Delhi Diary

Houdini of Gujarat

Have you wondered why Narendra Modi hates the media with such passion? And why the media hates the Gujarat CM with equal intensity? This mutual loathing deserves closer scrutiny. I can only speak from the journalist’s perspective.

Narendrabhai rarely opens up to the media. When he does, there is a barely concealed contempt in his tone, body language and vocabulary. What is clearly visible is a smirk, a sneer and bitter sarcasm. When he says, “I have nothing against you. You please do your job. I wish you the best of luck. I only pray god gives you wisdom...”, the performance is riveting to observe. The putdown is delivered so amiably, with such grace, with such apparent absence of malice, that one is almost led to believe he really means it.

Actually, if you could decode the snub, here is what I think he is telling the fourth estate and the activists: “You swines have been after me for eight years and you haven’t been able to lay a finger on me. Why? Because I am smarter than you. You can try all your tricks to get me, but I am the Gujarati Houdini. I defy you to find one piece of paper, one shred of legally admissible evidence to nail me.” Thus, it is not a question of who is telling the truth; it is a question of who is smarter, who can outwit the other.

Whether Modi was or was not the mastermind of the “genocide”, “mass murder”, “carnage” has, in a sense, become a side-issue. What we have on display is a catch-me-if-you-can game and Byzantine legalese. Even after his 10-hour questioning by the SIT, he appears only marginally disadvantaged. Let me quickly add that I am totally with the sainted Teesta Setalvad, Rajdeep Sardesai, Arnab Goswami (although I am not entirely sure which side he is on!), Barkha Dutt and Siddharth Varadarajan, but at this moment Mr Modi seems to have the better of the hacks.

Apropos of nothing, I must confess to being a secret admirer of Narendrabhai’s aplomb and nonchalance. One newspaper noted that Mr Modi emerged after the marathon grilling with but “one crease” on his spotless white kurta. Despite close examination of the TV footage, the blemish eluded me. In fact, he looked as cool as a Vadilal ice-cream.

The Other Winning Modi

The enormous popularity of Lalit Modi’s IPL makes me sad. I had confidently predicted that the IPL would be a resounding flop. Instead, by all accounts, it is a resounding success. The cricket, of course, is a rank obscenity. The mind-boggling sums being splashed around confirm that the rich in this country are having a ball. I am not going to go on about how many schools or hospitals could be built with the money. That would make me sound like a killjoy or a Maoist. Nevertheless, can Shining India be so uncaring of how its fellow citizens live by splurging on what is nothing more than a tamasha? The only redeeming thing about the IPL are the cheergirls. Their antics are a sight to behold!

Blame It On the Nanny

Most Indian middle-class children are brought up by nannies (ayahs). Now there is a new book by Dr Dennis Friedman, a London psychiatrist, which argues that boys reared by nannies have a good chance of becoming womanisers. The argument goes something like this: Mothers who leave the care of their sons to nannies introduce their child to the concept of “other women”. Dr Friedman writes, “He (the boy) grows up with the idea that although he will one day go through all the social and sexual formalities of marriage, in the background there is this other woman who not only knows but caters to all his needs.” Close on the heels of Friedman’s book come the memoirs of French President Nicolas Sarkozy’s 81-year-old father, Pal Sarkozy (So Much Life), in which he reveals that as a boy he had a nanny who started him on a life of serial adultery. Sarkozy Sr bedded her when he was just 11.

It is an interesting theory and probably explains why several of one’s male friends are compulsive philanderers. It would be dishonest for me not to reveal that I too was brought up by a nanny, but my record proves Dr Friedman only half right. I did sow a few wild oats in my bachelor days, but having a nanny did not leave me with a permanent roving eye.

On a Prayer

I am re-reading Malcolm Muggeridge’s paean to Mother Teresa, Something Beautiful for God. The book (and the BBC documentary) brought the Mother to international attention. Muggeridge quotes Mother’s favourite prayer which I found deeply moving, “Lord, make me a channel of thy peace, that where there is hatred I may bring love; that where there is wrong, I may bring the spirit of forgiveness; that where there is discord, I may bring harmony; that where there is error, I may bring truth; that where there is doubt, I may bring faith....”