I'm a Farmer

 

From a commoner's perspective, one can see that perhaps the Supreme Court did not delve into the constitutional validity of the farm laws because, prima facie, they may not have identified anything ultra vires of the Constitution and could not strike down the farm laws, hence opted to stay them till further orders.

But at the same time, on what grounds did the Court stay the farm laws? And if they did so to facilitate the committee they proposed, which would examine the issue, why not then ask the government to repeal them instead? Staying the implementation of the laws in itself reflects the Court’s acknowledgement of their obnoxious and egregious nature.

When the Court observed that the government did not hold consultations on the bills with all stakeholders before ramming them through Parliament, does it not indicate that the bills are bad in law? Why then is the decision to stay them and not to order their repeal?

Is it beginning to suggest that something is "rotten in the State of Denmark"?

The Chief Justice timidly observed yesterday that the farmers may not trust them, but they are the Supreme Court. If the Court finds itself in such an unenviable position, where the trust deficit in the Court is at its nadir, there is no one to blame but the Court itself and the men in robes who occupy the hallowed seats.

The Chief Justice's suggestion that the elderly and women participating in the protest must go back may be, as some say, a ruse to prepare the ground for the government to flex its muscles on the protesting farmers.

Never, in post-independent India, and not even during Indira's reign leading up to the Emergency infamy, have we looked at the courts with such sceptical eyes as we now do. Court decisions and subterfuges over the past three to four years do not inspire any trust in the judiciary either. A sad state indeed!

What is astonishing is the Court's insistence that the farmers' unions should participate in the deliberations of the committee. The farmers rightly fear that they would be led up the garden path by a Supreme Court-nominated expert committee, and once they commit to it, they may have no recourse when some alibi is used to vacate the stay on the farm bills, albeit with some cosmetic changes.

I think we are in for a long haul, which may either end unpleasantly and sound the knell for the Modi government, or result in the complete bludgeoning of the farmers by the government, where we may see the Supreme Court, like Pontius Pilate, washing its hands of the blood of India’s food givers.

If this sounds cynical, I cannot help it, but I earnestly wish I am wrong.

Hanuman Pandaram

 

 As a child, I was fed tales of a bogeyman. Recalcitrant, noisy, and demanding children were warned of a certain "Hanuman Pandaram," who would appear from nowhere, perform bizarre dance moves, then snatch you away and vanish forever. The fear was palpable when we were told that the distant sound of a gong heralded his arrival. Eventually, he did appear one day—and many times thereafter—revealing himself to be a harmless, hunched mendicant who performed a monkey dance, wearing a grotesque mask resembling the primate god Hanuman. He would quietly retreat after collecting alms.

Reflecting on those days, I can still feel the fright that the story of Hanuman Pandaram aroused in us. Yet, it must have been a boon for parents, helping them to rein in and control their children.

I liken that childhood fear of Hanuman Pandaram to the scaremongering of the Modi-led narrative about Muslims and minorities. Just as those tales once served to subdue children, today, populations and societies have been effectively divided, with suspicions writ large. The Hindutva agenda has been smoothly accomplished.

Now, more than halfway through my life, I cannot recall a single instance where I was hounded or discriminated against solely for being born Hindu. It amuses me to hear people parrot the notion that Hindus are under threat in their own country. I challenge anyone of my age, or even younger, to come forward and specify what tangible threat they have faced.

As a child, I visited temples, vying to be at the forefront of jostling devotees, eager to ring the temple bells when the priests opened the doors of the sanctum sanctorum. I would also wander into the school chapel, observing nuns kneeling piously in prayer, gazing with pity at the crucified Christ and marvelling at the saints and frescoes adorning the walls. No one forced me to attend catechism classes. In my teens, out of my own volition, I began to question the futility of supplicating to gods and eventually ceased visiting temples as a devotee. To grow up exercising free will, thought, and decision-making—albeit as something of a rebel—was a unique experience that required a touch of resolve. Fortunately, I had that in abundance. I saw no need to question or worry about my church-going friends or Abdul Harris, a schoolmate who, to our amusement and wonder, once showed us his circumcised penis. That did not make us see him as different. We eagerly awaited the Christmas cake from a friend of my grandfather, which arrived unfailingly every Christmas Eve.

