Telegraph Calcutta

See you on the other side

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Take a break. Mazaa aaya? Did you enjoy that? Must have. You only ever get to do it once every five years. Did it? Enjoyed it? How was it?

I’d never know. I’ve never done it. I don’t have it in me. To do it, you know. You need papers. Identity. NiradharCard. ThrivingLicence. WorthCertificate. Those sorts of things. I don’t have those. I don’t have it in me. To do it. You know. Come on yaar, samjhaa karo. All this collective business. Leave me out of it.

But you did it, didn’t you? Your duty? Do you have proof? Did you stick your finger up and take a selfie? Or get some other to photograph it? Your stained finger? As proof that you had done it? With all those percentages? 62. 67. 65. 59. 72. 68.5. 59. 73. There was also 14 and some minimal decimal somewhere. People are busy with other things. It is their right. To do. Or not to do. With me it is not even a matter of right. Or wrong. I am out of this. I have never had my fingers stained. I speak and clarify only on my fingers, mind you. My fingers have not been stained, never been. Wondering tangentially here about Mahadeb. What about you? Mahadeb? Did you? Ever? Get your finger stained? For such a thing? Are you listening? Can you? Where you are? Wherever you are? Alas we do not know where you are. And don’t know whether you hear us. Although we can hear you loud and clear whenever it is that you choose to speak to us. Anyhow. Do we deserve to know from you? Whether you stained your finger? For such a thing? We shall wait, we shall wait to hear from you. About a few things we have no option. We are reconciled. What is, is. What we get is what we get. I never even tried.

But I celebrate it that others do; this whole lovely variegated plural fair unfair dark light high low forward backward reserved unreserved northern southern western eastern gora kaala wheatish whitish bindu juslim kikh misai sickular fekular bhakt mukt jawan naujawan left right centre liberal blabberal aam amrud kela seb male female trans abcdeflgbyqrstuwe, the peepuls, bhai behen mitra and all that and sundry do. They all do. In large numbers. And having done, they raise their stained fingers as proof of having done it and photograph and advertise it. On Teetar. On Bacebook. On Hotsapp. On Wincetagram. On Dick-Dok. On What. On Not. On WhatNot. Don’t believe me? Go look. Go look into all these places I mention, and probably many more that a Luddite like me does not know of, and count the number of stained fingers raised. Count the number of those who did it, and are announcing proudly they did. As they well should.

Kiya?

Kiya!!!!!

How’s the hosh?

Hosh? Gosh!! What do you think? Once in five years. You can imagine. How’s the josh? There was josh. Now it’s gosh. Anyway. Since you asked:

KiyaHo gaya. Fingered it. With proof. On Focal Media. Go watch.

What does it look like?

Meaning?

What does it look like, the consequence of what you have done? With your fingers? Of all that fingering?

Let me see. It wasn’t me alone, you see. In this thing. There were many others, many multitudes. Doing what I was doing. You know. All that happens. You look at your options, and then you take your pick and finally deliver the jab. I mean finger it. At your chosen spot. Who knows who chose what spot to push their finger on. Who knows where whose sweet spot lies. You press your chosen one, of course you do, and that is your inalienable right in a mature dimocracee countree such as ours, but there are many you can choose from, multipul chwaaaise, as they say. You get to finger one, but you get to choose which one.

So who knows? Who can ever tell? Who made what chwaaaise? It was legally multipul chwaaaise. And what lies there looks a little hazy. And layered. And of differentiated hues. And certainly not clear. Smudged it is: smudged is what I can see. And you? Can you see anything? Clearly?

It may be a boast

For those ready to toast

But before you cut the roast

Picture abhi baaki hai dost.

https://www.telegraphindia.com/opinion/see-you-on-the-other-side/cid/1690772

Telegraph Calcutta

The SP-BSP alliance in Uttar Pradesh has unleashed a resistance the BJP cannot ignore

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Beyond the abject predictability of Varanasi, beyond the limits of Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s constituency, eastern UP begins to resemble the Bihar of 2015: a battle, a girded loin battle, between a juggernaut on the roll and newly aligned armies determined to grind it to a halt. You head towards Ghazipur or Chandauli, you head towards Jaunpur or towards Bhadohi, you head up north towards Gorakhpur, you head towards Mirzapur —- the pattern everywhere is the same: robust rival caste and creed formations locked in an intense smash and grab game.

