Delhi Diary

Shape of the Pyramid

The existence of an all-powerful High Command has received a bad press. Critics argue it is a sign of authoritarianism. The Congress has always been slightly defensive when charged with dynastic rule and supreme leader syndrome. Disparagers say, first there was Indira, then Rajiv and now Sonia. They were and are the final arbiters, while the party counts for nothing. Who can dismiss these allegations out of hand? However, for the Congress having a high command—which individuals defy at their own peril—has not always been such a negative. In India 2009, when political formations are constantly plagued by individualism and an inability for netas to see the writing on the wall, one person at the head of a party whose word is the last word is valuable to have.

As the BJP licks its self-inflicted wounds, I recall what a BJP leader told me a couple of weeks ago: “I wish we had a high command.” The problem, interestingly, in the BJP is not the absence of a high command, but too many high commands. We have the high command of Mohan Bhagwat (RSS), we have the high command of L.K. Advani (most of the party), we have the high command of Rajnath Singh (some of the party), and just to add to the confusion, we have lesser leaders who pretend to be the high command. All of which means a multitude of power centres engaged in ugly warfare. Much blood has already been spilt.

When Mr Vajpayee and Mr Advani jointly presided, an element of fear and discipline prevailed. Indeed, even the RSS found itself powerless and had to resort to bad-mouthing. Currently, we have a free-for-all with a novice like Vasundhararaje challenging the so-called high command. The BJP (and increasingly the Marxists) are conceding, albeit reluctantly, the usefulness of a genuine high command. Consider how the noisy son of the late YSR has been tamed in just 48 hours. A word in the ear from the high command, and all is quiet. Mr Jagan Mohan Reddy has swiftly and meekly fallen in line.

I expect some of you will once again call me a Congress stooge justifying the rule of the First Family. But just ask Arun, Sushma, L.K. and Rajnath whether the high command is such a bad idea?

101 Pyedogs

To be a bona fide dog-lover, one must love all dogs, pedigreed and strays—white, grey, brown, multi-coloured, lame, one-eyed.... People who pamper their Pug or Dalmatian or Alsatian or Labrador, and make a big song-and-dance about how dog-crazy they are, actually only adore their personal pet. They viscerally dislike strays and ensure that their precious one stays far away from the engagingly dirty, beautiful, humble, shy, sad-looking creatures faithfully guarding our gated colonies. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I detest posh dogs, but I am not smitten by them either. Generally, fancy mutts are snobs, they strut around with their noses up and have all the airs of Delhi’s status-conscious VIPs.

My dog is the quintessential aam aadmi. He is tough and visibly grateful for the attention he gets. We also look after two strays in Nizamuddin, Bhola and Daisy. Editor loves to play with them. Happily, if he sees a pedigreed dog, he growls, barks, ready to pick a fight. I make sure he never forgets his born-in-the-ditch ancestry, even though I spoil him with Parmesan. Stray dogs are god’s gift to us. I can’t understand how a person can claim to be a dog-lover and hate strays.

The Sound of Cricket

When I was living in Mumbai in the mid-’70s and cricket on television had not yet arrived, there was no greater pleasure than listening to BBC’s Test Match Special ball-by-ball radio commentary. There were such greats as Trevor Bailey, Norman Yardley, John Arlott, Brian Johnston, Fred Trueman, Christopher Martin-Jenkins. The producer’s brief was clear: convey the atmosphere on the ground and crack jokes. And don’t forget the cricket. Old ladies from Henley-on-Thames used to send Johnston freshly baked chocolate cakes which were consumed on air by the commentary team while wickets were falling! I remember the way Arlott signed off the air after a 35-year commentary career. He had, like Neville Cardus, become a legend. After his fellow commentators had paid him a fulsome tribute, Arlott remained silent and ended his stint on Test Match Special with the words: “And after Trevor Bailey, it will be Christopher Martin-Jenkins.” What a way to go!

A worthy successor to those greats is the Lancastrian David Lloyd. On TV during the recent Ashes series, he said of an English player: “If that fellow is a Test bowler, my backside is a fire engine!”

And a Passion for Gin

Dorothy Parker’s naughty repartees and one-liners are ever fresh. Have you come across this limerick before? 

I wish I could drink like a lady
I can take one or two at the most
Three and I am under the table
Four and I am under the host