The democratic party is not united, of course. Editorial board of the New York Times, just two weeks ago, did not believe that Mr. Mamdani deserves a spot on New Yorkers’ ballots”, labelling his experience “too thin” and comparing his campaign platform to “a turbocharged version of Mr. de Blasio’s dismaying mayoralty”. It is understandable that the Democratic Party would take a little while before they turn the corner. The support of Democratic Socialists of America (DSA), is not too much of a clout when it comes to capturing the large political machine that the Democratic Party is.

That Politics is intertwined with capital is a gross understatement. It is a euphemism invented to comfort people who like to think that their “interest” and “identities” are large enough to influence politics of a nation. For most people, political action is an afterthought. It is something that comes to them, and then they act. A set of parties are presented to them; they pick sides and fight with the clubs handed over to them.

The two major facets of political activity simply fly over their heads. One is to read, research and talk till we have documented a set of problems, which upon solving will make our lives better. The other is to find enough people to endorse your solution and now you are a bloc strong enough to initiate change. It is naive to believe that ballot alone will force change. Ballot simply reflects the prevailing socio-economic equations. That every candidate needs truckloads of money to win even in developing countries is no secret. In many underdeveloped countries, election expenses are touted as a reason to perpetuate authoritarianism.

Coming back, the political organisation of bringing people together and priming them for action is something that needs deeper exploration. Sure, we all would like to have lawful assemblies that deliberate things without falling off the guardrails of a civilised society. When discussing ‘politics’, the de facto mood is that of social tension. What does this policy entail? What can possibly change? Why is this person acting the way he does? Are we condemned to suffer for ever? Or can we do anything at all?

All these questions lead to very different results if we were to close our eyes and meditate on them. Suppose that there is no adversary whom you must defeat in a contest of “debate”. It is just you vs your ‘inner voice’, seeking truth. Can these ideas objectively bring in change? Will they make sense if you factor in the changes that can happen in the next five years? If you were someone who is directly affected by the policy, how would you convince yourself that you deserve to face the consequences? My years observing politics has taught me one thing. Very few people take the trouble of learning the ropes of any business that requires skill. Politics is no exception. Politics requires you to have a set of skills that will place you in a podium where you will be watched and acted upon. Some politicians are too self absorbed to think that it is their destiny or their hard work that has made people (read power) coalesce around them. That they hold certain qualities that make them worthy of power. But the wise ones know that it is the designs of the society that require that power must sit somewhere for the time being, we can only dress ourselves up and expect the rain to fall right over our heads.

But politics is fun, and highly rewarding to those who learn the sleights and aspire to perspire till they turn the curve and find themselves at the vortex of power.

Here, what matters most is the creation and sustenance of huge political machines and the existence of a pathway that will lead to them being captured by the ‘unwashed’ masses. A good political machine, by design is constantly susceptible to be overtaken by a ragtag group of insider ‘revolutionaries’.

In that sense, Democratic Machine (or any political party in India for that matter) is hardly a “good” political machine. From that vantage point, Zohran’s campaign (and just in, his victory!) is a beacon of hope indeed.

But then, the sceptical political observer in me refuses to believe in the brand Zohran. Not because he could be a ‘bad’ actor, but his campaign by default has trained a large political machine on him. This may ultimately benefit him, but it would also make his path forward infinitely more difficult.

But then, it is important to have a coherent socialist political voice in the US. If the most digitally connected country and deeply divided first world country cannot be convinced to take up or at least entertain the idea of socialism, it becomes more and more difficult in the developing world.

An alternate mode of organising the masses is indeed a ray of hope. Just that I refuse to be moved by social media phenomena. Or they would have to endure the weathering of time and show us that they will indeed fight till the last nail to ensure that their promises are kept.

Let me explain.

Culture is ever evolving. It is an entity that is impossible to quantify or even articulate. This is because culture is vast, and it is not amenable to being singularly explained. Culture is also dynamic - it changes at its own pace. Sometimes rapid, sometimes tediously slow. But indeed it changes. And hence, when you explain culture, what exactly will you explain? How do you account for its many versions, changes and perceptions that exist in the minds of people?

For example, when you talk about a place of worship to a foreigner, it is impossible to fully and clearly articulate what the deity stands for, meanings of the rituals - and also explain to them the umpteen ways the visitors perceive the “power” or “influence” of the deity.

You must be familiar with the cultural context in which the deity is placed. Also, the comprehensive survey of rituals. Even if that is done, how do you place the vast differences in the way each devotee perceives and submit herself to the deity?

This is true for artforms, imagined or real histories, monuments etc. Anything that you can pick about the culture is not amenable to summary articulation neither can it be taught by bombarding an outsider with conventional “information”.

Culture has to be imbibed through prolonged exposure and constant interaction with your community. And by nature, this is limited to your immediate surroundings. Whatever national culture you are talking about - is the distilled sum total of a cross section of national life that you have vicariously experienced. More often, national life is too diverse and complex for you to imbibe a reliable cross section of it.

How do you compare between the dietary preferences of Gujarat and Nagaland? Which one gets to represent “Indian Culture”?

So you see, this definition of culture - whatever you make out of it - is a purely subjective choice. And heavily influenced by what you can see - and cannot see.

And there lies its problem with Nationalism.

If culture is so difficult to define, how can it be reconciled with something as concrete as a nation? A nation has a well defined territory, a register of its people and a common set of rules that applies to everyone (at least in theory). How can then be, the amorphous entity that is culture have a central role to play in that project? This line of thought shouldn’t be interpreted as a rejection of culture. Rather, it is an invocation to pursue culture to ferret out its myriad expressions and cultivate a respect towards the diversity of cultures.

This includes a principled understanding that culture is incredibly diverse and it shouldn’t be the sole basis of an identity. For example, people of the same religion will have polar differences in culture. Same caste may mean very different cultural preferences, if they come from geographically distinct regions. Things like migration, modernisation, social media can influence culture. On top of it, culture keeps changing and evolving.

Given the impossibility to accurately retrace life from the past, nostalgic cultural evocations can hardly help us “recreate” a past golden culture. But even this culture would have been subjected to change. Even if we somehow bring it back, what guarantee we possess that it won’t change again?

Here, clearly those who call themselves Cultural Nationalists sadly, possess neither culture nor nationalism. This is because Nations are purely modern concepts. Every nation is unique - and their existence is guaranteed only when they possess polities that are essentially modern. Now, don’t be fooled by “sorry states” that exist in our “modern” world. They are not nations, they are only polities tolerated by geopolitical realities and wanting a national spirit in the people ruled under them.

