Confession Of The Indian Voter
By Braj Ranjan Mani
Countercurrents.org
I am hungry for education and liberation and the ruling rascals offer me tranquilizers. They offer themselves to think, see, talk and act on my behalf. … By changing the words, they turn vice into virtue and virtue into vice, and I am flummoxed and fooled again and again. There is no sincerity, God, in their speeches, soundbites and statements that surround me in their vice-like grip. The scoundrels quote the Constitution, and deny the violence of the rich against me. They talk of development, and keep my children stunted and unlettered for their slavery. Punish them all, God! … And please enable me to distrust appearances so that I can separate right from wrong, and the rascal from the righteous. Let only those come to power who sincerely believe that ‘whoever degrades another degrades the country and humanity.' And send the rest—the corporate crooks and rascals in power, whether in India or elsewhere—to jail, hell, or whatever you call it.
I am the accursed Indian voter, God! I have come to you in abjection and utter disillusion. Take pity on this wretch. Please do not believe in my fabled image, very much embellished from the tissues of lies. In India, as elsewhere, no one is as he appears to be; what seems to be is never the case, God. More often than not, the characters that are cast in a good light are crooks. This country and its sinful custodians hardly know my sickness and suffering, but what is hidden from you, God? As you know, I am not one but heterogeneous: a prostrate multitude, millions of stunted bodies, dysfunctional minds and fragmented souls. The usual disclaimer holds, God. Yes, I am not speaking for the fattened flesh, the fortunate few, who have commanded a place of choice in this Republic. Oh God you already know everything, but do I know myself well? I have just woken up from my long slumber of brainwashing, compliance and slavery. I had been blindfolded and enslaved by the villains who highjacked this god-forsaken country and its democracy. No, no, I am not bent, God, but broken and that explains my crazy gait.
I have come to you because you are good and merciful. Achchha and sachcha and not on the side of the villains and criminals. Yes, God, you do not support the mafias of money, land and education. Sorry, I am fragile and fragmented and can only speak in incoherent, contradictory voices, but hear my cries, God. Have mercy! Do not harden your heart against yours truly. Yours is the only friendly ear available to me. To save your glorious name, please wreck the villainy of all the enemies of humanity and democracy.
You have blessed me to know myself better: Not fully, but very substantially (I borrow this terrible phrase, God, from that great windbag, our first elected prince, who prefixed his name with Pandit). You know better, God, but let me state my case in the plain secular terms. Please forgive and bear with my bad vocabulary, occasional profanity and unintended babble and barb. I am cross and still dizzy from all those years of hunger, slumber and sloth. You know everything, God, but allow me to share with you a few dark and empty things that haunt me. Now through your grace I can see the lust of power, greed and malevolence glittering in my tormentors' eyes. I am surrounded by many garbled versions of the Indian story whose full reality is known to you alone, God. But now at least I have my eyes open, not fully but very substantially. Thank you, God.
First of all let me cry hoarse against my gross misrepresentation. You know, I have so far been just a putty in other people's hands . . . a straw in the wind, but I have been called the wisest, the know-all, the ultimate ruler, blah, blah, blah … All the glorious words that must have been reserved to glorify your glory alone have been wasted on this hapless voter, God. All the crap of the chattering class on the idiot box and in the print media, all the lies and half-truths of those bloody hypocrites and power pimps who mislead the nation and me in particular. Curse them, God! Now you have enabled me to see through not fully but very substantially the conspiracy of making me, the world's greatest fool, the wisest man on the earth! Thank you, God.
