Well done, Mrs D!

By Karan Thapar

If Sheila Dikshit is smiling contentedly as she sips her coffee and glances at the Sunday papers this morning, that would not only be justified but, more pertinently, an understated response to her phenomenal victory. 

In her place, others might have jumped up and down and shouted ‘whoopee!’. The credit for this third consecutive victory is undoubtedly hers. No doubt Sonia Gandhi and the Congress can claim a share but first, foremost and, indeed, most of all, it’s Sheila Dikshit’s.

If you don’t believe me start by looking at the odds she faced. To begin with she had already been in office for ten years and one would have expected a vote against her simply for that reason alone. It didn’t happen. 

But beyond that, she was the chief minister who presided over the Bus Rapid Transit corridor, urban sealing, Blueline murders and repeated terrorist attacks including the controversial and divisive Batla House encounter. 

If the BJP thought these constitute good reason for turfing her out, most of us would have agreed. Yet that’s not all. On top of all this there was also the frighteningly high rate of inflation and the dark shadow of the Mumbai terror attack. The Delhi electorate was more conscious of both than perhaps any other. Yet they deliberately and knowingly overlooked all of this. It’s not just incredible. It’s almost unbelievable. 

However, anti-incumbency is not the only element of conventional wisdom Sheila Dikshit has turned on its head. Age is the other. Next March she will be 71. Yet a city where more than 50 per cent are under half her age has given her a clear majority with 82 per cent more seats than the BJP. This time the BJP can’t believe it.

But how can I confidently assert the credit goes more — in fact far, far more — to Sheila Dikshit than either the Congress or Sonia Gandhi? Simple. Just compare the Vidhan Sabha results with those for the Municipal Corporation of Delhi elections 19 months ago. Then the BJP won 60 per cent of the seats, overturning an 80 per cent Congress majority in the outgoing house. Sonia Gandhi and the Congress party were at the front of that campaign. Sheila Dikshit was virtually absent. This time it was Mrs Dikshit who was the face of the party. Those of us who voted, voted for her.

Now the critical question is, what about Sheila Dikshit does the Delhi electorate find so reassuring? I would say the answer lies in three qualities. 

First, her image is appealing. The soft-spoken, grey-haired lady in printed silk sarees is attractive to all eyes. Second, her manner is caring. She is accessible, responsive and willing to accept mistakes. 

Third, Delhi has seen some — albeit limited — progress under her. The state of our roads, the spread of flyovers and the Metro, and the stabilisation of electricity, at least in winter, are the pluses. It may not amount to much, but for an electorate skeptical of politicians it felt like a lot.

But Mrs Dikshit was also helped by the opposition she faced. Clearly, V.K. Malhotra was not acceptable as the alternative. Whatever his political skills and acumen may be, he did not appeal to the electorate. And this point only underlines the fact that people want to know who will rule them. 

They may or may not like the choice on offer but a faceless, leaderless campaign is seen as undemocratic and, worse, it’s viewed as an attempt to deceive. 

However, there is also a caution one can sound. Third terms are tricky if not downright difficult to handle. What usually happens is that while a leader’s mandate has been renewed, the vision has also diminished and, often, the stamina is simultaneously exhausted. That’s precisely what happened to Margaret Thatcher 20 years ago and then, again, to Tony Blair 17 years later. Could the same fate befall Sheila Dikshit?

Guard against this Mrs D. But for today, keeping smiling. You’ve earned the right to a little self-satisfaction.

Memories & a promise

By Karan Thapar

Memories can be tricky, even unreliable. But those I have of the Taj and Oberoi in Bombay most definitely are not. They’re vivid, detailed and unshakeable. They capture something of the special quality of these hotels — their indomitable spirit, air of privileged class and soothing service.

It’s the shining brass surfaces of the Oberoi that first come to mind. Even late at night, there was a discrete footman ready to rub off grimy fingerprints as guests pushed the large revolving door to enter the hotel. Having done so, he would melt away as swiftly and silently as he had emerged.