Whether it be Afghanistan or Sierra Leone, they are hardly nation states. I am not straying into that big debate here.

Anyways, those proponents of “Cultural Nationalism” cannot enact the basics of Nationalism for this simple reason that they will never have a concrete and comprehensive manifesto. This is because culture is amorphous, diverse in reality and has many versions which are tied to ethnicity, period of existence and also documentation, amongst others. Of the many thousand cultures that have existed in India, the ones better documented would have survived more. But then, documentation is also shaped by the language, writers and also replicators. Not to mention the ever changing power equations in the society.

It would be truly agonising for a Cultural Nationalist, if she were to pursue the reality of ‘authentic’ culture. But then, they are blessed with this tool of reductionism. They needn’t explore the real culture. Rather, they would be spoon-fed with a version of culture that is supercharged with pride, appealing to their present day identities and also giving them a sense of purpose.

They hardly understand the nuances of learning and appreciating culture. They will have nothing to do with the music traditions of this country; they hardly understand the inner meanings and ‘plays’ of our paintings and epics. They don’t understand the organic reality of shrines (and also cults) that dot the Indian Sacred Geography - not compliant with their interpretations of religion and culture.

They are immune to the riches that mixing of culture, people and genetics bring to the heart of the nation. Having a perverted view of culture and fundamentally incapable of understanding the lovely, humane aspects of culture, they relegate themselves into brainwashed soldiers of a monotonous view of culture.

How can we classify them as “Cultured”?

They don’t understand that culture is something that gives us the tools to progress beyond a life that was marked by constant blood shed. It helped us realise a life without arbitrary punishments and losses to lead a relatively peaceful life.

Now when they disturb the basics of such a settled, harmonious life by thwarting institutions, sending bull-dozers and filling public life with vitriolic communal diatribe, how can we call them cultured?

They are pseudo-culturists who effectively have no understanding of culture.

They might be happy to call themselves cultured and recite the word “culture” with a thousand political projects they may have. But they don’t grasp that culture is that human quality which helps us progress from brutes to human beings capable of resolving differences, create systems that work for everyone, help every individual develop to their full potential etc.

Cultural Nationalism, quite unsurprisingly, also doesn’t have answers to the following data points (very painful data points), that was highlighted by the National Family Health Survey - 5 and ASER, 2023.

• 5% children below 5 are stunted, 19.3% wasted, 32.1 % underweight
• 1% of children in 6-59 months are anaemic.
• 6-23 months, only 11.3% receive minimal adequate diet. (9.6% in NFHS 4)

In 15-49 years,

• 10 plus year schooling only for 41% women and 50.2% men
• Anaemic - 57% women and 25% men.
• BMI below normal - 18.7% women, 16.2% men.

In 15-24 years,

• 12 years or more education - 34% girls, 35.9% boys
• Anaemic - 59% girls, 31% boys
• Normal BMI only 54.9% girls, 52.6% boys

ASER survey, 2023 -

• Aged 17-18, only 77% could read Class 2 text.
• Only 35% could do division,
• Learning trajectory over 5,6,7,8 classes is relatively flat - little difference in learning levels when a child passes through these classes.

But the “cultural nationalists” are preoccupied with some very predictable themes that merit no mention here. Needless to say, they will not have an answer or plan to solve the above mentioned issues.

Hence, the pseudo-culturists must be called out and exposed. That is one way to reconnect with the better aspects of our culture and discover the truly fantastic bits that would help us negotiate modernity with a grit and enhanced perspective that pseudo-cultarists will never understand. Not in this lifetime.

At every moment of unease, I saw death somewhere around me. When the piece of my heart, my youngest son Dawood, was late from the madrassa - I saw it. When my Abu won’t pick up my late night calls seeking business advice. When my younger brother Isa’s phone was unreachable. In sweet afternoon naps when Ammi’s face flashed over my mind and I am suddenly awake - I think about death and reach over to my phone. The moment they pick up the phone or I am appraised of their continuing existence, I quickly get back to normalcy.

You do relate to this, don’t you? To suddenly find ourselves shut from the world because we fear the death of a beloved. If it is late in the night, I earnestly pray to Allah for forgiveness. I ask him with all my heart to take my life before everyone else’s. This might come off as a bit childish for a 34 year old man. But Allah, with his infinite wisdom has granted this wish now.

I am the first one to die. I will be dead and gone soon.

I was sinking into a blissful afternoon nap as the lorry took the exit from the Delhi-Jaipur highway and sank into this dusty road to Barsat. I quickly grew tired of the featureless countryside. The post-lunch lassi was slowly working its magic on me as I found my eyelids drooping and the whole world melting away around me. As the windshield of my beloved lorry broke the breeze, conjuring up an artificial wind that graced the cabin, I found myself floating through an eternal abyss. My soft belly was shaking rhythmically with the rumble of the engine. We will be home in an hour or two, maybe three if we are to go slow. But I trusted Satish to drive with haste.

Satish was humming a bollywood number as he ran his adept fingers over the steering wheel. They rested on the plastic covering with a sense of ease that comes only after a long relationship, many decades long. Imtiyaz, who called himself the ‘conductor’, was watching some dance video on his phone - occasionally looking up to see if there’s something interesting coming up in the road. In the video, the camera sized up the navels and shaking hips of a woman who danced to fluent hindustani but didn’t look even remotely Indian.

As we were absorbed in this journey that we have done perhaps a hundred times before, we didn’t know that it would be our last. This is going to be the last time Arif Mohammed Khan would see daylight.

Imtiyaz was the first to see it. An ominous cluster of saffron flags and a road blocked with barrels and burning tyres. The hunting party stood there, fully stashed with sharp arrows and loud drummers, As they slowly stepped out of the mirage in this deserted road, rising hot air made the graceful movements of a dancing girl. The tarmac slowly metamorphosed into a hunting field. Us, the hunted, helplessly drove towards our terrifying end.

What followed, as you already know - is hardly any news. Imtiyaz managed to run away. Satish was dragged down and brutally beaten up. The crowd was effervescent with hatred to lay their hands on me. But a stern hand kept them away me for the time being. I was the prize - I had to be devoured only towards the end. Satish, though low born, had avenues for a Ghar Wapsi. But me, an hopeless infidel - has to be exterminated in this holy war - this Jihad! That is when it dawned on me that I am certainly going to die.

