I was born into a world without villains. The British had left India. We were a free nation. There were many heroes: Gandhi, Subhash Bose, Sri Aurobindo, Nehru, Sardar Patel, Maulana Azad, Ambedkar. Remarkable guys who fought, each in his own way to bring us freedom. A spanking new nation was about to be built. Everyone was excited. It was heady times; it felt great to be an Indian. All our other identities were subsumed.
Yes, there was a bloody Partition. Many had lost their homes and families. Some people were angry, very angry, but that anger was specific. It was directed at those responsible for the bloodshed. It was not free floating rage. No one in those days was stupid enough to confuse Pakistanis with Muslims or the British with Christians. Everyone was anxious to put the past behind and get on with the task of building a new India. Since I grew up in Kolkata I met many people, Hindus and Muslims, who had fled what was then East Pakistan. They were trying hard to rebuild their lives. The locals did not see them as unwelcome immigrants. Instead, they went out of their way to help them. I remember my mother giving her blouses to a refugee woman to embroider even though she could barely afford it on her meagre school teacher’s salary.
There was magic in the air, the magic of nation building. There were dreams that everyone dreamt, of creating a new India where we would all be Indians first. In our living room hung pictures of Rabindranath Tagore, Gandhi, Subhash Bose. My father would proudly tell me stories of the freedom struggle and politicians were then our biggest heroes. No, I never heard of a film star or a cricketer then. We spoke only about politicians and how they would change India. We believed in them. We admired them.
By the time I was in high school things had changed. People were burning buses and trams to protest against a one paisa ticket price rise. It wasn’t actually the price rise. It was free floating rage against being let down by the political class. When I joined college, the best students of my class vanished one day only to surface in Naxalbari fighting for what they saw as a just cause, the rights of the rural poor. I may not have agreed with them but like all young men of the time I believed in the good fight. Student politics in Europe was hotting up. Tariq Ali in England, Daniel Cohn-Bendit in Paris, Rudi Dutschke in Germany inspired the May uprising in Europe. Governments began to feel threatened by youth power. Che was the new idol and young people swore by his vision of a new world. But no, it didn’t take long for disenchantment to set in. Marxism became the God that failed.
It wasn’t only Marxism. Politics failed India. Pictures of politicians in the living rooms disappeared. We read about bloody clashes between political parties, religious groups, castes, communities. Regional issues reared their head. New conflicts emerged. We began to hear of crimes we had never heard before. Suddenly there were villains all around. People we began to hate, who were among us but not one of us. Politics became murky; we began to seek our heroes elsewhere. Actors became stars. So did writers, singers, journalists, sports people. Doctors, teachers, social workers were still respected. Some of them migrated to politics, won elections. But our world without villains had changed forever.
Today we live in a world where villains are everywhere. Politics has more than its share and even though everyone wants to be in politics, the reasons are different. Politics hardly offers nation building opportunities. It offers money, power, pelf. So do some other professions as well but politics is the shortest cut. That’s because at the heart of it lies all pervasive corruption. An honest politician today is as rare as the mountain quail that ornithologist Salim Ali spent his whole life searching for. When I began my life as a journalist, it was possible to expose a corrupt neta and see him sacked or punished. Today, if you expose a corrupt neta, you are more likely to get sacked yourself.
Then there are the other villains around us. Terrorists, extortionists, underworld syndicates, Maoists (often confused with the Naxalites of yore), the khaps who love to murder their own, suicide bombers fighting for lost causes, bigots who beat up young girls for drinking or wearing short dresses, fundamentalists constantly in search of new victims, regional groups who see other Indians as the enemy, book burners, art vandals, hackers, poachers who are wiping out entire animal species, corrupt Government officers, rogue policemen, environmental predators, fake drug manufacturers, the land mafia encroaching on public land in connivance with those who are supposed to protect it. The villains are everywhere, growing by the day. Where have the heroes gone? I often wonder. Where’s the India we once dreamt of?
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