In the mornings there was a similar attendant with a dust cloth standing by the lifts. He kept the brass surfaces so highly buffed you could check your hair or the crease on your jacket in the reflection. And, if I’m not mistaken, he was always smiling. A boyish, perhaps impish grin, that seemed to forgive you for soiling the gleaming brass.

Wood was the dominant feature of the old Taj. It gave the hotel its historic look. As you walked past the rooms, your hand dawdling on the smooth painted balustrade, you could feel yourself travelling back in time. And if you walked down the grand stairs, you half expected to see a horse-drawn carriage or, at least, an open top Ford Model T waiting for you.

Unless someone had told you, you’d never have realised the Taj was built the wrong way round. But this meant the pool was always bathed in sunshine. And there was always laughter from the happy guests surrounding it. The back verandahs were a favourite place for tea and snacks.

But the memory that I cherish is of a quiet swim late one summer evening as dusk began to fall on the city. As the gold and auburn colours of the setting sun fell across its surface, the pool seemed to turn magical. I was alone and the only sound apart from the swishing water was a gentle breeze in the trees.

Both hotels maintained coffee shops that welcomed fugitives escaping the hot sticky Bombay afternoon. If the Shamiana was better known, the Samarkand, as it used to be, had the advantage of a location outside the hotel itself. I read Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children in 1981 over two consecutive afternoons and several cups of espresso. Cappuccino was still unknown in India. The waiters knew I was a student who couldn’t afford more but they treated me like any other guest.

I was a teenager when I first dined at the Zodiac Grill. The restaurant had an awesome reputation and I was both excited and intimidated. Sitting at the table, facing its collection of glass and shining cutlery, I felt awkward and self-conscious. Yet the waiter, who shook open the napkin before handing it over, treated me like an adult. When he realised I was ordering injudiciously, guided more by the cost than an understanding of the dish, he gently steered me 

to a wiser choice. It turned out that Sole Albert, my initial pick, was just a fancy name for a very expensive steamed fish.

In the 90s, when work took me to Bombay three times a month, my favourite was the lobby level coffee shop at the Oberoi. I would often weekend in the city and brunch on Sunday morning was a particular pleasure at La Brasserie. There was so much to choose I was often paralysed by indecision. “Try a little bit of everything,” one of the waiters said on my first visit. I did. I ended up changing plates seven times.

But I do have one regret I could kick 

myself for. I wish I had spent more time in the Sea Lounge at the Taj. I meant to but apart from tea on a couple of occasions we remained strangers. Now I promise 

to atone as soon as it reopens. I’ll find a place by an open window, looking out, beyond the promenade, deep into the azure Arabian Sea, where I shall sip fragrant Darjeeling tea and nibble Petit Beurre biscuits.

When Zardari came to town

By Karan  Thapar

“There’s a little bit of India in every Pakistani and a little bit of Pakistan in every Indian. I do not know whether it is the Indian or the Pakistani in me that is talking today”

The more I think about what he said, the more stunned I am he said it. But it’s not just his content that is startling. The fact that Asif Zardari was speaking as President of Pakistan to an Indian audience, in full knowledge that he was doing so on live television, makes his statements all the more amazing. Not one of his predecessors would have spoken so openly and with such obvious personal conviction. Indeed even his late wife, Benazir, would have been more circumspect.

To begin with, it’s the number of commitments he readily made. Pakistan has accepted a no-first-use of nuclear weapons policy. “I can assure you that Pakistan will not be the first country ever to use (nuclear weapons)”, he said. When I asked if this was a no-first-use assurance, adding “if so you have just made headline news”, he immediately replied: “most certainly”.

At one stroke, the Pakistani President reversed his country’s traditional insistence on keeping open the option of using nuclear weapons first. I don’t know what his army thinks, but Nawaz Sharif’s PML (N) has publicly endorsed the Zardari line. So even if voices in the press are critical, he has majority support in Parliament.