But as optimistic as ever, I refused to believe this. I trusted in my credentials as an hustler. I will talk them out of this, I believed. What are they to gain from killing me? I tried to logically construct an argument in my head as I saw a few teeth dropping from Satish’s bloodied mouth, as if beads from a violated necklace. A wretched thin boy had hit him on the cheek with a twisted danda (a stick). He fell on his knees and spat out a thick, red Indian map on the broken tarmac. This cake was interspersed with white raisins - his teeth that will never grow back after this day.

A part of me was still alert while staring at this blood curdling reality. I promised myself that I would refuse to die. Even if they break every bone of my body or slit every artery. If I hold on to my breath, I will survive till someone finds me. I know that the traffic is low on this route, but there should be occasional passerbys. They will take me to help. The frantic movements of my ribs and a cold, churning stomach made me doubt my convictions. But still, I decided to hold on.

The same wretched boy who hit Satish was the first one to slap me on my face. Someone dragged him back. Clearly, he has broken the chain of command. An older man with bloodshot eyes and pan-lit lips came forward. He seemed to rejoice at the fear that has made home in my eyes. My trembling arms were held by two teenagers. One of them was clenching it with his claws, consciously digging his nails into my flesh. Some hands were tearing the depths of my sprawling back. My buttocks were being pinched with nails determined to violate me. As the crowd let itself sink on me, I had a realisation.

Just like cleaning someone else’s faeces, getting lynched can be a spiritual experience too.

The man with bloodshot eyes had the entire scene under control. One deafening shout and the hands withdrew from me. I was nauseated and felt deep bruises all over my body. There was an unnatural calmness for a split second and then he spat on my face. I didn’t dare wipe it off. As it slowly made its way down from my eyes through the tip of my nose, he spat again and again. To my surprise, I didn’t feel humiliated as the spat entered my mouth through the corner of my lips. I was beginning to taste death and afterlife.

Here’s one thing most of you wouldn’t know. You wouldn’t know this unless you manage to get yourself lynched. This is a unique experience and teaches you more about life than anything else that you could experiment with. The crowd is not just an amorphous creature with limbs that thrash and heads that tear you apart with their booming war cries. The crowd is a collection of dicks too. As a bunch of dicks collectively pound on a dead man, a lot of interesting things start to happen.

I never thought of lynching this way. In my mind, death would be extremely painful. After a bunch of blows, I drop dead as they leave me alone to rot. Ladies and gentlemen, I am afraid, this is not how lynchings work. If you would let me, I will tell you how it is.

The sharp claws that dug on my back was just an indication of what was to come. As the man signalled for a second round of torment - it became clear to me that their hands were just extensions to their embattled dicks. My soft paunch was an object of ridicule to them. Their protein deficient bodies swayed in chaotic unison as blows after blows were landed on my lacerated midriff.

A manchild tried to shove a danda through my gaand. It wasn’t an easy passage. But he was determined to make it happen. I winced in unbearable pain as he persistently stuck to this single object of passion for him. But he gave up after a while, perhaps disgusted by the spurt of blood that started to line my white pyjamas.

Mainstream media won’t tell you this, but most lynching victims turn up with squashed testicles and shredded penises. I could feel hands competing with each other to destroy my testicles that will spawn an entire army of enemy aliens if left unharmed. Almost 17 fingers from five hands found my penis simultaneously. In a split second, they undid my loins and denatured this potent agent of love jihad. Oh my poor lund, which has graced no other woman but my beautiful wife Noorjahan! There you are, remnants of which are still stuck under the nails of these men pounding on me as a bunch of vile, dirty, monstrous, filthy dicks from hell!

As men tried to pull out my nipples, lacerate my thighs and undo my paunch, I was slowly getting absorbed into the vast abyss that lied outside this sad, lonely planet. Death, of course is not the end. It is human nature to assume that it is the ultimate end to this human experience. If they didn’t, how could they brutally murder me in the broad daylight and fear no retribution? To uphold violence is to denounce God - it doesn’t matter by what name you call Him..

Death was meant to be painful, or so I thought. I braced myself for an extremely debilitating climax. But when it came at last, I found myself relaxed and looking forward to it. My sinews lightened and a breeze of fresh air swept across my body. Pronouncing me dead was of course a deed too smart for the morons who killed me.

When they thought I was dead, they pounded on me harder and unleashed extreme monstrosity upon my dying body. This was to tire them quickly. Most of them were breathless by the time a draining climax hit them. The leader was the first to leave. He stood there, looking at my death, as he slowly took a pinch of tobacco from his pouch and ground it between his palm and a thumb. As he shove this tobacco mixture under his lower lip, he realised that he was getting an unbearably painful erection.

He shouted again and they left me alone. They believed that I was done for good. One of them, as a parting gesture, broke two of my unbroken ribs with a thumping feet. Some of them spat on my face again. As my body emerged out of the dispersing crowd, lesser and lesser of them would look back to the spot where I lay. As it turns out, without the mob, none of them will have the courage to look at my ruins and believe that they were capable of unleashing such cruelty on any living being. I knew that most of them were vegetarians. How convenient!

Death came soon afterwards.

Death opens up this world to us. The massive timescales and distances are no longer incomprehensible. Those millions of years that they talk about, these billions of people who inhabit this earth - you transcend into a domain were all these are as quotidian as a drop of unani medicine or a kilo of basmati rice.

Just before I died, an handsome young stranger approached me. I grew unbearably thirsty as he presented a glass of incredibly clear water to me. I refused, turning my head away from him. He was shaitan, the devil himself. Then it was the time for Azrael, sent by God to fetch our souls. I imagined him (or her?), to be a strongman easily picking up my soul and dash back to heaven in a sense of urgency. Even under my limited education, I knew that he was supposed to be a hectic man.

But Azrael turned out to be a timid, androgynous man who seemed frustrated at his job. As he harvested my buzzing firefly-like soul from me, his hands almost trembled. Probably he disliked this job. Or the hesitation came from the depths of his psyche were death was an unfortunate side effect of birth. He would have happily traded his job for that of a midwife. But Allah, in his infinite wisdom, knows best!

He hesitated a bit before vaulting my soul and then mounted on his lightning chariot. This chariot turned out to have clumsy technology as well - after an initial hesitation, it took up insane speeds, and coiled up to the gates of heaven.

The seconds after my death were the most peaceful. I expected life after death to be devoid of carnal pleasures. Of course Allah promised many of them in the heaven. But for me, it was a symptom of decadence. Perhaps Allah will let me meditate and worship him in a peaceful corner of heaven. I will see my family from there and be in peace forever.

