The Man Who Couldn't Care

He is invisible, inaudible, inaccessible and incommunicado. There is no chief minister more divorced from reality than Naveen Patnaik in India today. The Doon School alumnus and buddy of Gore Vidal and Mick Jagger jells better with the strawberries-and-cream crowd at Wimbledon than with the hapless, emaciated tribals of Kashipur district. According to sources close to him, Patnaik—Pappu to his pals—can't understand why the media is making so much fuss over 24 tribals dying in a remote corner of his state.

For four weeks now, the Orissa chief minister has used his best angrezi accent to sell the story that the tribals have strange eating habits. That they clearly prefer crushed mango kernel to rice and that they had died due to food poisoning. Of course, few believed the story and when after four weeks of inaction Patnaik decided to visit the district, he was subjected to the wrath of the tribals. Bijoy Mahapatra, an ex-bjd leader, says, "Had the government reacted swiftly, the situation could've been contained. The state has surplus rice in its godowns. Yet, people died of starvation."

Rather than endure the mango kernel and dust of Kashipur, Patnaik would have much preferred a quiet drink with a Doon School buddy like energy minister A.V. Singhdeo, in the air-conditioned comfort of his house in Bhubaneshwar. In fact, after becoming chief minister a year ago, he used to catch up with friends every evening at the Oberoi. But media flak put paid to that, and he's since retreated to a den behind his house.

Now everyone in government knows that the chief minister places a high premium on his private space and social life. Says a bjd mla: "We all know it's not advisable to talk to him in the evenings!" Chips in another local leader: "Advisable or not, it is certainly difficult to track down a chief minister who does not own a mobile phone and remains cloistered with his friends most evenings."

So disconnected is Patnaik that even his political friends speak of his total lack of interest and motivation in affairs of state. Says a bjp mla from Orissa: "He became chief minister too easily. He rode on his father's sympathy wave and when that wears off he will return to Delhi. He gives the impression of a man who is just biding his time until the next elections. He knows that he'll be routed, and then when this party (bjd) is over he will return to the other kind of parties he is comfortable with in Delhi."

Very clearly, for Patnaik, Kashipur is far too distant a reality to be upset about. So those who speculated that he would take up "pedestrian" issues like drought and famine when he boarded the CM's special plane to attend the National Development Council (ndc) in Delhi last week got it all wrong. A nonplussed Patnaik was into discussing 'broader' economic issues. Kashipur was not even on his agenda. Afterwards, he stayed on in Delhi to have dinner with old friend, the affluent high-flying Rajya Sabha member from Orissa, Jai Panda.

This, according to those who know him, was typical of Naveen. A certain sense of apathy and indifference, rather than calculated callousness, has been the hallmark of his style of governance. Says a bjd mla: "He has a hands-off policy. It is the bureaucrats who run the show." According to him, this attitude stems from the fact that the chief minister has a genuine problem in communicating with the people of his state.

Oriya is not one of Patnaik's strengths. When he is pushed to speak in it, he reads from a Roman script and that too in an embarrassing anglicised accent. According to bureaucrats, he switches on when spoken to in English and switches off when someone uses Oriya. The joke doing the rounds among Congressmen from Orissa is that if only the tribals of Kashipur could have made their representation in pucca Queen's English, they might have had a patient hearing from their chief minister.

But even such barbs only go so far with the chief minister. Naveen Patnaik rolls on—Kashipur or no Kashipur.