Next were two expressions of future intent. He wants to see India and Pakistan establish an economic union. He did not explain in detail but he said they should aim for joint economic super power status. And he said he was in favour of “a flexible visa regime, eliminating travel documents … replacing them with (a) smart card enabled E-visa system.” 

“We don’t feel threatened by India”, Zardari said. “India should also not feel threatened by us.” And then, to re-inforce his point, he added: “I want change and reconciliation.” 

For me, however, the most important thing Asif Zardari said was not in response to questions and so it can’t be explained away as an off-the-cuff or unthought-out answer. It was part of his prepared speech. It was, therefore, a well-considered, planned and carefully crafted statement which, of course, makes it all the more incredible.

“There’s a little bit of India in every Pakistani and a little bit of Pakistan in every Indian”. As he said those words a perceptible hush fall on the audience. They literally couldn’t believe their ears. But Asif Zardari wasn’t finished. “I do not know whether it is the Indian or the Pakistani in me that is talking to you today”. As I looked at the seated dignitaries in front of me I saw a sea of flashing smiles and sparkling eyes looking at Zardari on the big screen. Seconds later, they were vigorously applauding.

Asif Zardari said he was quoting his wife. Benazir Bhutto had spoken in 2000. In fact in 2005, when he visited Lahore, L.K. Advani said something very similar. But both of them were leaders of the opposition, a post that allows the holder to speak freely. And they weren’t speaking at a high profile gathering broadcast live. In contrast, Zardari is President of Pakistan. He was addressing one of the most publicised conferences in India. And he knew the media was waiting for every word he said.

I’m not sure if the presidents of North Korea or East Germany (whilst it existed) have ever spoken in such terms, but I doubt it. Certainly the leaders of divided Ireland have not. Nor the Malays and Singaporeans or the Indonesians and East Timorese. Yet the President of Pakistan has! I see this as an indication of Asif Zardari’s thinking and his attitude to India. And I believe he meant it because if he did not the sentence would have got stuck in his throat. It’s almost impossible to express such sentiments when you are lying.

The only question is can he deliver? And, I suppose, how soon? But there is another question we should pose to ourselves: how can we strengthen his hands without, of course, embarrassing him? If a friend can help you, whilst helping himself, it makes sense to help him too. Kids understand that instinctively, adults sometimes forget!

The call of the Valley

By Karan Thapar

I thought of the National Security Advisor, as the first day of voting ended in 10 Kashmir constituencies last Tuesday. In an interview in August, he had stuck his neck out and predicted normalcy would return within “a week to 10 days”. He was confident a credible election could be held on schedule. At the time, I thought he was being reckless. Others were less circumspect. They said he had been foolish. A few even mocked him: “four days to go and guess who’ll be wrong?”

“I think the situation is far less serious than what is being portrayed,” the NSA had said. “People have started comparing it with the 1990s. Certainly the situation is nowhere near that.” This was a surprising comment, given the lakhs of protestors who paralysed the Valley with their cries of “jeeve jeeve Pakistan” and “Bharat teri maut aie”. In fact, to maintain order, a curfew was imposed virtually all over Kashmir. As I heard the NSA speak, I could feel my jaw drop. Afterwards, he added: “I’ll probably be shot for saying what I did.”

Of course, it’s far too early for M.K. Narayanan to start blowing his trumpet. Only one phase of polling is over. There are six more to go and the process will continue till Christmas. Between now and then, a lot could go wrong and who knows, Tuesday’s astonishing outcome could spark off the return of violence. A re-buffed Hurriyat and angry militants may reverse their decision to campaign non-violently for a boycott.