Unfortunately, this was not the case. As Azrael was harvesting my soul, I saw myself thinking about my beloved wife Noorjahan. Thought of her supple lips and a lush rump made me quiver with desire. Numerous pale blue nights we spent under the moon with our bosoms tight in embrace. The unadulterated love out of which our little angels were born. I will miss my Noor, my love, the sweet moonlight of my life, the piece of my heart!

I am a man dispossessed of his loins, I was ashamed when I realised this. A man is decimated only when his desire has been thoroughly foiled. What will my Noor think when she realise that I can’t no longer make her merry the way I could before? I know that love is far beyond the realms of our clumsy hips - but as a man who has been undone by other men hellbent on destroying my manhood, will you fault me for thinking with my deceased dick?

Every soul shall taste death once. Or maybe more. As I am talking, Azrael is taking my soul to heaven. I have no clue what happens afterwards. I have trusted elders on their descriptions of death and afterlife. But I am already proven wrong many times. When I look at the feminine lips and timid eyelashes of Azrael, I can’t help but think about the surprises that lay waiting for me.

I don’t understand Arabic. I have never read and understood the revealed word. Whatever that Prophet, peace be upon him, has said and hence recorded in his mother tongue is out of bounds for me.If you look at my village or the entire district, you will find less than a handful of men who could do that. And no women at it, none! I regret my ignorance, but I am sure that Allah knows best. This ignorance might have been a shade under which he allowed us to grow and thrive.

But I am dead now, for no reason. Maybe I shouldn’t have involved myself in this risky trade. Maybe I should have chosen a different road. Maybe I should have had a partner who had a different name, religion. Maybe, just maybe, I should have stayed at home under the shade of my beloved Noor, playing with our little angels. A deep regret enveloped me and permeated through my abstract rib cage that was on the verge of explosion. I missed my real ribcage that cracked under the feet of those morons. Along with all those things that defined me before my death.

At that moment, I turned vegetarian and vowed not to eat beef again. I once again looked at my dead body, shrunk like a rotting vegetable. Blood and lymph flowing out through the lacerations dug upon it by those men of virtue. They were nothing but the arms of god - through whom I shall now be reunited with Allah. From the temptations of the flesh and machinations of the devil, I shall now finally attain peace. My loins are shredded, and I am free. God is great and I shall live forever - away from my sins. Only God knows the best!

These terse emotions piled upon each other when a final solution dawned upon me. My mind was growing sullen with these chaotic thoughts that made me human. Azrael advised me to retract all of them and dissolve myself into this vast abyss. I did it at once.

I wrote this in 2019, publishing after lying in my google drive for five years.

There is a cottage industry that teaches us how to acquire power and preserve it. They quote from Sun Tsu to Machiavelli as if these men have written something that we don’t already know. The Hoi Polloi is definitely taught to be sceptical and, to some extent, selfish by the larger society. Irrespective of the ardent religious appeal of the propaganda in favour of altruistic morality, most of them grow up to not trust others unless there is a compelling reason to do so. Most enduring systems of power are designed to override this suspicion by abusing the organis gullibilties of the masses.

You can package a war machine with an allegory of their mothers. You may have to camouflage by creating a national image that is seeped in kindness, compassion, and the glory of being old. I would like to write more, but this article is not about creating comprehensive national power. This assumes that such a system is somehow in place (say, like our own constitutional republic) but someone sets sail to capture power within it. And this discussion must be limited to Democratic or quasi-Democratic systems.

We are well aware of the way popular elections could be swayed through the efficient use of propaganda, which is an intuitive application of social psychology. One needn’t be conversant with the theories. The long practice of politics does endow some of us with a knack for messaging that will resonate with the people. But civilised societies do impose restrictions on the quality and manners of public discourse. They can be bypassed with ingenious strategies like dog whistles. But a more practical and sustainable means will be to launch a blitzkrieg of promises (much like Lebensraum) that help you masquerade your real agenda.

The appeal for direct democracy is one such. It is simply not deliverable in complex societies of high order. Especially when you are looking at a population that is barely struggling under the yoke of a punishing economy as well as social systems loaded against them. Also, the power of people is nothing without organised mechanisms that ensure that their will is properly transcribed and coded into machines of power. For example, the government machinery at the tail end works under the instructions of civil servants. And they are not directly answerable to people. If we were to put a microscope on every decision and action taken in government offices, the people would be reduced to subjects who act according to rules. If this system has to act democratically, government alone will not do. There should be citizen operated machines that feed the government as well as the bureaucracy of the day.

The entities that we call political parties are supposed to ensure this. But in practice, it is an extremely difficult thing to do. This is because they are vehicles towards power. There is indeed some element of democracy that exists in them. At least, they pay lip service to them. But then, if they are competing with each other in a social system that is loaded, they cannot be democratic. When you are forced to partake in activities that cannot be public (which to some extent is the staple of public life by virtue of design), you are drawn towards secrecy. And as we know, secrecy cannot breed democratic spirit. There would hardly be any doubt about who distributes the tickets for contestants to Lok Sabha or Rajya Sabh. The average voter is hardly a party. I am not complaining about this, but I am highlighting it because the question of functioning democracy that operates levers of power according to the popular will shall factor in the limits of organisational capacity.

It is here, that the calls for direct democracy falls flat. If there are no mechanisms for people to express their will, it cannot direct policy. Or when whatever mechanisms exist are cleverly dismantled, some demagogue could appear on top (via the games of power) and claim that he/she represents the popular will. The lavish grace of power is enough to manufacture consent, and the fiction of popular will could sustain their bid to stay in power. The citizen is robbed of the opportunity to direct state policy. The most crucial aspect here is the intermediate leadership, which are in direct contact with people. By definition, they are accountable to the community. They are embedded in the community on an organic continuum. From households to the local leader, there are no chasms. They are one and the same.

Here, we are not even assuming that the average voter will direct state policy. But the policy has to be crafted by machines that are modular, with popular control over these modules. Without it, democracy can hardly deliver it to those at the bottom. Here, I strongly argue that complete democratic decentralisation with avenues for people to actively change the course of their lives is the only way to go about democracy. The missing piece in popular discourse is the role of intermediate or lower leadership of a political party (or other vehicles of power in community, caste, or religious domain).

The biggest obstacle to dictatorship is a robust, intermediate leadership that is visionary. It might seem ironic in a discussion on democracy. But, oligarchs (or regional satraps in a quasi-democracy) are the most credible defence against centralised dictatorship, provided they are connected to popular machines of power. It is a different matter if all these satraps, or powerful intermediaries, are tyrants. Then, they become the hallmark of patronage based dictatorships. They bow to the wishes of the dictator, but it can’t be denied that only they have control over resources that could potentially dethrone the dictatorship.