In the Bihar of 2015, the challenge to the BJP came from the RJD-JDU-Congress combine. In 2014, the BJP had swept Bihar, taking more than 30 of its 40 Lok Sabha seats. But in 2015, bitter rivals Lalu Prasad and Nitish Kumar joined hands.

The BJP was routed. Here in the districts of UP’s Purvanchal, the SP-BSP alliance has unleashed a resistance whose prowess even the BJP’s election managers acknowledge. “Yahan Varanasi chhod ke kai seats mein fight hai,” a senior BJP leader visiting to oversee the campaign tells The Telegraph, “I am not saying we won’t do well, but yes, we are facing the heat. It is something we will have to work to overcome.”

As you leave Varanasi and enter the rural dustbowl, you’re likely to sense the high Modi decibel falling away and the clamour of a more even contest beginning to make itself heard.

Your hear “Contest hai”; you hear “phansaa hua hai maamla”; you hear “kaante ki takkar”. You don’t often hear what was heard at high pitch in Bihar next door this campaign and even elsewhere in UP, you don’t hear “Modi-Modi”, you don’t hear “Modi hi mudda hain”. You don’t hear the refrain that Modi alone is enough to swing it.

In Mirzapur for instance, Anupriya Patel, Union minister and Apna Dal leader, must rally her own troops and wage her own battles rather than rest easy on the Modi reputation.

“Anupriyaji has the support of her caste base and sections the BJP brings,” says Ratan Patel, an Apna Dal worker in Chunar, about 30 kilometres west of Varanasi, “But the others also have their votes, it’s a strong vote this time because the SP and BSP have combined. The fight will be hard.”

Rather than on Modi, the Patel camp may be keener on other factors at play. Which way, for instance, will the Muslim vote split between the SP-BSP and the Congress. Or whether the Congress’s Lalitesh Tripathi will manage to break the Brahmin vote. Or again, will the SP-BSP nominee, Ram Charitra Nishad (he is the sitting BJP, yes BJP, MP from Machhalishahar, and his switch might tell its own tale) be able to woo the substantive sections of the non-Yadav OBCs? The combinations and permutations are shifting and shuffling, like shards in a kaleidoscope.

Modi remains a factor, undeniably, but not a singular factor that can change fortunes. Neither does he soar above the field as the invincible one.

Often, you’ll hear him being dismissed out of hand. “Modiji kya hain? Dugdugiya madari hain, tamasha karte hain, bheed jutate hain, paanch saal mein aur kya kiye? (What is Modi? He is a street showman, he does tamashas and he gathers crowds, what else has he done in five years?)”

That may sound like a provocative shot fired to fetch a response from the few sheltering from the heat under a huge peepal.

It is past noon, and the Ganga ghat at Chunar lies bleached under the sun. Only young boys and buffaloes have dared the distance to the riverbank. Girija Prasad Yadav, the man who has just spanked the Modi reputation in public, holds his dare and looks around if there’s a response coming.

It does, soon enough, and it is another jibe at Modi. “Arrey madari nahin, Tughlaq hai Modi, roj naya drama-nautanki, kano kuchh, kabhi kuchh. Note bandi kiya, phir bhool gaye kitna bada julum janta pe kiye. Pulwama mein sipahi mare, laash pe naachne lage. Aisa koi pradhan mantri hota hai?” (Modi is like Tughlaq, every day something new. He did demonetisation, then forgot what an atrocity he had committed on people. Soldiers died in Pulwama, he started dancing on their bodies. What sort of Prime Minister is he?)”

This time it is a Nishad, a non-Yadav OBC, who has spoken up. Kirparam Nishad is his name and he runs a small kirana store in the bustee nearby. “2014 mein aaraam se jeete thhe, iss baar yahan woh maamla nahin hai. (The last time Modi had won comfortably, this time it’s not the same.)”

https://www.telegraphindia.com/india/the-sp-bsp-alliance-in-uttar-pradesh-has-unleashed-a-resistance-the-bjp-cannot-ignore/cid/1690838?ref=india_home-template

Telegraph Calcutta

Understanding the Modi voter’s mind

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The converted, by definition, are not going to be convinced by anything contrary. It’s the reason they are converts. Durgesh Jaiswal probably knows there are flaws to the worldview that cocoons him, but you cannot take him anywhere near the possibility of admitting them.