Where was the threat to me? Later, there was none for my children, who spent their entire schooling as boarders at St. George’s Homes in Ooty. It was our decision to inform the school principal that we had no objection to our children attending Holy Mass on Sundays at the school chapel. Mercifully, notions of “love jihad” or “holy crusades” had not yet reached Kerala when I broke ranks and married a Catholic—32 years ago to this day, 23 August.

My Hindu identity, whatever that may be, has neither worn out nor diminished. By not fretting over its definition or feeling the need to safeguard that mirage, I have found immense peace that no gods or places of worship could ever provide.

Twice in my life, both times in my early teens, I was approached and cajoled to convert. First, by the local RSS shakha leaders, whose advances I found strangely abhorrent even then. Later, by a neighbourhood senior, accompanied by the then-SFI leader, who appeared at my gate to recruit me as an active SFI member—an offer that failed to inspire.

Lieutenant General .R.Gopal

It has been a long journey for many of us in the decades since college—a rollercoaster for me personally. Yet, what brings immense pleasure is watching close friends climb steadily, and seemingly effortlessly, up the ladder of success. The joy and satisfaction of seeing friends scale the heights of their careers are so profound that you must experience it to truly understand.

One such friend, Lieutenant General Gopal R, UYSM, AVSM, SM, of the 8 Gorkha Rifles, retires from the Indian Army today. Another mate, K.T. Ajith, the quintessential Kannur leftist-liberal bibliophile (if I may say so), who forsook a promising career as a Chartered Accountant to join the State Bank of India mid-career, will retire tomorrow as Chief General Manager.

Lieutenant General Gopal R (Retired) stands out. He held the reins of the prestigious Spear Corps, one of the largest and most operationally active corps of the Indian Army, headquartered in Dimapur, Nagaland. An alumnus of the Indian Military Academy, Higher Command Courses, and the National Defence College, Gopal has had an illustrious career encompassing command, staff, and instructional appointments. These include commanding an infantry battalion on the Siachen Glacier, a mountain brigade, and an Assam Rifles Range in South Assam. He was also among the first members of the team that established the Defence Command and Staff College in Botswana.

Gopal is unique for his unwavering commitment to a single goal: a career as a commissioned officer in the Army, pursued with enviable success. His love for the Army, his ambition, his dedication, and his uncompromising devotion to this goal set him apart. Unlike many of us, including myself, who harboured varied aspirations, Gopal’s sole obsession was to be a soldier—a choice he lived with unparalleled passion. What makes his retirement so remarkable, as no diamond could be, is his fulfilling and proud 40-year career in the infantry, a path he chose with singular focus.

I first encountered him at Model High School, Thiruvananthapuram, though we barely interacted then, as I was a different sort, with friends and priorities far removed from lessons or the NCC. Later, while at Mahatma Gandhi College, I would see him pass by every afternoon at precisely 3:40 p.m., speeding home from Mar Ivanios College on his bicycle. We greeted him daily with howls and catcalls, to which he responded with a shy smile before whizzing past, sometimes in his NCC uniform. We would yell “pattalam” (soldier). Now, I can proudly say that I am among the two or three who still dare to call him “pattalam” to this day.

Two years later, we were classmates at Mar Ivanios College, where I came to know him closely as a paradigm of dedication and honesty. His fascinations and indulgences were limited, unlike most of us. His primary passion seemed to be gathering knowledge—sometimes, one felt he was trying to know too much! A teetotaller, he likely left his share of spirits for me. I cannot forget an incident years ago in Tiruppur, when mobile phones were still the stuff of science fiction. Gopal sent me a letter informing me that his Gorkha would pass through Tiruppur (with the train number and time specified) and asked if I would collect a crate of beer. Did I need persuading? Though the train arrived eight hours late, I found a diminutive Nepali Gorkha standing on the platform, holding a crate of beer and a placard bearing my name.

