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Delhi Diary

As the Modi tsunami gathers force, one has to ask: can he sustain the momentum he has set. Has he peaked too early?

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Delhi Diary
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How Catholic is He? 

To call Narendra Modi a “polarising figure” has become commonplace. That cannot be his sole disqualification for the top job. As the Modi tsunami gathers force, we can no longer pretend he is something of an enigma. In fact, we know him rather too well, and I wonder if he can sustain the momentum he has set. Has he peaked too early? At any rate, for the moment, he has captured the imagination of the media-led public with his colleagues and rivals in the BJP looking on helplessly as he single-handedly takes charge of the party and its agenda.

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Along the way, he has tripped up. His lie about women’s reservation in local bodies being held up by the governor has been cruelly exposed. How­ever, to be fair, most politicians tell these sorts of untruths. The chief minister of Gujarat, moreover, is the proverbial cat with nine lives. Mr Modi takes calculated and uncalculated risks with the aplomb of a trapeze artiste performing without a net.

Although his record in office is mixed, Mr Modi has managed to convince middle-class, urban India that he is the “deliverer”. If, he argues, he can do it in Gujarat, why not the rest of India? Politicians make big promises for a living, so we must give Narendrabhai the benefit of the doubt. He certainly won’t make the mess the Manmohan Singh government has made.

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Unfortunately, that is not the issue as we debate what kind of prime minister he’ll make. Instead, we have to ask: is he catholic enough for 7, Race Course Road? The jury is still out on that one because as Mr Modi travels the country presenting his blueprint for the redemption of the republic, there is not a word on 2002 or the plurality of India or secularism. In his scheme of things, the minorities don’t exist. Perhaps he is smart. He knows if he talks about the minorities he would have to explain or refer to the events of 2002. The trick Mr Modi has to pull off in his pursuit of the gaddi is to go on campaigning for the next nine months or so going into great detail about every aspect of nation-building without mentioning the word Muslim.

Crack Jack

I remember Ian Jack, whose marvellous collection of India jour­nalism (Mofu­ssil Junction, Penguin) has just been published, principally for being the first writer to bust my editorial budget. In the ’80s, I had commissioned Ian to do a piece for The Sunday Observer and his fee, non-negotiable (he is a Scotsman), was Rs 1,000. Since my weekly budget for freelancers amounted to Rs 900, I had to add the rest from my pocket. It was worth the expense. Ian delivered a cracking 2,000-word piece (missing, alas, from this collection) on a Shiv Sena legislator who, pis­tol in hand, spent his nights catching and arresting homosexuals on Chowpatty and Juhu beach.

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The standing joke in those days was Ian’s proposed tome on India. Because he travelled a lot by trains, he thought the railways as a “metaphor” for the state of the nation would be an original theme. Fortunately, he quickly realised what a cliche the idea was and wisely suspended the project. Somewhere, I suspect, there is an unfinished manuscript in Ian’s cupboard. We had other low-life adventures which I propose to record in the sequel to Lucknow Boy.

Highs & Lows

Over the weekend I popped into Lucknow to speak at the city’s first literary festival. And discovered much to my astonishment that I was something of a star, a son-of-the-soil who had made good. More crucially, I had publicly acknowledged my debt to the city for making me the kind of person I am (okay, no cracks about “why blame the city?”). The affection and acclaim I received blew my mind. Remember, I was never a Lucknow-wallah, I was an “outsider”, a “refugee” who quickly latched on to the manners and history of a great town. Since I possessed no culture of my own, no roots, no sense of identity, Lucknow filled in the gaps magnificently. A philistine Punjabi had been civilised.

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The two days I spent in Lucknow had my head whirling. Happily, I was brought back to earth in typical Lucknowi fashion. A school friend called at the hotel and confessed that he never believed in miracles. Until, that is, when he read the morning papers and learnt that a certain dunderhead called Vinod Mehta was now an author, a man of letters and a moderately famous editor!

An RIP for IPL?

I’m happy to report I have, till date, not watched a single IPL match. Nor do I read the endless guff printed in the papers. Buffoonery, what this cricketing obscenity is, must be a torture for the genuine cricket-lover. The sooner it ends, the better it will be for people who love the game.

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Last week in Lucknow...I met the legendary book-seller Ram Advani. He is 96, minds the shop, drinks two whiskies every evening and plays golf every day.

Vinod Mehta is editorial chairman, Outlook, and its founding editor-in-chief; E-mail your diarist: vmehta AT outlookindia.com

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