But, that said and done, consider the facts from last Tuesday and what they seem to suggest. The turn out was 69 per cent. That’s 25 per cent more than the 2002 assembly elections and 33 per cent more than the 2004 Lok Sabha polls. In constituencies like Bandipora, Sonawari and Surankote, where fear of a boycott was the greatest, 57, 60 and 74 per cent voted, an increase of 83 and 85 per cent for Bandipora and Surankote compared to last time round. Clearly, Kashmiris wanted to vote and did.

The question is, what made them do so in such large numbers and what message should we read into this outcome?

Two facts seem to account for the turn out. First and foremost, the boycott campaign has been non-violent. Both the Hurriyat and the militants have consciously and publicly eschewed violence. This time there was no fear. As a result, the number of candidates contesting shot up. Bandipora, with 66 villages, had 19, which meant the ability to bring out friends and relatives increased by the same scale. The fact that in Safapora many came out to vote for the lotus, knowing it’s the BJP symbol but not put off by that, shows that the attraction of a candidate you know and want to see win was enough to overcome any reluctance to cast a vote.

So what’s the message from the Valley? Perhaps Hilal Ahmed, a local businessman, put it most pithily. “Kashmir is disputed territory and that is beyond debate. We believe that the issue has to be resolved. But the vote this time is meant to address local issues and it is not about resolving the Kashmir issue.”

This is a vote for better governance, for roads and schools, electricity and water, law and order and for an improved quality of life. But the big question of Kashmir’s future remains. It has still to be addressed.

Within this, there is also a specific message for the Central government and I’m confident the NSA has heard it. Let Delhi not mistake an election for a solution. Equally importantly, let Delhi not drag its feet seeking one. The upsurge we witnessed in summer could easily repeat itself. The sentiments that surfaced then have not been forgotten. They remain dear to millions of Kashmiri hearts. It’s just that an election was not the right occasion to express them. 

But if the big issue of the future is not addressed, they will be heard again. Perhaps sooner than we expect and possibly louder and more forcefully than we can anticipate.

Obama or ‘Oh bummer’?

Barack Obama’s sweeping victory is undoubtedly the silver lining to our heavily overcast times but now that the euphoria is subsiding should we start looking a little more closely at the clouds? There’s no doubt that Obama heralds a new dawn but does he also bring back a few dark shadows we thought had been dispelled?

You can’t have failed to hear echoes of this question on television and the papers last week. Anxiety about whether Obama would ring the Prime Minister was the silly side of it. Concerns about outsourcing or H-1B visas was a hangover from the early part of his campaign. But there is a new and more potent worry that has given the doubts fresh life.

Is Obama poised to play an unwelcome interventionist role in Kashmir? And if the answer is a likely yes, will he put pressure on India to secure concessions for Pakistan? In an interview to Time magazine on October 23, Obama appears to suggest this might be the case.

Obama says he wants “to try to resolve … Kashmir … in a serious way”. He calls it “a critical task” and will “devote serious diplomatic resources to get a special envoy in there”. He also suggests Bill Clinton could be that envoy and reveals he’s sounded him out.

Now is this just loud thinking? I would say not. Obama is a careful self-controlled man. He’s unlikely to be indiscreet. Furthermore, the fact that he’s revealed he has spoken to Bill Clinton suggests the latter did not shoot down the idea. For all we know, he may even concur.

What could add to our apprehension is the possible context in which this proposal has materialised. Obama has repeatedly said that tackling Afghanistan and Al Qaeda will be his prime focus. He claims this is the core of international terrorism and believes it’s a task Bush took his eye off from. But to do so, he needs Pakistan’s co-operation and there are voices in Islamabad which argue it would be willing to co-operate if, in turn, America can create an environment permitting Pakistani troops to be deployed on the country’s eastern border (i.e. Kashmir) to move west (i.e. Afghanistan).

In fact, this thesis is at the heart of Ahmed Rashid and Barnett Rubin’s recent essay in Foreign Affairs which calls for a “a grand bargain”, a deal which includes an American role to resolve Kashmir but also to diminish India’s presence in Afghanistan. Rashid has recently been appointed to a team of advisors set up by General Petraeus.

