Ensuring decency in Ramlilas…

Harish Khare

The news item was on the local page: in the run-up to the colourful Dusherra festival, the Chandigarh police administration has asked the Ramlila organisers in the city to ensure that no vulgar songs or scenes get sneaked into the performances on the stage. The ‘advisory’ is a part of 22 terms and conditions which the police administration has imposed on the Ramlila organisers. The idea of a policeman sitting in judgment on the quantum of decency/indecency is not an easy thought.

We know that from time immemorial, towns and cities across the land have locally organised Ramlilas. For those of us who grew up in the walled city of Delhi, the annual Ramlila celebrations — the procession, and the dramatic enactments at the Ram Lila Grounds — were a part and parcel of a composite, civilised civic culture. 

I am sure that in those days, the local administration in Delhi had had no need to issue any kind of advisory. Good taste and wholesome restraint came easily. Those were, admittedly, gentler times and our popular discourse and public life had not yet got cheapened. 

But all good things do come to an end. Like other societies, the Indian society too has changed. Our popular culture has become markedly cheapened. Even our religious songs —be it at the jagraatas or navraatris — are made to rhyme to bawdy Hindi film songs.

Not all popular music is necessarily cheap. Sometimes it can be very, powerful, very uplifting. Lata Mangeshkar’s soulful rendition Aye mere watan ke logo, zara aankh mein bhar lo paani touches an emotional cord even till this day, 60 years later; or, that wonderful song, Mile sur mera tumhara, of the mid-1980s, was a very empowering musical ode to our composite heritage.

I do believe that popular culture — film songs, movies, dramas, comedy, television serials — have political consequences. That is why throughout history, we have had authoritarian leaders prescribing and proscribing what the poets, writers, dramatists, bards can say or cannot say. Comedy can be deeply subversive. 

What we do in our popular culture has a definite bearing on the kind of choices we end up making in the political arena.

It is now beginning to be recognised in America that Donald Trump’s political success had something to do with his vastly popular television show, The Apprentice. It was this serial which showcased his jerky, erratic style and made the Americans comfortable with his personality. A perceptive American writer recently noted that “if The Apprentice did not get Trump elected, it is surely what made him electable.” It did not elect him, but it made him electable.” 

Closer home, I am inclined to believe that “May 2014” became possible only because the popular culture has made us comfortable with a coarsened taste in public life. The kind of abusive language we hear from our top political leadership finds traction only because the Kapil Sharmas of the comedy circuit have made us used to a bawdy and tasteless humour in our living rooms.

* * * * * * * * 

THE other day I received a communication from The Tribune’s motoring correspondent, Mr H Kishie Singh. He wrote in great anguish: 

Sir, a day of great shame.
India shamed!
Armed Forces shamed!
The Sikhs, a martial class, shamed! 
Marshal of the Indian Air Force, Arjan Singh’s final farewell with a 17-gun salute! 

Gauri Lankesh, a little known, unheard of journalist was given a 21-gun salute!!!

There cannot have been a better way to insult the man, the country or the Armed Forces.

At first glance, I was inclined to share Mr Kishie Singh’s sense of outrage. I know of him as a sober and thoughtful man and I am sure he was reflecting a feeling, perhaps, shared by many others. On reflection, I find his dismay somewhat misplaced.

The notion that Gauri Lankesh was given a 21-gun salute emanates from a lazy journalist’s pen. She did not get a gun salute in the classic sense of the word. In her case, it was just a clutch of policemen firing their rifles in the air. The “gun salute” for Gauri Lankesh was an altogether different affair in an entirely different context. It was not a military rite, it was a political statement.

A “gun salute” is a well-prescribed rite of honour in the armed forces all over the world. In military parlance, it means cannons being fired. And, that is what the late Marshal of the Indian Air Force got as part of a proper “full military honours” drill. 

In any case, I shall like to believe that the number of guns fired at his funeral would not at all be — and, cannot be — any indication of the reverence and respect Marshal Arjan Singh commanded, not just among the armed forces, but also in the hearts of most Indians. 

Though he was a Jat Sikh (as many obituary notices have mentioned), Marshal Arjan Singh was not just a military leader. He was an outstanding embodiment of the Idea of India. He was a modern, forward-looking, secular, professional and committed patriot. And, a great Indian.

India salutes the man more than 21 times. 

* * * * * * * * 

I have already talked in this space about Ram Varma’s book, Life in the IAS — My encounters with Three Lals of Haryana. 

Last evening, I found myself having to talk about the book again, this time at its launch in Chandigarh. The reason I accepted the invitation was that one of the co-panelists was going to be Mr SD Bhambri, a former chief secretary; and, he was also for 20 years the General Manager of The Tribune. 

A few days earlier, Mr Bhambri sent me a brief — 40 pages — manuscript of Memoirs & Musings, in lieu of an autobiography. This, he says, he has penned at the age of 92. These jottings are extremely, extremely eccentric, but they also make a very, very interesting read. These pages exude, as he says, an “aroma of literature.”

For someone in his nineties, Mr Bhambri is a remarkably alert grand old man. At Ram Varma’s book launch function, he lucidly recalled his own encounters with the Haryana politicians. 

I have promised Mr Bhambri that I would go over for a longish chat and a cup of coffee.  

* * * * * * * * 

TALKING of the very old, my Parsi wife shared this with me a few days ago: 

Towards the end of the jashan for the Parsi New Year, the priest asked: 

“How many of you have forgiven your enemies?”

80% held up their hands.

The priest then repeated his question.

All responded this time, except one small elderly lady.

“Mrs Batliwala? Are you not willing to forgive your enemies?”

“I don’t have any,” she replied, smiling sweetly.

“Mrs Batliwala that is very unusual. How old are you?”

“Ninety-eight,” she replied.

“Oh, would you please come over in front and tell us all how a person of ninety-eight years of age not have an enemy in the world?” The little sweetheart lady tottered down the aisle, faced the congregation and said: “None of them is alive. I have outlived all the bastard and bitches!”

That grand lady deserves a salute, with a cup of coffee. Join me. 

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