Into Appearances

None of my blogposts have been revisited, edited, and abandoned as many times as this one. For multiple reasons. One of course is that my confidence in my ability to write anything worth reading waxes and wanes on a daily basis. Secondly, I’ve become hesitant to make strong, politically sensitive statements on a casual forum, specially since my medium of communication with the rest of the world has largely been reduced to facebook. And finally, I’ve been reading far too much of Ramachandra Guha’s writing and I’m sure we’ve all experienced the extreme paralysis that accompanies the fear of being incredibly inadequate at the task at hand. However, on this unbearably cold winter evening in Chicago, I’m holding on tight to some wispy shreds of confidence and temporarily pushing fear out the window to suffer in the ice and snow.

So here’s where I began. Neil Patrick Harris shot to fame as Barney Stinson in the sitcom How I Met Your Mother (yes, I know this wasn’t where you thought I was going, but bear with me). I internet stalked him extensively, took a hard, stern look at his real-life boyfriend, watched every possible interview and stage performance youtube found for me. He could sing, he could dance, he could match steps with Hugh Jackman. He was outstanding. And then HIMYM went kind of downhill, it was no longer funny or gripping and while I was never really interested in how Ted meets his wife, I also lost interest in how Robin and Barney got married. A new obsession had arrived in my life in the form of The Big Bang Theory (living by yourself in the United States does a lot of strange things to you). Jim Parsons became my next favourite. I would be incredibly happy at anything he did - at his acceptance speech at the Golden Globes and at his wit at the San Diego Comic Con. And while TBBT continues to be part of my staple diet, Jim Parsons got unceremoniously replaced when I saw the new Star Trek movie, drooled over Khan Noonein Singh and thereafter got hooked to the BBC series Sherlock. Benedict Cumberbatch is my latest obsession. I’ve watched interviews of him over and over, and probably watched the six episodes of Sherlock five times each, utterly immersed in joy at the sound of his voice and the vision of his suited, tall, lean frame. Yes, my sanity has come into question often in the last few months.

When Sherlock speaks in his deep baritone, drawing conclusions out of thin air, narrowing his eyes with contempt at an uncomprehending spectator of his brilliance, you want to believe him. You want to drink in every single word and you dreamily grab onto every thread of logic he throws your way. Because he couldn’t possibly be wrong. He’s so charismatic and convincing, he could not possibly be mistaken. I’ve shaken myself out of this reverie occasionally and accepted that some of his conclusions are hideously far-fetched and improbable, but it doesn’t take much for me to sink right back into the drama that the brilliantly choreographed direction creates.

Am I the only star-struck one or have people throughout the history of time been fooled by smoke screens?

Let’s think a little bit close to home. Have you ever witnessed inexplicable mania for Amitabh Bachchan in an otherwise seemingly sane human being? Have you ever wondered about the cause? Is he the best actor India has produced? No. I would argue that his much less exuberant wife and on occasion, his still-waiting-for-his-claim-to-fame son are more believable performers than he is. Is he the best looking person you’ve ever seen? No. Is his reputation impeccable and untarnished? I’m sorry to say, the answer to that is also no. But, his brooding tall frame, his power-packed dialogue delivery and even his incredibly unfunny drunken monologues in front of a mirror, generate a larger-than-life image that converted him into the coolest, most suave don, thug, poet or coolie there ever was.

In Indian politics at this very moment, there are no prizes for guessing who is surrounded by similar inexplicable mania. Umpteen friends, family members, acquaintances whom I had categorized as like-minded and liberal, are hailing Narendra Modi as the saviour of India. The nemesis of the Congress Raj. The end of corruption, inefficiency and poor governance, and freedom from a political dynasty that India has lived in the shadow of far too long. His ardent fans need to be constantly reminded that the sweeping economic strides Gujarat has apparently made are somewhat of a myth. Its growth rate was high when India was doing well on the whole and plummeted when India fared badly, and during 2000-2010 Gujarat performed only marginally better than Maharashtra, Haryana or Tamil Nadu. Notably, Gujarat has failed on several counts of human development, for instance it has recently dropped from the 12th to 28th place on India’s educational developmental index. However this isn’t the sole reason why it troubles me greatly that I may soon have to see him as the Prime Minister of my country. I am not a fan of the Congress party (unfortunately this needs to be clarified). And I would also like to believe that I would feel the same way about this man even if I had not lived in Ahmedabad in 2002. Perhaps there is no strong political leader besides him on the horizon, but don’t let that compel you to settle for him either. Because it’s a smoke-screen.