So is this disconcerting? Possibly. But you could counter by referring to some very different things Obama has said about Pakistan. Early in his campaign, he said he was prepared to take direct action in Pakistan to fight Al Qaeda if Islamabad lacks the capacity to do so. Later, he spoke of Pakistan receiving American equipment and arms supposedly to fight terror but which were, in fact, deployed against India. Most recently, he said he would convince Islamabad that the real threat it faces is internal militancy and not India. Seen alongside these comments, his thoughts on Kashmir seem contradictory or, at least, not properly thought through.

But such apparently conflicting thoughts often lie at the bottom of many a politician’s thinking. It would not be unusual if that was also the case with Barack Obama. And it certainly doesn’t absolve us of the need to be cautious and gently yet firmly, talk him out of attempting to step in and resolve Kashmir.

The problem is just as we are eager he should desist, Pakistan is keen he must persist. An American role in resolving Kashmir is something Pakistan has always wanted and India has, similarly, always resisted. So Obama’s intentions could affect a triangle of relations: Delhi-Washington, Washington-Islamabad and Delhi-Islamabad.

The challenge is how do we divert Obama from such interventionist intentions? Remember, they could have a place at the heart of his self-declared mission to initiate change. Can we deflect his missionary zeal without damaging the good relationship we hope to have with him?

The time has come to think about this.

Our politicians versus theirs

What’s the big difference between our politicians and theirs?” It’s a question I’m often asked but last week, as America voted and the world was transfixed by the Obama-McCain battle, everyone I met popped this query. “Why can’t our guys be more like them?”

I don’t know the answer but I can identify one important area of difference between our big politicians and theirs. The latter readily give interviews. Our top guns shy away. McCain and Obama sought opportunities to talk to the press. They debated amongst themselves. They took the tough questions head-on knowing they couldn’t duck them. 

In contrast, I can’t remember when our top leaders last gave an interview. If you disregard a casual ten-minute chat to The Telegraph, I’m pretty sure the Prime Minister hasn’t given a single interview to an Indian journalist. Vajpayee’s record was equally poor. But this is also true of Sonia Gandhi and, sadly, L.K. Advani, who used to speak but has, of late, opted for silence except to promote his autobiography. 

So where does this leave our big four? Well, to start with, it shows an incredible irresponsibility. It’s the moral duty of democratic politicians to be accountable. Answering awkward questions in interviews is usually how this is done. So if they won’t give interviews, clearly, they’re evading this. 

Ah, but they give speeches, you might counter, and they address press conferences. Isn’t that accountability? Quite honestly, it’s not. In a speech, you set your own agenda. You speak about what you want to. You avoid what doesn’t suit you. And although at a press conference a politician answers journalists’ questions, he or she has multiple interlocutors, each with his own subject, and because the issue changes with each person there is little follow-up and even less intensity or persistence. 

In short, India’s top politicians do not present themselves for ‘grilling’. In fact, they go to great lengths to avoid it. Which naturally leads you to ask why? Are they not capable of standing up to it? Do they have something to hide? Even if you’re kind and put aside such doubts, there’s still one further consequence that’s inescapable.

When in trouble, politicians need to assure people that they know how to handle the problem that’s pulling them down. They need to show they have the answers, the resolve to push them through and the deftness to do so successfully. All of this is shown by answering tough questions. 

And that’s where interviews play their role. At such times, if he handles the media effectively, a politician wins respect. If he avoids the media altogether, he leaves the field open to doubters and critics. Remember, their questions remain but his answers are unheard.

So, in the end, refusing to give interviews doesn’t protect but damages a politician. That’s the nub of the point. Obama, McCain and their fellow Western politicians understand that. So too did Nehru and, once upon a time, L.K. Advani. Today, it seems, the big guns of the BJP and Congress couldn’t care less. 