One popular fiction in democratic propaganda is that we only have petulant megalomaniacs as dictators. But in real life, most of them are soft spoken, urbane ‘gentlemen’ with a purpose. They wouldn’t have climed the ladders of power, if they were a pain in the ass for everyone around them. They know how to please and, in turn, get what they want. Oligarchs or satraps are more like “friends” to the dictator. They could be loyal, yes, but they are certainly not servants of the dictator. The dictatorship will do everything possible to make their situation precarious. The “comprador” class would most certainly be popularly hated. It only makes the dictatorship more powerful. They are forced to pledge their resources to the upkeep of the dictatorship - without which they will perish.

We spoke about them in detail only because they command reasonable resources to unseat the dictatorship. The goal of democracy is to create intermediate leaders who hold considerable power - on behalf of the people. All standard laws of democracy - changeability of personnel, accountability, etc - applies to them. But the focus of democracy should be in creating such passionate, ambitious and ever powerful regional satraps. If the supreme leader can unilaterally control all tickets to the Lower House, pick Chief Ministers, and mess with state government machinery, the federal setup we have will crumble. This is true in most constitutional democracies. Not just ours.

The call for direct democracy is very attractive. It is indeed good if it comes from the bottom and limited to decision making in a small, close-knit community. However, when that call comes from the very top, it should be alarming. The ulterior motive is to disarm intermediate leadership, which have familial, kinship and honorary ties to the community. And arguably, they are much more effective tools of mental control than fictions like propriety and constitutional allegiance (of the individual).

tl:dr,

The gist of this article is to look at leaders whom you interact with and choose wisely. And they should have good bosses at the regional level. If not, get into your party of choice and try to effectuate that change. Democracy dies in darkness; in the same bed will lie the lazy citizenry, dying along with it.

Beware.

സോവിയറ്റ് യൂണിയന്റെ പതനത്തോട് കൂടി സ്വേച്ഛാധിപതികൾക്ക് സോഷ്യലിസം ചൂണ്ടിക്കാണിച്ചു ഭരിക്കാൻ തരമില്ലാതെയായി. ഉദാരമായ ആഗോളവത്കരണം, മുതലാളിമാരുടെ ഉദരങ്ങളെ ഭൂഗളത്തോളം വികസിപ്പിച്ച ആ കാലഘട്ടത്തിലാണ്, മാരനിത്യാദി ആഭാസദൈവങ്ങൾക്ക് വീണ്ടും മാർക്കറ്റുണ്ടാവുന്നത്. ഇന്റർനെറ്റിട്ട് വലിച്ചു കെട്ടിയ കമ്പോളങ്ങളിൽ മനുഷ്യർ തന്നെ പലപ്പോഴും ദൈവ വേഷമിട്ട് ജനി-മൃതി-മോക്ഷമിത്യാദി ഘനഗംഭീരങ്ങളായ ആശയങ്ങളെപ്പറ്റി സാധാരണക്കാരോട് സംവദിച്ചു. അതിൽ ലയിച്ചവർ മേലനങ്ങേണ്ടതില്ലാത്ത, ലവലേശം കരുണ വേണ്ടാത്ത ഇപ്പുതിയ ഭക്തിമാർഗ്ഗങ്ങളിൽ സവിനയം ലയിച്ചു.

സ്വകാര്യവത്കരണത്തിന്റെ കേമപ്പെട്ട വാഗ്ദാനം, നടുറോഡിൽ പണിത ടാപ്പുകൾ വഴിയുള്ള സമാശ്വാസ വിതരണമായിരുന്നു. “രാജ്യം വളരുമ്പോൾ, രാജ്യഭണ്ഡാരവും വികസിക്കും. വലിയ ഭണ്ഡാരം പൊട്ടിക്കുമ്പോൾ കീഴാളർക്ക് മുഴുത്ത കാറ്റ് ലഭിക്കും. ഇപ്രകാരം എല്ലാരും വളരും!” എന്നൊക്കെയാണ് അഭിജ്ഞാനസാമ്പത്തികശാസ്ത്രജ്ഞർ അഭിപ്രായപ്പെട്ടത്. കാലം, വയറൊട്ടിയ, ഒന്നമർത്തിയാൽ നെഞ്ചെല്ല് പൊട്ടിച്ചിതറുന്ന കുഞ്ഞിക്കുരുന്നുകളെ ഈ പൈപ്പിൻ ചോട്ടിലെത്തിച്ചു. സമാശ്വാസത്തിന്റെ സുഗന്ധം പ്രതീക്ഷിച്ച് ടാപ്പ് തുറന്നവർക്ക് കിട്ടിയത് ഉപരിവർഗ്ഗത്തിന്റെ അധോവായുവായിരുന്നു. കുറേയെണ്ണം ചത്തു; ബാക്കിയായവർക്ക് വിപ്ലവത്തിലുള്ള വിശ്വാസവും നശിച്ചു.

