MORE than two-decades-plus-a-little-over-6-years ago, as I sat down in the entrance examination hall that would pick 21 candidates who would, for the ensuing two years, learn the ins and outs of journalism, I had no idea as to whether I would get myself enrolled for the same. For, journalism was nothing more than The Hindu, Sportstar, Frontline and the Illustrated Weekly of India to me till then. These four publications were more than the world to me, who hailed from one of the remotest, godforsaken corners of Tamil Nadu.
Having born in the cusp of Tamil
Nadu and Kerala, known otherwise as Kanya Kumari district, I inherited a mother
tongue that was alien to the Tamil brethren who went to school with me. Malayalam was the spoken tongue at home, while
the nuns-run convent school I went to, made sure I spoke, dreamt, and imagined
things, only in English. The convent school, manned by the women in Christianity’s
divine robes, taught me how important English was, and will be, in the days to
come. And, thus these four publications were ushered into my home, soon after I
outgrew Uncle Pai’s Amar Chitra Katha series of awesomeness.
Years later, as I sat down to
write the entrance test that was to be my gateway to a journalism career, these
publications and the nuns who guided me with their Anglo-disciplinarian agenda,
came handy.
Writing in English, till then, was
attempted only in the form of answering questions at the school, pre-degree and
graduation levels. And, suddenly when a
journalism question paper arrived to taunt, it was akin to a rookie tail-ender
bat facing Michael Holding in an all-important Test match. With no clue on what
the answers would be for every question that was thrown at me, I took my stance
to a ball bowled to me round the wicket by an University that had already earned
its name for its never-legible googlies.
And then, there was this question
prompting me to profile Rajiv Gandhi, the young Prime Minister of India. Rajiv
Gandhi had, over the past few years, nestled in my soul’s sanctum for his
dynamism and vision for an India poised to be launched into the millennium. As luck would have it, one of the tasks that
looked up at me from the University stamped question paper was to profile Rajiv
Gandhi. The man, who I had heard talk to India from the ancient Philips valve-radio
many a times, stood tall and clear in front of me as I attempted the question. And, then words flowed, first in trickles,
and then as a torrent, filling the white sheets with the story of a man who was
“young, and had a dream too”.
Borrowing heavily from stories
that had earlier mesmerised me on the pages of The Hindu, Illustrated Weekly
and the Sportstar, I went about analysing Rajiv as a young Indian looking to the
future through the eyepiece of technology, his vision of a new India and his mellowed
but committed voice that made even the global fora stand up and applaud.
A video doing the rounds on
social media of late, suddenly takes me back to the Rajiv era, for once. I know I’m risking myself on a space where I
could be called a Congress fellow-traveller, when I’m not. I do not know if
there is a fiercer critic of Rajiv’s son and wife than me at this moment. I
detest the hordes of spineless gentlemen and women in Khadi who pay obeisance
to mommy and sonny, day in and day out, even as they know that the undeserving lot
play kings and king makers in a democracy known for its secular credentials. I rue
their stance of squandering away the best opportunity to play the bravest,
India-minded Opposition when it really mattered. That, however, is a story waiting
to be narrated later.
Coming back to my current topic,
let me tell you, the Modi wave that is made to lash global shores, and the make-believe
efforts that the so-called bhakts undertake to portray their leader as the
first ever man to charm America and the rest of the world, appear to me as efforts
so futile even as they continue to tell the world that this man with the now famous 56-inch-chest and
the screaming voice is a unique phenomenon. However, for, me, and I guess for
the men and women of my generation, there used to be this gentleman-politician man
who charmed the world by just being there and putting words into real action. The manner in which he has handled the foreign media, the elected representatives from all over the world and the various international fora is worth emulating, and he has done things realistically and in a gentlemanly fashion all the time, every time.
As I write this, the video that
prompted this piece plays for the umpteenth time on my laptop. This, yours
truly believes, is a reminder of the times India used to be held in high esteem
for reasons so genuine. Another video that came up added to the respect this
man commanded. If you are charmed by the much-published and publicised bear
hug, the Indian-American crowds singing eulogies for no reason, and the bhakts
that crawl when they aren’t even supposed to kneel, it is time for a serious rethink.
If these two videos launch you into rethink mode, Jai Ho! For, I’m charmed for the millionth time. Click
play, to watch for yourself.
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