The Mufti was a wise Indian...

It is never pleasant to write about friends soon after their death. It is a particularly painful duty in the case of Mufti Mohammed Sayeed because his demise came at a rather critical stage in Jammu and Kashmir. He had been so intimately and so passionately committed to the welfare of the state and its people that his departure has introduced a nervous vulnerability.

My relationship with him goes back to the mid-1990s. That was a time I was inclined to believe – and wrote so — that “Kashmir” would not experience any peace till the state was de-weaned from the Abdullah family’s not-so-benign influence. That was not a very fashionable line, and it was decidedly against the received wisdom of the day. The Mufti must have felt encouraged and reached out to me.

It helped that we had a common friend, ML Fotedar. Between the two of them, the Mufti and Fotedar were for years, principal political players in the Jammu and Kashmir Congress affairs. Neither of them was enamoured of Ghulam Nabi Azad or Farooq Abdullah. 

A gentleman to the core, the Mufti was a man with strong convictions and views. He was never comfortable playing second fiddle to second-rate people and their second-rate calculations. He had the courage to part company with Rajiv Gandhi. He walked over to the VP Singh corner. And, when VP Singh became Prime Minister, the Mufti got the plum assignment: Union Home Minister.

As Home Minister, he found himself at the very core of the Indian state and its ruling establishment. His presence in the Union Cabinet was the most potent signal of respect and partnership that could be sent out to the restive Kashmiris. 

Unfortunately, soon thereafter, his daughter was kidnapped by militants and that effectively put an end to his voice and authority. He has never talked about it and no one will probably ever know what impact that kidnapping had on his thought processes. 

By the time I came in touch with him, the Mufti and his other daughter, Mehbooba, were convinced that a new kind of political approach was needed in the militancy-torn Jammu and Kashmir. He believed that the task of ‘mainstream’ politics and politicians was to salve the Kashmiris’ injured psyche. He founded his own party, the People’s Democratic Party. He and Mehbooba determinedly reached out to the victims of violence, unleashed by the security forces. 

The early years of the People’s Democratic Party were testing times. He and his daughter realised that neither the National Conference nor the Congress had any “connect” with the people. Both the outfits stood discredited as New Delhi’s lapdogs. Consequently, the Kashmiris were being left to their own devices and were easy prey to the separatist narrative. Bravely, the father-and-daughter duo stepped in and reached out to the scarred and scared Kashmiris. What is more, they were willing to run the risk of being dubbed by the security agencies as being “close to the militants.” Mufti Sahib did not care for a good conduct certificate from the ‘agencies’. 

And, because he took the risk, he came to acquire the stature and the perch to speak against the “gun culture”, a clearly understood disapproval of use of violence as a political currency by the militants as well as the security forces. The Indian democracy could not ask more of him. 

By the time he died, the Mufti was wearing easily the mantle of a wise Indian. 

Last Monday, I was invited by Rajasthan’s most respected and most widely read newspaper, the Rajathan Patrika, to deliver a talk in the Jhabarmal Sharma Memorial Lecture series. It was a stimulating experience to interact with Jaipur’s thinking crowd.

While in Jaipur, I had an opportunity to meet an old friend, Ashok Gehlot, the former chief minister. He was kind enough to ask me over for breakfast.

I noticed that his living room was littered, virtually, with bouquets of flowers. Lingering detritus of New Year greetings. With great animation, Ashok told me of his disapproval of people wasting money on flowers. 

Instead, he prefers to give as a gift a ‘Gandhi diary.” He insisted that I should also have one. 

The ‘Gandhi diary’ makes a very incongruent gift in this age of super-consumerism. But its contents invite a strangely remarkable reaction. The Mahatma’s favourite bhajan, “baisnav jan to tene khaiya…”, printed on the inside cover, tiggers sobering thoughts. The diary also contains the Mahatma’s Constructive Programme, as also major events in Gandhiji’s life. At a time when we feel ourselves to be all-knowing and all knowledgeable just because we can Google, this invocation of the Mahatma and his simple message is wonderfully uplifting. 

The simplicity of a ‘Gandhi diary’ defines, also, Ashok Gehlot, a political leader, who has been chief minister of a major state like Rajasthan. He is at the other end of social spectrum, fashionably occupied by the incumbent chief minister, Ms Vasundhara Raje. If Ms Raje represents royalty, cosmopolitan flair, urbane manners and a charming command over the English language, Ashok Gehlot comes across as earthy, unpolished though not uncouth, very desi, ill at ease with the ‘elite classes.’ He would have never been able to patronise someone like Lalit Modi, who once was thick as thieves with Ms Raje. 

He has remained unaffected by power and its trappings. It is a commentary on our times that both in and out of the Congress, Ashok Gehlot is generally dismissed as a ‘weak’, ‘colourless’, ‘ineffective’ leader. Because of his distinct disinclination to sup with the suave and the sophisticated, the Delhi-based media had invariably portrayed him poorly. 

Now out of power, he remains cheerfully engaged with the people. His accessibility invites comparison with the chief minister, who is seen as aloof and isolated. 

Last Tuesday, I was able to attend a book release function in New Delhi. The book “released” was actually a three volume compendium of Professor Bina Agarwal’s select academic papers, written over three decades of scholarship and research. Titled “Gender Challenges”, the papers are clubbed around three grand themes – Agriculture and Food Security, Property and Family, and Environment Change and Collective Action.

There was a panel discussion on Bina’s books. Three different discussants — writer Vikram Seth, social activist Renana Jhabvala (full disclosure: my wife) and Nobel laureate Amartya Sen — dissected Bina’s themes and arguments. It was an intellectually stimulating exchange of ideas and understandings about issues like equity, feminism, gender inequalities, property laws, etc. Bina is acknowledged as a pre-eminent practitioner among ‘women economists.’ 

In her opening remarks, Bina marvelously asserted that her intention was to “challenge mainstream thinking in the social sciences” when it came to women-related issues. All the participants ungrudgingly complimented Bina Aggarwal for being the first to focus on women’s land rights. She was the first to make the argument that gender gap in property is the single most potent source of women disempowerment. A woman’s bargaining power, within and outside the family, invariably depends on her property. 

I have known Bina for more than three decades. I remember reviewing her first book, Mechanization in Indian Agriculture. That was way back in 1983. And I will like to believe that I gave her a leg-up. Since then she has notched up one academic achievement after another. 

On Tuesday, all three panelists noted Bina’s most outstanding trait: persistence. And, it was pointed out — in a tone of admiration and respect — that as a feminist economist, Bina recognised and discharged both intellectual and ethical responsibility.

A few days ago, the world witnessed an unusual sight: the American President shedding tears in public. President Barrack Obama did not try to hide his emotions and let a few tears drop when he shared with his countrymen the frustration at not being able to stop the sale of handguns.

Conventional wisdom holds that ‘leaders’ be strong men and women, and not betray their emotions in public. President Obama is now out of the fiercely cut-throat game of elective politics, otherwise the advertisement guys would have ridiculed him as a cry baby. 

We, in India, seem to be ambivalent. LK Advani has often cried in public, as has Arjun Singh. However, Indira Gandhi did not allow herself to break down at Sanjay’s death. Even Rajiv maintained a stoic face throughout Indira’s funeral.

Mercifully, thanks to the Mahatma’s legacy, we do not demand that our leaders go through the rites of machoism.    

Awaiting coffee mates.

kaffeeklatsch@tribuneindia.com