സങ്കടം ശീലമാക്കിയ ജനതക്ക് പൊറുതി കൊടുത്തത് പണ്ട് പടിയിറങ്ങിപ്പോയ ദൈവങ്ങളാണ്. അവരുടെ വേദാന്തം, റേഡിയോ-ടീവി-ഇന്റർനെറ്റ് വഴി ഏകാന്തത മുറ്റിയ മനുഷ്യ മനസ്സുകളിലേക്ക് വീണ്ടും ഒഴുകിയെത്തി. മറവിയിൽ മാഞ്ഞു പോയ മാരനും, വനവാസം മതിയാക്കി മാലോകരുടെ നെഞ്ചിൽ കുടിവെച്ചു. ഉള്ള ദൈവങ്ങളിലെ മര്യാദക്കാരനായ മാരൻ, ആയ കാലത്ത് പുരുഷരിൽ ഉഷാറുള്ളവനായി പേര് കേൾപ്പിച്ചവനാണ്. എന്നാലായുഗത്തിൽ തൻപോരിമ പറയുന്നത് ഒരു കുറച്ചിലാകയാൽ ഇത്തരം സ്തുതികളൊന്നും മാരൻ പ്രോത്സാഹിപ്പിച്ചിരുന്നില്ല. എഴുത്ത് വിദ്യ പഠിച്ചൊരു കാട്ടാളൻ തന്റെ ജീവചരിത്രമെഴുതിയില്ലാരുന്നുവെങ്കിൽ ഇക്കാണുന്ന ഭക്തസഹസ്രങ്ങൾ തനിക്കുണ്ടാവില്ലല്ലോ എന്ന് മാരൻ ഇടക്കോർക്കാറുണ്ട്. അതിസാരം പിടിച്ചൊരു സംവിധായകനെ വെച്ച് കമലാന്തൻ രായാവ് മാരന്റെ കഥ സീരിയലാക്കിയതാണ്. ഭക്തി കാട്ടി ജനത്തെ തണുപ്പിക്കാൻ നോക്കിയ കമലാന്തൻ അവസാനം ഒരു പെണ്ണ് പൊട്ടിത്തെറിച്ചു മരിച്ചു. പാവമായിരുന്നു, നല്ലവനായിരുന്നു. പൂഷോടകം എന്ന നശിച്ച നാടിന്റെ പ്രതീക്ഷയായിരുന്നു. പാവം മരിച്ചു പോയതിനു പിന്നാലെ തുടൽ പൊട്ടിച്ചു പാഞ്ഞ ചെന്നായ്ക്കൾ ആ നാടിനെ തന്നെ ഇരുട്ടിലേക്ക് തള്ളിയിട്ടു കളഞ്ഞു. മാരന്റെ പേരിൽ തുടങ്ങിയ പിത്തന, പക്ഷേ മാരൻ മാത്രം കരുതിയാൽ തീർക്കാൻ പറ്റുന്ന ഒന്നായിരുന്നില്ല. ഭക്തരാരും മാരനെ അറിയാൻ ശ്രമിച്ചുമില്ല.

ഭാര്യ മരിച്ച ശേഷം, ചുടല പറമ്പുകളിൽ ഉറങ്ങാൻ പോയത്, രതിയോടുള്ള വിരക്തി കൊണ്ടല്ല. അധികാരരാഷ്ട്രീയത്തിന്റെ ചെങ്കൽചൂള, ആത്മാവിന്റെ ഉള്ളറകളെ കരിയിച്ചു കളഞ്ഞത് കൊണ്ടാണ്. ദൈവമായ മാരൻ, രാജാവ് കൂടിയായിരുന്നു. അഖിലലോകർക്കും ഉടയോനായ ആകലോകകാരണമുത്തൊളി മൊഞ്ചൻ മാരൻ. എന്നാലുമെന്താണ് തെണ്ടികളും തോട്ടികളുമായ ദൈവങ്ങൾ പുരാണങ്ങളിലില്ലാത്തത്? തീട്ടം കോരുന്ന, വിടുപണി ചെയ്യുന്ന, വെറ്റില നുള്ളി നുള്ളി കൈ വിണ്ടു വിണ്ടു മണ്ണിൽ കുഴഞ്ഞു വീണുമരിക്കുന്ന ദൈവങ്ങളില്ലല്ലോ? രാജകിരീടത്തിനു കീഴിലെ നീറുന്ന അധികാരവടംവലികൾ മാരന്റെ ഹൃദയത്തെ കരയിച്ചു കളഞ്ഞിരുന്നു. ഒടുക്കം ഗതികെട്ട് മനുഷ്യനെ കത്തിക്കുന്ന കനൽ പറമ്പുകളിലേക്ക് പാലായനം ചെയ്തതാണ്. കോണകം മാത്രമുടുത്ത്, നട്ടുച്ചക്ക് കൊട്ടാരത്തിൽ നിന്ന് പാഞ്ഞ് രക്ഷപ്പെട്ട മാരനെയോർത്ത് മറ്റ് ദൈവങ്ങൾക്ക് അസൂയയാണുണ്ടായത്.

എന്നാൽ മാരന്, മടങ്ങി വരേണ്ടി വന്നു. മാരൻ ജനിച്ചത് ഒരു തുണ്ട് ഭൂമിയിലാണ് എന്നൊരു കഥ നാട്ടിലാകെ പടർന്നു. കഥക്ക് വിത്തിട്ടത് വിവരം കെട്ടൊരു പടുകിളവൻ; വെള്ളമൊഴിച്ചു വളർത്തിയത് മൂലക്കുരു മൂത്ത മന്നാഡിയാർ എന്നൊരധികാരമോഹിയും. അഖിലത്തിനുടയോൻ ജനിച്ചതീ തുണ്ട് ഭൂമിയിൽ തന്നെയോ എന്ന് മറുത്ത് ചോദിക്കാൻ മാത്രം മൂളയുള്ള ഒരുത്തനും മാരഭക്തരിൽ ഉണ്ടായിരുന്നില്ല എന്നത് സങ്കടം! ഒടുക്കം അവിടെ തന്നെ നിന്ന് പഴകി മണ്ണാച്ചൻ മൂടിയ ദൈവകൂടാരം വലിച്ചു പറിച്ചു കളഞ്ഞവിടെത്തന്നെ മാരനൊരു പള്ളി പണിയാൻ അവർ തീർച്ചയാക്കി. മാരന്റെ പള്ളി പിൽക്കാലത്ത് മാരമ്പള്ളി എന്നറിയപ്പെടുമെന്നൊക്കെ അവർ മനക്കോട്ട കെട്ടി…

“മണ്ണിലുയർന്നൊരു മാരമ്പള്ളി, വിണ്ണിൻ യശസ്സാം പൊന്നുമ്പള്ളി, ഉയർന്നു പൊങ്ങണ നേരത്ത്, സുന്ദരചന്ദിരരൊക്കെ വിറക്കും, മാരൻ നാമം ലോകം നിറയും.”

എന്നൊക്കെ മാരഭക്തർ പാടിനടന്നു. വാട്സാപ്പ് കൂട്ടായ്മകൾ വഴി മാരസന്ദേശം ലോകം മുഴുവനുമെത്തിച്ചു. എന്നാലൊരു കഥയും മാരനറിഞ്ഞിരുന്നില്ല. മൂലക്കുരു മൂത്ത് കാലകത്തി നടക്കുന്ന ഒരുത്തൻ രാജ്യം ഭരിക്കുമെന്നൊരു പ്രവചനമുണ്ടായിരുന്നല്ലോ. മന്നാഡിയാർ മണ്ടി പാഞ്ഞു വന്നത് തന്നെ ആ പ്രവചനം സത്യമാക്കി സിംഹാസനത്തിൽ ആസനസ്ഥനാവാൻ കൊതിച്ചു കൊണ്ടാണ്. അവന്റെ കൂട്ടക്കാരാണ്, മാരനത് പറഞ്ഞു, ഇത് പറഞ്ഞു; മാരന്റെ മണ്ണ് നായി കൊണ്ട് പോയി, ആരെക്കൊന്നും അത് തിരികേയ് പിടിക്കണം; മാരഭക്തരുടെ മാനാഭിമാനം കാക്കാൻ ദൈവകൂടാരം വലിച്ചു പറിച്ചു കളഞ്ഞവിടെത്തന്നെ പൊന്നു കൊണ്ടൊരു മാരമ്പള്ളി പണിയണം. അങ്ങിനെ പോണു മൂലക്കുരു മൂത്ത മന്നാഡിയാർ വിറ്റഴിച്ച സ്വപ്നങ്ങളുടെ നീണ്ട നിര.