Durgesh believes he lives in Pakistan. His full address is this: Lad Bhairon, Kazzakpura, Saraiya, Varanasi, Uttar Pradesh, India. Translated in Durgesh’s head: Pakistan. Varanasi, the centre of the Hindu world, from philosophy to practice to its very physicality. But to Durgesh, Pakistan, or littered with many Pakistans.

“Hum log apne hai desh mein ghir gaye hain, saans nahin le sakte. Isse bachne ke liye Modiji kaa hona bahut zaroori hai, aur woh kuchh karen, nahin karen, isse koi matlab nahin. (We have been encircled in our own country, we can’t breathe. For this reason it is essential that Modiji remains there, whether he does anything else or not, I am not bothered).”

It is quite possible Durgesh, unemployed and in his mid-twenties, feels exactly how he says it: suffocated at home. Kazzakpura, like most of old Varanasi crawling along the Ganga, is a teeming warren of bric-a-brac housing and retail commerce. It is also overwhelmingly populated with Muslims. “How can one feel comfortable among them? It’s suffocating, and it’s not acceptable. This is our country, India, and we have to live in Pakistan.”

There’s no reasoning with Durgesh on what Kazzakpura is or what it means to him. What he believes, he believes with absolutism. And it’s not about Kazzakpura alone; it’s about all of this country.

“Poora India hi Pakistan se bhara hua hai, aur iske liye Modiji chahiye. Sattar saal mein ek kaam nahin hua thha, woh kaam Modiji ne kiya. (All of India is full of Pakistans. The one thing that had not been done in 70 years, Modi has done).”

No need to specify what’s that one thing; everybody knows. It’s the pointed exclusion and othering of India’s largest minority, their formal notarising as the unwanted and dispensable ones, even as the ones that constitute the enemy.

But Durgesh is not happy to stop at that, the othering is the first step, it cannot end here, it has to be taken forward. “Hum log kuchle jaa rahe hain apne hi desh mein, abhi bhi ghulam hain, iska kuchh karna hoga. Isiliye Modiji ki zaroorat hai. (We are being crushed in our own country, we are still slaves, something will have to be done. That’s why we need Modi.)”

It is this, essentially, that Prime Minister Narendra Modi has come to achieve — a confounding, and no less frightening, hypnosis on minds that has turned the bizarre into the believable. It is, if you like, Modi’s most efficient surgical strike — this instilling in India’s overwhelming majority a deep minority complex. It’s a project that has been in the works a long time, perhaps since before Durgesh was even born, but now the worm has been widely seeded. It wriggles in hearts and minds and it triggers a variety of symptoms — anger, suspicion, hatred, frustration, victimhood. You only have to sit Durgesh down and listen to him.

He doesn’t have horns on his head. He is as commonplace a youngster as you will come across. He wears ripped jeans and fluorescent trainers. His favourite food is Maggi noodles. He rides a bike and won’t mind acquiring a female pillion. He uses up 1.5 GB data on his phone each day. He can flash the most endearing smile. He is keen on the ICC World Cup. Somewhere along the conversation he also tells you he is a member of the Samajwadi Party (SP).

Clanger. What? SP? The same which is fighting Modi tooth and nail and which boasts of Muslims as its core votebank? “That’s the only problem with SP, they back the wrong guys, otherwise I have no issues with it. It is my party of choice. And please don’t bring in Modiji into this, Modiji is different, he is not about parties, he is above all this, he is essential.”

And because Modiji is Modiji, nothing he does, or does not do, must be criticised or questioned. Unemployment is not his fault, it always existed; the shaken economy is not his doing, when was the economy great; the deterioration of the situation in Kashmir is proof that Modiji is doing something right, he has driven them to desperation; his laughable description of why he thought a clouded sky was opportune for the Balakot airstrike is not at all laughable, it is Modiji’s “unique way” of explaining a complex military decision in “simple language”.

Unemployment is not his fault, it always existed; the shaken economy is not his doing, when was the economy great; the deterioration of the situation in Kashmir is proof that Modiji is doing something right, he has driven them to desperation; his laughable description of why he thought a clouded sky was opportune for the Balakot airstrike is not at all laughable, it is Modiji’s “unique way” of explaining a complex military decision in “simple language”.