You know I voted and voted (sometimes with my feet—on empty stomach and in tattered clothes) for that wily Pandit who was very fond of his children but did not bother to educate my children; yes, God, words are one thing, deeds another. And then I elected her haughty daughter who charmed me with her slogan of Gharibi Hatao (make poverty history). And then her doughty son who dazzled me with the promise of the 21st-century modernity. And, now, in the second decade of the third millennium, the son's son is leading me and India which has the single largest concentration of the world's poor! (God, before you get confused by the foreign fools and Indian frauds and naughty writers like Salman Rushdie who say that India has always been an enigma and will remain that way, please note that most of 800 million Indians who are poor are either illiterate or semi-literate: 70 per cent in India's 1.2 billion are either illiterate or have no more than a primary education.) With this good-hearted but very dull dynast—the Prime Minister without being the Prime Minister! —the lineage continues. And a part of me still wonders: How can the world's largest democracy survive without this dynasty? Cure me, God, of this disease and bless this sick democracy!
And then in the name of change, God, I was led to believe in the pranks of the monkeys in khaki shorts with tridents in their hands. They lured me to vote for that saffron mask with the enormous paunch, that Hindi versifier with criminal intent. This wrong man in a very wrong party (produced by the dhoti-clad Neanderthals of Nagpur) wanted me and all Indians to sing a poem whose meaning is well-known to you, God: ‘India is beautiful but has a disease called non-Hindu. Hinduize all non-Hindus and militarize Hindus. Above all, Hanumanize the half-Hindus [the dalit-adivasis and OBCs] to do our slavery and terrorize the non-Hindus' and so on. God, when his henchmen were butchering the innocent people, this versifier Prime Minister wanted the ‘national debate' on conversion. That meant, all Indians must accept the religion of caste, if they have to survive in this Hindu rashtra. To back this up, his court historians rewrote the textbooks for school children to show them the global glory of the caste culture. Damn him, God, and unmask the mask of his broods who are threatening once again to kidnap and rape the country, and please forgive me for trusting the Versifier's mask!
I also voted for that regal, lotus-faced Mata of Gwalior and her secular son and her communal daughter and secular grandson. Forgive me, God!
I voted once or twice for those Marxist mimics whose only agenda was to wreck the socialist dream and deny even the reality of caste in the name of class. ‘If class is a reality, how can caste be a reality?' they reasoned after reading Marx in the original Sanskrit and mocked Phule and Ambedkar because they did not write anything in Sanskrit. Keep me away from the ponga pundits, God, and please forgive me for my foolishness to think that the bhadralok rogues will bring the revolution!
I voted for the shifty-eyed Maithil who became Chief Minister and sold off (or at least tried to sell) the Gandhi Maidan in Patna and then in desperation I opted for that buffoon of Bihar who would carry a battalion of buffaloes on his scooter. With this spectacle, the clown entranced the entertainment-starved people, made his millions and almost succeeded in founding his dynasty in the new republic. Even that buffoon succeeded in befooling me. I am ashamed of myself, God!
I also voted for that bandicoot of UP (yes, that illiterate wrestler-professor who taught in the university in which only kids below eight were allowed to study) and then his nasty son and the entire mustachioed clan. The entire clan ate enormously, burped, and visited the zoo to see their kith and kin, God, as the news came recently that many kids in the relief camps (that came up after the organized rapes and killings of a particular community) starved to death. Bring them to justice, God, and forgive me for my incapacity to smash those ruffians.
In between I took time out to vote for that champion of the poor who celebrates her birthday with garlanding herself with currency notes. Profligacy has become an article of faith for this crusader of social justice. Forgive her, God, for she does not know what she is doing. And forgive me, too, for once or twice standing by her.
And as our democracy deepened (as the loudmouths on the TV talk shows informed me), I voted to power, in a feat of demonic idiocy, that barking dog from Gujarat whose bite was as lethal as his bark. Sorry, I cannot take his proper name; the law of the land prohibits me, but what is hidden from you, God? That dog, fiercely trained to bark and bite in a school of religious hatred run by the dhoti-clad Neanderthals of Nagpur, sank his canine teeth into the tender flesh of thousands of men, women and children because their religion was different. I, the multitude, belonged to the dog's religion and elected him three times in a row with a thumping majority on the logic that my dog is better than your god! In my dark and empty moments, let me confess, God, I still dream to make that dog the god of India and the world. Punish me, God, for entertaining such hideous thought, and cello tape that mad dog to stop his bark and bite!