“മയിരന്മാര്….!”

അവസാനനാളുകളിൽ മറ്റൊരു വാക്ക് ഭക്തന്മാരെപ്പറ്റി മാരൻ പറഞ്ഞിട്ടില്ല. മഞ്ഞ മാർബിളിൽ പണിത മാരമ്പള്ളിയെ തീട്ടക്കൊട്ടാരം എന്നാണ് അങ്ങോര് വിളിച്ചത്. ബാക്കി ദൈവങ്ങൾ അതിന് മുന്നേ തന്നെ മാരനെ ഇട്ടെറിഞ്ഞു പോയിരുന്നു. “സ്വയം പൊങ്ങി മൈത്താണ്ടി” എന്നാണ് സൃഷ്ടിയുടെ ഈശ്വരനായ കുമ്മാവ് മാരനെ അധിക്ഷേപിച്ചത്. “മനുഷ്യരെ തമ്മിൽ തല്ലിച്ച കണ്ടി കുണു വാവേ, നീ കണ്ണ് പൊട്ടി പുഴുത്തരിച്ച് മൂത്രത്തിൽ മുങ്ങി മരിക്കും!”. സകല മനുഷ്യരുടേയും അമ്മയായ ആദിപെരുംപടപ്പ് ഉള്ള് നൊന്ത് മാരനെ പ്രാകി. പെറ്റ വയറല്ലേ! മാരമ്പള്ളി കലാപകാലത്ത് ചോര വാർന്ന് മണ്ണിൽ വീണ പൂർണ്ണ വളർച്ചയെത്തിയ മനുഷ്യക്കുട്ടികളെ കണ്ട് ആ മനസ്സ് നീറി. മാരനെ മാത്രമല്ല, മനുഷ്യരെ കാക്കാത്ത സകല ദൈവങ്ങളേയും അവർ കണ്ണ് പൊട്ടണ ചീത്ത പറഞ്ഞു. “ആളെക്കൊന്നല്ലെടാ ഫുണ്ടകളേ പള്ളി പണിയേണ്ടത്” എന്നവർ ആകാശത്ത് നിന്ന് വിളിച്ചു പറഞ്ഞു. മാരഭക്തരാവട്ടെ, കർണ്ണങ്ങളിൽ അന്നേദിവസം അവരുടെ തന്നെ ലിംഗാഗ്രം പകുത്ത് പൂജ ചെയ്യുകയായിരുന്നു. ചർമ്മം കൊണ്ട് ചെവി മൂടിയിരിക്കുകയായിരുന്നതിനാലവരത് കേട്ടില്ല.

പൂഷോടകം എന്ന ദ്വീപസമൂഹത്തിലാണ് മാരഭക്തർ മിക്കവരും തിങ്ങിപാർത്തിരുന്നത്. പണ്ടൊരവിട്ട നാളിൽ ദൈവങ്ങളുടെ പേരിൽ പരസ്പരം വെട്ടിച്ചത്ത പോരിശയുള്ള പന്നകളുടെ പിന്മുറക്കാരാണ് ഇന്ന് പൂഷോടകത്തെ പ്രജകളൊക്കെയും. അവരിൽ മാരഭക്തരുണ്ട്, മസിലൻമാരുണ്ട്, മാന്ന്രാണികളുണ്ട്, മൂക്കോലികളുണ്ട്, ബാക്കി നാനാജാതി മതസ്ഥരുണ്ട്. പ്രധാനമായും കാല് മടക്കി പ്രാർത്ഥിക്കുന്ന മസിലൻമാരോട് പിത്തനയുണ്ടാക്കാനാണ് മാരഭക്തരോട് മൂലക്കുരു മൂത്ത മന്നാഡിയാർ ആവശ്യപ്പെട്ടത്. അതിനായി ഖണ്ഡകാവ്യങ്ങളെഴുതി. സിനിമാ പിടിച്ചു. പരപര രാഗത്തിൽ കീർത്തനങ്ങളെഴുതി പള്ളികളിൽ ആൾക്കാർ തലചുറ്റി വീഴുവോളം കേൾപ്പിച്ചു. ഏത് വിധേനയും മാരഭക്തരും മസിലൻമാരും തമ്മിലടിക്കണം. അടിച്ചു കൊണ്ടേയിരിക്കണം. അല്ലാത്ത പക്ഷം തനിക്ക് സിംഹാസനത്തിൽ അമർന്നിരിക്കുക സാധ്യമല്ലെന്ന് മൂലക്കുരു മൂത്ത മന്നാഡിയാർക്ക് നന്നായി അറിയാമായിരുന്നു. അതിൻ പ്രകാരം സൂര്യനുറങ്ങിയ ശുഭമുഹൂർത്തത്തിൽ വലിച്ചു പറിച്ചു കളഞ്ഞവിടെ തന്നെ മാരമ്പള്ളി പണിയാൻ ഒരു കൂട്ടം ശവികൾ ഒരുമ്പെട്ടിറങ്ങി. പിന്നെ നടന്നത് ചരിത്രം.

“മയിരന്മാര്…!”

മലം മൂടിയ മണിക്കിണറിൽ മുങ്ങി കൊണ്ടിരിക്കേ മാരൻ തന്റെ ഭക്തരെ കാറിത്തുപ്പി വിളിച്ചു. എനിക്ക് പള്ളി പണിയാൻ നീയൊക്കെയാരാണ് ചെള്ക്കകളേ! എന്റെ പേരിൽ മനുഷ്യരെ വെട്ടിയെറിഞ്ഞ്, എന്റെ പേരിൽ തീട്ടകൊട്ടാരം കെട്ടി, എന്റെ തന്നെ മുന്നിൽ വന്ന് സഹസ്രനാമം ദിഖ്‌റ് ചൊല്ലാൻ ചില്ലറ ഉളുപ്പൊന്നും പോരാ!