What is common among Barney, Sheldon, Sherlock, the Angry Young Man mould and Narendra Modi? They are arrogant, self-obsessed and egotistical. And that unfortunately, has the capacity to make them irresistible.

People often mistake arrogance for confidence and vice versa. Confidence is an attractive quality, arrogance can be a turn-off. But it’s quite the heady mix when they’re indistinguishable. Narendra Modi’s rise and unprecedented fan-following has been attributed to a vast number of things such as his humble background, his “bharatiya” appeal (which must of course be attributed to lack of any “paschim ki hawa” because the West is evil and the homegrown is saintly), his Hindutva stance, his ability to take decisions even if they might be undemocratic, the apparent path-breaking economic development in Gujarat, his clean, uncorrupt image in stark contrast to the Nehru-Gandhi family, and his skills in oration and riling up of crowds. While I admit that all of these have played their part, but having thought a lot about what makes people go completely crazy about celebrities, I’m increasingly convinced of my smoke screen theory. Particularly in the face of the fact that there is absolutely no other major political celebrity out there to deify and place on a pedestal. All there is, is Rahul Gandhi, who is very quickly turning into something of an anti-celebrity, if there is such a term. Burdened with the pressure of following three generations of Prime Ministers before him and ailing from a severe case of foot-in-mouth disease, Rahul Gandhi appears more and more like Keshto Mukherjee, facilitating Narendra Modi’s Sylvester Stallone status and paling horribly in comparison.

But don’t let that fool you. Don’t let arrogant be the new sexy. Because this isn’t a question of which movie we’ll watch this Friday or which TV show we’ll play tonight. This is the future of the world’s largest democracy. Don’t let Narendra Modi’s seemingly towering personality block your ability to see that he’s in his own way an extremist. A fascist in disguise, for whom and for whose followers there is no middle path. You either fall at his feet or are labeled the Gandhi family’s newest chamcha. The city of Ahmedabad went up in smoke in front of my 15-year old eyes and under his watch. Perhaps the scars of such violence, even if experienced only second-hand, never really go away. To this day we haven’t heard a satisfactory apology or explanation or observed any signs of regret from him, and while he may be given the benefit of doubt of not being directly involved, he can under no circumstance even pretend to stand for the secular and diverse nature of a country like India. There are no aspects to his personality suggesting that genuine acceptance and inclusion of a heterogenous population come naturally to him. Do not let the lack of better options force you to elect an intolerant authoritarian who has chalked out no concrete plans for the magical economic development he claims he can bring about in India, and whose greatest skill thus far has been the public slandering of members of the ruling party, often shattering all accepted codes of decency into pieces.

The Congress Party, particularly in its present form, is not suitable for a bright and shining future for India. But neither is Narendra Modi. It is perhaps too much to hope for a Nelson Mandela. But let us not lower our standards. Let us not lose sight of the fact that India stands for freedom, democracy, equality, peace and pluralism. Let us not choose someone who avoids all debates, who bans books without reading them, who only wants to be heard and does not want to listen. Let us look for the Howard Wolowitz performed by the supremely talented Simon Helberg who might be invisible in the presence of Sheldon, the Watson marvelously played by Martin Freeman and Mrs Hudson delicately and superbly rendered by Una Stubbs, who may be overlooked in light of Benedict Cumberbatch’s overpowering appeal. And let us not ignore Jaya Bachchan’s acting prowess and career because of her husband’s ridiculous stardom. Please, not Narendra Modi. Please tell me you’re not into appearances.