The House Of Lards
Not since 1653 when Oliver Cromwell disturbed the House of Commons by sacking parliament with the plaintive cry, “In the name of God, go,” has there been an adjournment or suspension of the UK parliament. Since most of our democratic practices and institutions are based on the British model, this smooth running of the mother of all parliaments stands in direct contrast to the mayhem and vandalism seen here. There is no shortage of heated debates in the Commons, much shouting, even some booing, but no member of parliament leaves his seat, much less enter the well of the House and challenge the Speaker. In the early ’60s, the leader of the opposition, Harold Wilson, threw a box of matches at prime minister Alec Douglas-Home to help him do his sums in a debate on the economy. That’s about it.
The free-for-all which goes on in our Lok and Rajya Sabha is entirely a local growth. It is a creation of our domestic bickering. As we contemplate the washout of the monsoon session, it is time to ask why disrupting Parliament is considered the highest form of parliamentary protest. Perhaps the Lok Sabha secretariat can confirm this, but the almost daily interruption of Parliament is a recent phenomenon, a creature of coalition politics and the intellectual bankruptcy of our political establishment, unwilling or unable to engage in meaningful and calm debate.
Also routine are constructive recommendations to reform the functioning of the House. Actually, the solution is quite simple. Any MP entering the well of the House should be named by the Speaker and suspended for the session. And since the MP is a mere footsoldier being manipulated, the party he represents should be shown a yellow card and punished. An all-party committee can decide on the nature of the punishment.
Will our political parties agree to abide by this kind of self-regulation? Absolutely not.
When The Rationale Is Sketchy
When I look at the young cartoonist Aseem Trivedi and then look at the crime he is alleged to have committed, the crime assumes large elements of farce. We are not sitting in judgement on the young lad’s proficiency and skill in drawing cartoons. Indeed, if he has to be punished, punish him for terrible and crude sketching. Unfortunately, the sedition charge presumes Trivedi has the capability to overthrow the Indian state and a magistrate has found, prime facie, enough merit in it to send him to jail. The law is an ass and its gross misuse can be seen in the Trivedi case.
Cartoons are not supposed to be fair or objective or balanced. The cartoonist’s job is to demonstrate absurdity by distorting, exaggerating and hitting below the belt. Trivedi’s efforts must be seen in that context. It is often said that Indians in public life have no sense of humour. They are pompous and take themselves far too seriously. If our Constitution cannot withstand the admittedly crass and coarse lampooning by this novice and hopeless critic, then it is not worth having.
Silly Point
Since every Sunil, Ravi and Ayaz has had his say on why the little master is looking pathetic on the cricket pitch, here is my take. It’s not the gap between bat and pad or the slow reflexes or just old age catching up with Sachin, it is the new hairstyle. Not only is it awful and makes Tendulkar look like an unsuccessful Page 3 showbiz animal, it has altered his whole personality. Instead of the solid, no-nonsense, dependable Sachin, we have a fake Sachin, someone who is not sure who he is or who he was. Perhaps the change in hairstyle was suggested by the Bollywood types Sachin increasingly hangs around with these days, perhaps his agent is the culprit trying to polish up his client’s image in order to make him appear glamorous to advertising agencies. Whatever, the project is a disaster.
Every time I see Sachin on screen, he doesn’t remind me of the person I’ve known, metaphorically speaking, and admired, for over two decades. I plead with the world’s sanest cricketer with all the conviction at my command—please come back to your earlier self; the gap between bat and pad will disappear once you are Mr Normal again.
Paint Me Black
Recently, I went to one of Delhi’s most talked about joints, The Blue Frog, where my friend Manu Joseph’s new novel was being released. I may be showing my age, but the place was pitch dark and we needed a torch light to move around. I stumbled quite a few times before finding my seat. Being a nosey sort of chap, I proceeded to investigate the darkness. It seems currently India’s state-of-the-art taverns are designed on the assumption that faces are irrelevant, only voices matter.
Last week
The well-known journalist Kanchan Gupta accused me on a website of wearing a “funny pair of trousers” twenty years ago. Before I take action on this slander, I expect either a full apology or proof.
Vinod Mehta is editorial chairman, Outlook, and its founding editor-in-chief; E-mail your diarist: vmehta AT outlookindia.com