I voted sometimes for that Dhritarashtra from Tamil Nadu who wrecked the Dravidian politics to establish his nasty dynasty, and sometimes, in nervousness, I opted for that vengeful Amma (yes, yes, the same one who didn't miss a single meal in a hundred years) because she was the only alternative available to me. Forgive me, God!
I can go on and on but what is the point of giving details of all those terrible choices I made? But how did you allow all those things to happen, God? Why did you forsake me? Why did you allow those rascals to brainwash me to believe in their seductive slogans that contained sinister plots? Yes, God, I committed many sins, punish me, but please remember, I was brainwashed, and this brainwashing is not yet over … Please do something, God.
God, I want to lead a good life. I want to work hard and educate my little ones so that they cannot be brainwashed and enslaved like me. My children and I do not want to be a liability on anyone, least of all on those rascals who have an odious history of exploiting and tormenting us. But my children and I are still groping in the dark; God, we are being blinded by the commercials, political stunts and publicity. They are all over the place twenty-four seven, God. Earlier, we could somehow separate the business publicity from the political publicity, but now they have become one and the same thing. There is no point in voting for this leader or that party; the corporate houses purchase them easily. The corporates fund the elections and leaders, God, and vitiate the entire system. The politicians emerging from the oppressed communities are also just filling their bellies and burping for the moneybags. Big moneybags own all the television channels and newspapers. You know everything, God. The rascals rule the world and mock your commandments but they give money to the temples, mosques and churches. My God, you know their sinister politics!
I am hungry for education and liberation and the ruling rascals offer me tranquilizers.
The commercials and the mass media are just the new versions of the thotha gyan of potha patari, God. My mind is garbled by the incessant stream of commercials, like the labyrinthine metaphysics of old books, whose sole purpose is to stop me from seeing and thinking. The wily and the vocal sell the commercials and play havoc with my mind. I remain prone to hero-worship false leaders who quote your words (of universal love and justice) but indulge in despicable politics and business. They wallow in luxuries and keep me without basic necessities. They spend billions to keep me uneducated and unhealthy. To arouse and fan my base and worst instincts, they surround me all the time with the gimmickry of semi-literate entertainers, porn stars and cricketers who are presented as your supreme gifts to humanity, God. And they protect the murderers, arsonists and rapists. Perpetrating all these crimes, the ruling rascals keep me, the multitude, in the dark about things that matter. The big and small rascals offer themselves to think, see, talk and act on my behalf.
You don't need to think, that actor will think for you!
You don't need to see, that call-girl will see for you!
You don't need to talk, that telly anchor will talk for you!
You don't need to act, that corporate guy will act for you!
In this competitive populism, that mad dog from Gujarat recently offered to cry for all those whose near and dear ones he mauled and devoured in 2002, and also promised to turn all hovels into glittering palaces. The mass media saw in it a revolutionary gesture. But the megalomaniac dog was not pleased; he barked: ‘Mine is not merely a gesture but a concrete act; you see the glass as half empty, come with that glass, I will make it full with my tears. I will make you see the empty glass full and develop India even if you hang me on the nearest lamp-post …' India Inc applauded it, and gave the verdict that if India is to develop, there is no alternative to this top dog and his compelling vision. The monkeys in khaki shorts joined the chorus, screeching ‘This dog—our dog—never kissed a female dog, never sang a love song, so that he can bark all the time Bharat Mata ki Jai! Our dog will play the hero's part in making India attain the glory of the past. … India has always been a holy land of miracles, anything can happen here. Just have faith in God and us.'