Perhaps they should learn a lesson from Mrs Thatcher, one of the greatest prime ministers of the last century. I recall a young cockney electrician once asking her how she decided whether to give an interview or refuse. Her answer was revealing. “When I’m in trouble, when I need to show I have the answers and I have the determination to put things right, I agree to every interview. After all, it’s only when people know that I can remove their doubts that they will have confidence in me. But when things are going right I stay silent. At such times, there’s a danger that if I speak I might put my foot in my mouth and create a problem that doesn’t exist!” 

Amazingly, our politicians do the precise opposite! To the extent they give interviews only to gloat, which is why they end up embarrassing themselves. But when they need to reassure and win confidence they opt for hermit-like silence. Which is why they’re so often — and for so long — in trouble.

The colour of America

Pertie’s phone call was a surprise, not least because he rang at a decent hour. He was also unaccustomedly calm and reflective. Paris seems to have made him professorial. 


“Are you following the US elections?” He seemed to think not. “It’s the only subject people talk about in Paris, apart from the crisis, of course.”

“And what are they saying?” I was being polite. I have not thought deeply about this election although I follow it intermittently on television. Bombay, Singur, the Christian killings and our tumbling stock market seem to take up all my time.

“Think about it: we could have a black president in just a couple of days. And that too a man with an obviously strange name and an unsettling middle name. It’s as if France was about to get a Moroccan or an Algerian president or even one from Cote d’lvoire and Senegal! The French press love it but the ordinary Joe can’t quite believe it.”

Pertie has a point. Six months ago it would have been hard to believe America could have a black president in our lifetime. And even though the rest of the world has embraced the idea, it’s still a little difficult to accept that Obama’s captured the popular imagination and expresses the hopes of tens of millions of ordinary Americans.

“Clearly colour is not an issue for many Americans and, who knows, they could be a majority on Tuesday. Isn’t that an astonishing measure of how much America has changed? How its prejudices have disappeared? How open and embracing it’s become?”

As Pertie spoke, fractured memories of America flashed through my mind. I recalled the dark, brooding heavy atmosphere of Harlem way back in the 70s when I first visited New York. It was unnerving. I felt scared and I did not want to linger. I remembered the music halls of the French quarter of New Orleans from the 90s. The black musicians were admired, occasionally loved, but they were never one with the rest. This was their city. White Americans were only visitors. And I recollected my trips to Washington in the 2000s. The taxi drivers, the street cleaners and the hotel staff were black. Those with money, who they served, tended to be white.

“You know what this proves?” Pertie’s voice cut through my reverie. “That America is the greatest democracy in the world. Don’t you agree?”

“Aren’t you over-egging it? After all immigrants or outsiders have made it to the top in other countries as well. New Zealand has an Indian governor general, Singapore has an Indian president, Canada has had Indian state premiers and federal ministers.”

Pertie’s first response was a low laugh. It sounded sardonic. But when he spoke I realised it was disbelieving.

“Oh come! This is the presidency of the United States of America. The most important and most powerful job in the world. And on Tuesday it could belong to a black man. A member of the old slave race. Remember that film we saw at school? Guess who’s coming to dinner? Well, this time it’s not dinner, it’s ‘guess who’s going to rule our lives?’”

I remember the film as if I saw it yesterday. The horror on Spencer Tracy’s face when he first encountered Sidney Poitier was unforgettable. Without saying a word it captured the colour divide that made America one country but two people, two societies, even two nations. If Obama wins that rift could be bridged. Indeed, the fact that Obama could win suggests it already has been.

“And if Obama loses?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Pertie seemed to have thought this out. “America will never be the same again. What matters is how far Obama has come and what he’s done to America’s image. Actually, what he’s done to the way Americans think of themselves. They’re proud they could elect their first black president. So if not Obama, there’ll be another very soon.”

“Hmm. Hereafter you can no longer say it’s a white man’s world.”

“Hang on. Don’t get carried away. They see Obama as a white man but other blacks won’t change colour!”