The chaos that preceded his 1980 train journey to New Delhi for the Indian Military Academy interview and selection process remains vivid. An inebriated ticket examiner who tried to obstruct his travel nearly met a furious Gopal’s wrath, for the man was threatening his sole dream. Would he, for the love of God, let anyone shatter it? Fortunately, the situation was defused, and Gopal travelled without further hindrance.

Gopal has a unique trait: he seeks out old classmates, wherever they may be, visiting them during his vacations in Thiruvananthapuram. I have seldom seen such loyalty in anyone else. I, Christy, and Aravind will never forget the regal treatment we received as his guests in his Dimapur bungalow in December 2018. It was awkward and embarrassing when sentries at his gate saluted us each time we stepped out for a stroll or lounged on the lawn. As ordinary civilians, such deference was overwhelming, but looking back, we felt proud to be his friends and guests. That unique status mattered. The times we spent with him in Wellington, Coonoor—first as a Major and student at the Staff College, and later as a Lieutenant Colonel and Colonel—are unforgettable.

If I were to propose a role model for aspiring young people, it would be Lieutenant General Gopal R (Retired). His uncompromising ambition, earnest efforts, dedication, sincerity, and honesty in achieving his goals are exemplary.

Welcome, mate, to the world of civilians and the social media you long avoided. The honour of remaining our “pattalam” is yours alone. With immense pride, I conclude. (I just spoke to Raji, his wife, who said she’s at home waiting for him while he’s at his office in South Block.)

By the Power of Emoticons

I have noticed distinct characteristics in men and women on Facebook. Some men, who tolerate no criticism, disagreement, or even a suggestion, resort to the easiest course—abuse and slander! This behaviour seems endemic among Sanghis and unrefined Marxists. Even fans of the snake wrangler Vava Suresh hurled such astounding expletives at me that they would outdo the venom of the most poisonous snakes. Meanwhile, women, true to themselves, often walk out and block you when you disagree. Both groups seem intellectually bankrupt. What do you think?

Recently, three women slammed the virtual door in my face on Facebook. One returned a few months later, rather subdued, as if she were never the termagant who stormed off with a snort. “Hi, can you tell me what you think of this?” she asked. I sidestepped, replying, “Why are you back here asking me? Why should I engage with someone overflowing with cussedness?” “Oh, sorry about that,” she said. But in less than a month, she walked out again when I disagreed with her conspiracy theories on matters ranging from the moon landing and climate change to the necessity of a Covid-19 vaccine. She boasted that she had never vaccinated her daughter or her pet dogs and never would. I asked, “Not even for polio?” She was imperious, declaring, “Yes, and never.” I responded, “Oh, lady, your daughter is 25 and tremendously lucky, and you were reckless.” She unfriended me on Facebook and blocked my phone too.

Another woman, with a strong detestation for Narendra Modi, caught my attention on Facebook. She seemed knowledgeable and concerned about matters around us, unafraid to express herself strongly. But I soon realised that disdain for Moditva is no guarantee of amicable social relationships. She wrote on her page that no one was to share her opinions or posts without her permission. I wondered if what we write or post on social media attracts copyright law to demand that others not copy. I suggested that the share button implies an allowance for copying, and acknowledging or tagging the source might suffice. I also recommended consulting an expert on copyright laws. That peeved her. She veered off on a tangent, accusing me of insensitivity and disregard for another person’s misfortune. She claimed I expressed amusement through a laughing emoji when she wrote in a brief review of the film Thappad that she thanked her stars she chose to be single.

Gosh, the power of emoticons struck me. I was truly amused now!

I explained that her comment amused me because these days, we often hear young people say such things, and I knew of a few amusing cases where extreme views were raised for frivolous reasons. Besides, I hadn’t watched the film to critique it, and my expression was neither disapproving nor approving of the story’s premise. She later wrote that she had walked out on an abusive spouse, asserting that no man may hit her or have a say over her body, and accused me of being a true misogynistic sod. By the time I wrote to apologise for the misunderstanding, clarifying that I had no knowledge of her past, that I admired her courage, and that my emoji was not meant to offend, she had blocked me and vanished.

What a fascinating and convoluted place this virtual world of social media and emojis is!