There, in fact, lies in the sameness of responses of Modi supporters from remote and unconnected pockets from Bihar to Rajasthan to Madhya Pradesh to Uttar Pradesh, a key element of this election: the Modi machinery is leagues ahead in the communication game, it has anticipated chinks and parcelled out the mortar to plug them. The messaging to his constituency is clear and it has spread like napalm. Everybody, all across, is chanting the same defence of Modi’s indefensible lapses and failures.

By contrast, the Congress’ election call hasn’t travelled; to the carpet bombing of the Modi message, it is a bit of a dud. Rafale and “Chowkidar chor hai” don’t resonate much beyond the Congress dais; the cry on unemployment and an economy under shock remain lost in translation. The fancied promise of NYAY has no frisson with the voter.

A contrary version of “nyay” does; it’s the one Durgesh has turned a Modi devotee for.

https://www.telegraphindia.com/india/modis-most-efficient-surgical-strike-instilling-a-minority-complex-in-indias-majority/cid/1690735

Telegraph Calcutta

Modi-bhakti, a marvel stupefying after its own fashion

When he had come here in 2014 in his newly minted “chaiwala” avatar, Narendra Modi had grandiosely declared that the next time he comes he’ll sit down for tea with a spoon of sugar from the Motihari sugar mill. The mill had been closed for decades, but Modi was a man of his word; if he had said it, he would do it, ran the belief.

Modi can make that promise once again. The Motihari sugar mill remains what it was in 2014: shut. The periphery and the insides have been colonised by wild overgrowth, the mill itself is a rusted carcass of ironwork; it’s a miracle the shell hasn’t begun to fall off. This mill isn’t the only one wasting away on the promise of revival. The Chakia sugar mill not far away remains shut. The Motipur sugar mill a little further down remains shut. East Champaran is also abundant in litchi; a processing and market complex had been promised by Modi in 2014. That promise too can be made by the Prime Minister again.

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This stretch, like scores of others across the nation, is littered with the debris of promises forgotten or forsaken. The absence of public toilets and the preponderance of public filth. The persisting drought of opportunities that drummed-up projects like Make in India and Startup India had promised to bring. Struggling, subsistence farm holdings. Most of all, raging unemployment whose symptoms are the droves of youngsters batting flies at every crossroads, every village adda you come to pass: “Kya karte ho?” “Abhi to kuchho nahin.” (What do you do? At the moment nothing.)

But Modi-bhakti is a marvel stupefying after its own fashion, a plague fallen on reality and reason alike, a submission almost imperforate. It will not admit to the most flagrant lapses of its adopted deity, it will in fact argue back in defence.

No jobs. “But so what, if everyone gets a job who will till the fields?”

No industry. “And show me one industry that was here before Modi came?”

No impact of Swachh Bharat. “Do you expect the Prime Minister to clean your toilet? If people have filthy habits, what can Modiji do?”

The ransacking of public money by corporate carpetbaggers. “Arrey, it is because of Modiji’s fear that people like Nirav Modi and Choksi have run away, or else they would still be looting us.”

The mutilation of institutions such as the Election Commission, the CBI and even the Supreme Court? “Modiji ne sabko seedha kar diya.” (Modi has straightened everybody).

You might have expected the lone and despairing man posted to guard the wilderness of the Motihari sugar mill to be a little annoyed Modi hasn’t bothered with his promise. But he isn’t.“Agar iss mill kaa koi kuchh uddhaar kar sakta hai to Modiji, lekin unpar aur bhi badi-badi jimmewari sab hai. Desh surakshit rakhna hai,” he says. (If anyone can revive the destiny of this mill, it is Modiji, but he has more onerous responsibilities to fulfil. The country has to be kept safe.)

But it is not as if other voices do not populate this geography; very often they are forceful and girded for a fight. On our way back to Patna we halt at a tea stall. It’s raining fire from the skies, a dozen or so men are sheltering under the shade of the peepal. One of them is on his phone and laughing.

“Modiji ne sabka hawa phuss kar diya hai, social media par to ekchhatra raaj hai.… Facebook par bhi Modi-Modi hai.” (Modi has punctured the opposition. On social media he rules unopposed, Facebook is all Modi-Modi).

Another joins in: “India Modiji ke wajah se hi bacha hua hai, nahin to Pakistan kabjaa kar leta.” (India is safe because of Modiji, else Pakistan would have captured us).

