announcement, thousands of Modi fans had send him money to finance his exile. I don’t know how much he made (it cannot have been less than what he had received as a Jnanpeeth winner) or what he did with the amount, but if he wants to renege on his promise, he can at least divert the money to me. I could use it; the last cheque I had received was weeks ago from a foreign-funded foundation which rewarded me for a seminal study on how people with the surname ‘Modi’ had killer tendencies in their DNA. The prestigious Harvard Medical School is currently studying the thesis.
I have friends and admirers in Bollywood too. The petitioners from the industry, who had before the election was due in Maharashtra, issued a written appeal virtually asking people not to vote for Modi, are my co-ideologists. I must get in touch with them to check out their travel plans. Of course, they don’t have to be as elaborate as I am. Since they keep going abroad, they can during one such trip simply refuse to return to Modi-land and seek political refuge in a democratic nation — perhaps China, which, like the other democratic country, Iran, offers film-makers tremendous opportunities to explore their liberal themes. There is a good possibility that their work will be recognised by the Oscars merely because it emerges out of these nations.
Of course the Hindi film industry has black sheep too. To think that Salim Khan, a devout Muslim, should endorse Modi, and even help him with his Urdu website! Then there are others like Salman Khan, Ajay Devgn, Madhur Bhandarkar, Preity Zinta and more. One flies kites with Modi; another establishes a solar project in Gujarat; and the lady goes gaga over a murderer. Why could they not fly kites in Amethi and put up solar panels in Rae Barely or swoon over the handsome RahulIJ I would any day prefer the secular Abu Azmi who says that people, especially women, who have pre-marital sex, must be marched off to the gallows. At least he does not speak of Ram Rajya.
The other day, my friend and socialite who is invited to all secular dinners hosted at the India International Centre, the India Habitat Centre and the India Islamic Cultural Centre told me that the Modi regime could impose an Emergency-like situation in the country — rounding up people who do not cry out Jai Shri Ram or who wear a skull cap without being Muslim (even if the cap has been worn to block out the sun). I take strong objection to the comparison with the Emergency. Indira Gandhi was a secular leader and her Emergency was for a good cause (the country had become too ungovernable then with the lathi-wielding khaki-short wallahs trying to topple her with the help of foreign elements).
Imagine if I am asked to compulsorily sing Vande Matram. How am I supposed to know the lyrics in Sanskrit, a language I thought had died out along with the dinosaursIJ AR Rahman has done his bit to make it pop, but I still cannot sing it. Of course, I can recite God Save the Queen. I know it because my English teacher at school was a smart young woman, while the shabbily-dressed male Sanskrit tutor droned on about Kalidas and some character named Panini — I am told he is considered the greatest grammarian in the language. Who caresIJ
I must hurry now and leave the country before Modi reaches out to me and enlists my services in nation-building. I am told that’s how he won over Zafar Sareshwala. It is fun to clobber Modi, but nation-building is not my idea of an enjoyable exercise. No, thank you.