Please take notice, God, they often besmirch your sacred name. You know their dirty politics, and you are not on the side of the political murderers and commercial mafia. Wreck their politics, God, and destroy their sinister business and lecherous entertainment.
Their mind is full of filthy things, which knows no destination other than to cheat and bleed the gullible multitude. Sample some of their perverse logic, God.
Those who pose as secularists are not kosher (occasionally they too have indulged in fomenting riots to reap electoral dividends), so secularism itself is suspect, and those who organize riots on religious lines as a matter of political principle are as right and respectable as the best secularists. The foregone conclusion: there is no harm in handing over India to the rank communalists, and in any case, you always have the option to bring back the pseudo-secularists; just do not look for any other alternative.
Caste is not race; caste is not a problem with India, it never was. We wrote Itihasa-Purana and their modern versions to prove that caste was a harmonious division of labour (as the Mahatma, the Father of the Nation, stressed) and a shining example of Indian multiculturalism (as our greatest scholars prove in their new researches). That caste is a non-issue is also proved by the fact that the political leadership of dalits and OBCs is as rotten as that of the upper castes. The foregone conclusion: Gandhi, Nehru, and other upper-caste leaders were prescient in supporting or simply ignoring the question of caste. Phule, Ambedkar and the dalit-bahujan leaders who saw caste and social democracy antithetical were wrong, if not anti-national. There is no need to deal with caste and its consequences. The only need is to abolish the existing policy of reservation for dalit-adivasis and OBCs.
The government campaign to remove mass poverty has not succeeded, so the need to remove poverty itself is perverse. Focus just on growth and privatization of everything from natural resources to education. The foregone conclusion: The public sector is full of vice, so the private sector is full of virtue. Let some of us become billionaires, and growth will trickle down to the last man on the street.
God, by changing the words, they turn vice into virtue and virtue into vice, and I am flummoxed and fooled again and again. There is no sincerity in their speeches, soundbites and statements that surround me in their vice-like grip. Those who do not believe in the lie of their commercials, advertisements and stunts, and follow their conscience and fight against institutional abuses are threatened and punished for mocking the democracy, for challenging the integrity and sovereignty of India. The odious babus and the two-faced men in black coats (many of whom sexually harass their female assistants) assist the political rascals in perpetuating the myth of unique freedom and fairness that allegedly prevail in the world's largest democracy. God, they talk of democracy, and indulge in corruption, nepotism and implant dynasties from Kashmir to Kanyakumari. They talk of social peace and sow the seeds of sectarian strife. The scoundrels quote the Constitution and deny the violence of the rich against me. They talk of development, and keep my children stunted and unlettered for their slavery. Punish them all, God; send them to the living hell!
The world is defective but you are effective. Nothing is impossible with you, God. Destroy those who laugh at my despair and broken spirit. Destroy all the loathsome monsters. And prove the atheists and cynics wrong by asserting your powerful presence. Some even laugh at you, God, and say, the only excuse God has is that he does not exist! Others go even further and say, if there is God he is cruel and callous, he does not care for millions of humans, including newly born babies, who suffer insufferable pain for no rhyme and reason. Such blasphemy, God! Please do something. Take action both natural and supernatural. Human grit or divine bliss, bring the earth and heaven together! If the salvation requires changing the human nature, please change that, God. Change my deep-seated cultural habit and prejudices of caste, class and patriarchy. And please enable me to distrust appearances so that I can separate right from wrong, and the rascal from the righteous. Let only those come to power who sincerely believe that ‘whoever degrades another degrades the country and humanity.' And send the rest—the corporate crooks and rascals in power, whether in India or elsewhere—to jail, hell, or whatever you call it, God. Amen!
Braj Ranjan Mani is the author of Debrahmanising History: Dominance and Resistance in Indian Society (2005). Knowledge and Power: A Discourse for Transformation (2014) is his second major work. Mani is a maverick non-institutional scholar, and he writes on a range of socio-cultural issues from the perspective of the marginalized.
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