This is too much for Bindeshwar Das, a wizened villager sitting nearby, to stomach. “2014 ke pehle humlog Pakistani kabja mein thhe kya? 1971 me Bangladesh Modi ne banwaya? 1965 ka ladai Modi lada? Yeh desh Modi ke baap ka hai kya?” (Were we under Pakistan before 2014? Did Modi create Bangladesh in 1971? Did he fight the 1965 war? Does this nation belong to Modi’s father?)

For a moment everybody is staggered. Then the Modi apologist responds angrily: “Don’t raise your voice against Modiji, he is our tallest leader, our Prime Minister.”

“You can’t take away my freedom to speak, nobody can,” Das shoots back, “I am not going to lose my rights at this age, many Prime Ministers have come and gone; it is we who make and remove them, don’t forget. Don’t take anything for granted, Modi ke naam par sab pagal nahin hain (not everybody is mad after Modi).”

We are in Vaishali, north of the Ganga from Patna. RJD veteran Raghuvansh Prasad Singh, in probably his last electoral contest, is pitted against Veena Devi of the LJP. Even detractors concede that Raghuvansh has the “chhavi” (image) advantage — a clean leader who as rural development minister in the UPA government built a reputation for nursing the constituency. Veena Devi, on the other hand, suffers for reputation. Her husband is a tainted contractor, and she herself has not much to go by in terms of what she may have contributed to Vaishali, an entirely rural belt.

Even those who ride the Veena Devi bandwagon aren’t able to defend her or her husband. But they have a fallback: “Modiji hain naa, Modiji ke wajah se jeet jaai Veena Devi taa jeet jaai… khali agar Modiji kaa jaadu chale.” (There’s Modiji, if Modiji becomes a factor Veena Devi may win, but if Modiji’s magic works.”

Telegraph Calcutta

Why Modi? Without him, there is no security, say voters

In a state dominated by two rival titans for three decades, a third man has grabbed pole position. His name is not Lalu Prasad or Nitish Kumar. He is not a Bihari either. He comes from the other end of India’s breadth; his name is Narendra Modi.

Five years after he made an audacious attempt on Bihar and swept it, Modi has come to establish himself as the single most important arbiter of electoral choices. Especially so in north Bihar’s Mithilanchal districts.

You either love Modi or you loathe him; the bold point subscript of this election is just that: Modi versus the rest. And the question that gets asked bluntly and very often is: “If not Modi, who? Is there another candidate Prime Minister we can see? Koi hai race mein (Is there anybody else in the race)?”

Where the NDA appears to be doing well, as in Madhubani, it is in Modi’s name; people can’t seem to be bothered who the local candidate is. A response you must expect and eventually tire of hearing as you travel across north Bihar goes: “Modiji kaa vote hai, local mein kaun khara hai isse kya matlab, Modi ko PM banana hai (The vote is for Modi, who cares who the candidate is, the vote is to make Modi Prime Minister again).”

Where the NDA prospects appear a little uncertain, as in Ujiarpur, it is Modi who is expected by candidate and votary alike to tilt the balance. “Candidate theek nahin hai, lekin Modiji hain naa, vote to unhi ko padega, candidate se kya matlab hai (The candidate isn’t good, but there is always Modi, the vote is for him. Why should we bother about the candidate)?”

Where the NDA is panting behind the Mahagathbandhan in the race, as here in Samastipur, it is again Modi, and Modi alone, who can save the day with some miracle. “Modiji kaa jaadu chala to kuchh ummeed hai yahan, aur koi kuchh nahin kar sakta. Lekin yahan jo bhi ho, PM to Modiji hi banenge (There is hope only if the Modi magic can do something, nobody else can help. Even so, whatever happens here, Modi will become Prime Minister).”

In the summer of 2014, these parts were in blind rapture with Modi; the carpet cry was to bring him on as Prime Minister. Five years later, that sentiment is intent on keeping him in office — that rapture remains undiminished among large sections that turned to Modi at the expense of local leaders five years ago.

There is one critical, and pertinent, difference: in 2014, Modi arrived on a wave of hope, this time he is marketing fear and playing chief insurance agent against “threats to national security”. It is the one factor that has been sold to near perfection: if there is no Modi, there is no security. “Modiji nahin rahenge pradhan mantri to Pakistan ko jawab kaun dega?”

What that has effectively achieved is to push Modi’s undelivered 2014 promises, his failures on many fronts, and the bushel of allegations the Opposition is thrusting in Modi’s face, beyond the scope of argument. “Desh hi surakshit nahin rahega to aur issues uthaane kaa kya matlab hai?” retorts Daya Prasad Singh, a public sector employee, lounging about a tea stall on the Samastipur-Darbhanga road. (What is the point in raising other issues when the nation cannot be kept secure?) Present company nods, there isn’t a sound disagreeing.

But has Modi not created the scare he is ensuring people against?

“Created?” Daya shoots back, affronted. “Are you saying Pulwama was created by Modi? Are you saying we would have been safe if he had not responded with Balakot? Kya baat karte hain... what are you talking about?”

The Modi following is hyper-political, almost cultish in the unquestioning way his votaries regard him. The result often is that there can be no interrogation of Modi’s record as Prime Minister — not on the downturn in employment, not on rural distress, not on the flight of mega scamsters, not on crony capitalists he has bred, not on controversial questions on the Rafale deal. Nothing.

Asked about the many financial scandals that have erupted during the Modi years, a schoolteacher seated beside Daya points to his cap. It is an AAPist paper cap, save that it is saffron of colour and written on it is “Main Bhi Chowkidar”. Argument over.

The owner of the shack has been listening in on the chatter. It’s a ramshackle shack, the owner has himself been yoked to the coal stove, clad in shorts and a torn vest.

How would Modi have altered his life and circumstances? “Not much, nothing at all in fact, I am the same as I was.”

And yet a Modi votary? “Ekdum,” he says emphatically, “Namak-roti khaayenge, Modi ko jitaayenge.”

Telegraph Calcutta

And So We Are On The Fences

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And so we are. Indeed. Where else would we be? These are our fences. We made them. But we choose not to see them. At the best of times. At the worst of times. Our fences are what we choose not to see. Fences? What fences? Nobody told us. Fences? Kothay?Where? I am so sorry, I cannot see them.

No? You can’t? You really cannot? Where might you be? Where are you located? Where is it that you might be located? May I ask? May I even dare? Forgive me, but where are you that you cannot see fences? Can you hear me? Or are you so terribly far away? Are you in a high place? Oh, thank goodness, and thank God, if you are in that terribly high place, you can probably look down. Look down and see. Look down and see where I am. Or we are. Or most of us are.

Worry not. Have no shame or embarrassment. Be not mortified. There is nothing wrong in looking down. You may look down. You may honourably look down. And then, perhaps, you may be able to see us. See who we are, where we are. Way down, way, way down, far way down your appointed gaze has ever allowed you to reach. But try. Try to look. Look down. Look down upon us. And we shall be grateful you looked down. At least you did. If not, at least you tried. To look down. Mercy be upon you.

There is a fence. Of course there is a fence. It is a darkened fence. It is a fence not easy to discern. Not for you at any rate. Because you have never seen this fence. You have never needed to. You have never ever required to come near. You have never ever required to see. You have never required. That is what it is: you have never required. What is it that you know about requiring?

I am on the other side. We are on the other side. You cannot see us. There is nothing to be seen. But we are nothing, and therefore it is only logical that we cannot be seen.

But we are there. So what if you cannot see us. You really cannot? Are we not visible? Ask Mahadeb. He will be able to help you see. He has a ThirdEye. Ask him. If you can find Him. And if He is willing.

And even so. So what if we cannot be seen. Should we make a spectacle of ourselves, now? Should we? Can you see God? Tell me? Tell us? And because you cannot see God, will you say God is not? Will you? And because you cannot see us, will you say we are not? Will you? Khauf karo Khuda ka!!Have fear. Have some fear. And have faith. For if you have no faith, there is only fear to have. Am I right? No? You have neither faith nor fear? Hmmm. Of course. Then you have the freedoms. No faith. No fear. Only freedoms. I can see. I can understand that. “I do not understand this… I have no faith… I have no fear… I have only freedoms…”

I can understand that. I do understand that. It is, in fact, a bit easy to understand that. Because you are who you are. You are on the other side of the fence. And I am on the other side from you. WE are from the other side to you. You cannot see. You cannot be bothered to see. You cannot be bothered to understand. It is for us to see. It is for us to understand. You will not. You may not. You need not. You are on the right side of the fence. WE are on the wrong side of the fence.

It is there, the fence. At least the fence you can see. You cannot? But you must. You have to. It is the fence, after all, that defines you. It is the fence that tells you that you are on the privileged side of it. That you can afford, courtesy of the side you are on, not to look or to know what is on the other side of it. Where WE are.

We. We. The MANY. As opposed to YOU. You, the few. Who cannot see. Or will not. Because the many are not for the few, the few are for the many. Is it not? It is the few who are because of the many who are; and the many are there, or must be, for the few. Or how else are the few to be who and how they are? Look. Look at the fence, and beyond it. You made the fence, look who you made it to keep out.

Let us see, let us please

Let us see what you can see

And let nobody be at any ease

If you will not let us be.

Telegraph Calcutta

BJP pressure stalls Nitish manifesto

Bihar chief minister and JDU boss Nitish Kumar is under insistent pressure from his domineering ally, the BJP, to drop key commitments from his manifesto and align it closer to the Sangh parivar worldview.

The three issues the BJP wants him to drop relate to Article 370, the Uniform Civil Code (UCC) and the construction of a Ram mandir in Ayodhya.

Nitish and the JDU have hitherto held a different position from the BJP on all three — they have vowed to protect Article 370, which guarantees special status to Jammu and Kashmir, and the UCC, which is an article of faith for the Muslim minority; they have also never toed the BJP line on endorsing the construction of a Ram temple in Ayodhya.

But hectored by the BJP to go silent on all the three issues, the JDU leadership has been thrown in a quandary: does it submit to the demands of the BJP, or risk their ire in the middle of a critical election?

The JDU manifesto has been drafted by a team comprising party general secretary K.C. Tyagi and national spokesperson Pavan Varma, and makes a mention of all the three issues “in keeping with our traditional secular line of inclusive growth”.

The manifesto was to have been released on April 14, but its unveiling has remained inexplicably withheld. Reliable JDU sources have told The Telegraph that it is the BJP’s last-minute demand on key and critical changes that has kept the release in abeyance.

One of the authors of the stalled manifesto, Tyagi, has in fact been summoned to Patna from Delhi by Nitish on how to deal with the BJP diktat.

The chief minister, the sources indicated, was “not averse” to “going silent” on the three issues but others, including Tyagi, were reluctant to play ball, arguing that it would mean “complete ideological subjugation” to the BJP and the Sangh.

Nitish, and his senior colleagues, have maintained thus far that the JDU has its own ideology, distinct from the BJP’s, and would stick to its “core commitments to secular principles and politics” despite being in alliance with the BJP.

On paper, the JDU avers that any dilution of Article 370 and the UCC, or any commitment to building a Ram temple at the disputed site in Ayodhya is violative of “secular principles”.

But now, Nitish suddenly appears a little shaken on those commitments. Mid-campaign, Nitish isn’t quite sure how defying the BJP will impact the future of JDU candidates in the fray. There is, of course, an unspoken dare beneath the demand the BJP is pushing — comply, or else…

Nitish’s allies have already littered the campaign with palpably divisive and anti-minority rants. The BJP’s Begusarai candidate, Giriraj Singh, declared on Wednesday that if Muslims wanted their three yards of burial space, they shall have to say Vande Mataram.

At a rally in Darbhanga on Thursday, Prime Minister Narendra Modi exhorted, in Nitish’s presence, that those who had a problem saying Vande Mataram deserve to lose their deposits.

Nitish, clearly, is having to quietly and helplessly sit out a campaign by his allies that runs contrary to his “avowed commitment” to secular politics.

The JDU is contesting 17 of Bihar’s 40 Lok Sabha seats — the same number as the BJP — but it is well aware that the support of the BJP is critical to its success in most, if not all, of those seats.

So here’s Nitish’s dilemma, being played out in the strategy rooms of the Bihar chief minister as this report is written: Should Nitish not agree to comply with the BJP’s demand, his ally will turn cool and the strike rate of JDU victories will suffer. Should he give in, and drop those critical commitments against the wishes of key authors of the manifesto, Nitish will lose even the fig leaf of being “committed to secular politics and minority rights”.

Nitish has made many convenient and contrary choices to suit his political survival and ends in the past. The unveiling of the JDU manifesto, when it does happen, will provide clues to which way he chose to go this time — the way of “conviction” or the way of convenience.