മാരമ്പള്ളി കലാപാനന്തരം, ഒട്ടുമിക്ക ദൈവങ്ങളും മാരനെ പരസ്യമായും രഹസ്യമായും അധിക്ഷേപിച്ചു എന്നത് സത്യമാണ്. ഒരമേരിക്കൻ ദേവി മാരന്റെ മുഖത്ത് കാറിത്തുപ്പി. ബെറിങ്ങ് ഉൾക്കടലിലെ ഒരു കുട്ടി ദൈവം പറന്നു വന്ന് മാരന്റെ തലയിൽ തൂറി. പൂഷോടകത്തിലെ പൂറന്മാരോട് പരസ്പരം സ്നേഹിക്കാൻ പറയെടാ പൂറാ എന്നൊരു കരീബിയൻ ദൈവം കാറി വിളിച്ചു. അപമാനം സഹിക്കാം, ചങ്ക് തകർത്തത് മസിലൻമാരുടെ ദൈവം മെല്ലെയടുത്ത് വന്നിത് പറഞ്ഞപ്പോഴാണ്. “ന്റെ മക്കൾ മാത്രം അല്ലല്ലോ ഓര്. ഇത്രയെണ്ണത്തിനെ കൊല്ലണ്ടേർന്ന്. അനക്കൊന്ന് പറഞ്ഞൂടേനോ മാരാ…”

ഞങ്ങൾ പറഞ്ഞാൽ കേൾക്കുന്ന ജാതികളല്ല ഞങ്ങളുടെ ഭക്തർ എന്ന് ഓനറിയാഞ്ഞിട്ടല്ല. ദണ്ണം കൊണ്ട് പറയുന്നതാണ്. തന്റെ കൂടി മക്കളല്ലേ മരിച്ചവരൊക്കെയും?

ഹൃദയം തകർന്ന മാരന്റെ നെഞ്ച് കല്ലായി. മര്യാദ വിളങ്ങി നിന്ന ആ ഹൃദയം ഒരു ഹിമശിലയായി മാരന്റെ നെഞ്ചിൻകൂടിനെ മഥിച്ചു. മരിക്കാൻ നേരമായി. മഞ്ഞ മാർബിളിൽ കൊത്തിയെടുത്ത തീട്ടകൊട്ടാരത്തിന്റെ കല്ലിടലിനോ ഉത്‌ഘാടനത്തിനോ മാരൻ പോയില്ല. അങ്ങോട്ടൊന്ന് തിരിഞ്ഞു നോക്കിയത് പോലുമില്ല. ദൈവങ്ങൾ കയ്യൊഴിഞ്ഞ മാരൻ, ആശ നശിച്ച, ചൈതന്യം ദ്രവിച്ച, മരണം തൊട്ട് നക്കിയ നായി പടച്ചോനായി. മൂത്രത്തിൽ മുങ്ങി മരിക്കുമെന്ന ആദിപെരുംപടപ്പിന്റെ പ്രാക്ക് ചെവിയിൽ പ്രതിധ്വനി കൊണ്ടു. “ദെണ്ണം കൊണ്ട് പറഞ്ഞതാണ് ചെറിയോനെ, ഇയ്യത് മറന്നാളാ” എന്ന അവരുടെ ആശ്വസിപ്പിക്കലൊന്നും മാരനേശിയില്ല. അവർ ദൈവങ്ങളുടെയും അമ്മയാണല്ലോ. അവരൊന്നും വെറുതേ പറയില്ല!

മാരന്റെ ദേഹം പുഴുക്കുത്തി. വിരകളാൽ നിറഞ്ഞു പതഞ്ഞു. വിരലുകൾക്കിടയിൽ കൂടി പുഴുത്ത മാംസം പിഞ്ഞിപ്പറിഞ്ഞു നിലത്തേക്കൂർന്നു വീണു. കൊഴുത്ത അമേധ്യത്തിൽ പൂണ്ട് ശ്വാസം തിങ്ങി മരിക്കാനായിരുന്നു മാരന്റെ വിധി. “നായിക്ക് പിറന്ന നശൂലങ്ങളെ! അന്നം കിട്ടാതെ മരിച്ചു പോകുമെടാ കൂത്താടികളേ..!” ഉള്ള് നീറിയാ പാവം ദൈവം തന്റെ ഭക്തരെ പ്രാകി. അവരപ്പോഴും തീട്ടക്കൊട്ടാരത്തിലെ പ്രഭാതപൂജകളിൽ മുഴുകി, ശ്രീത്വം സ്വപ്നം കാണുകയായിരുന്നു. മാരമ്പള്ളിയെന്ന മരീചിക, അവരുടെ സ്വപ്നങ്ങളെപ്പോലും മലീമസമാക്കിയ അധികാരനാടകമായിരുന്നു എന്നവരറിഞ്ഞില്ല. പുഴുത്തു നാറി, മാനം കെട്ട് മരിച്ചൊരു ദൈവത്തിന്റെ ദയനീയമായ കരച്ചിലുകൾ അവർ കേട്ടതുമില്ല. അവർക്ക് മേലെ അസ്തമിച്ച സൂര്യൻ പോലും ഉദിക്കാൻ മടിച്ച് ലജ്ജിച്ചു നിന്നു.

But things doesn’t work that way. Sooner or later, truth catches up and the stench of rotten flesh - not always the literal human meat - will surface and there would be no place to go. That is also when we realise that the demons that ate our loved ones were hatched by ourselves. By the time we realise, it is almost always too late to do anything.

Great empires create arms industries to sustain their campaigns. But one day, the depradations would prove too less for the kind of trouble the proprietors of these industries take. And then, the guns will be trained to the weakest; so that the ‘costs’ are amortized over a the remaining days of a grappling empire. “Chickens always come home to roost.”

“The colonizer, who in order to ease his conscience gets into the habit of seeing the other man as an animal, accustoms himself to treating him like an animal, and tends objectively to transform himself into an animal.” “And then one fine day the bourgeoisie is awakened by a terrific reverse shock: the gestapos are busy, the prisons fill up, the torturers around the racks invent, refine, discuss. — People are surprised, they become indignant. They say: “How strange! But never mind — it’s Nazism, it will pass!” And they wait, and they hope; and they hide the truth from themselves, that it is barbarism, but the supreme barbarism, the crowning barbarism that sums up all the daily barbarisms; that it is Nazism, yes, but that before they were its victims, they were its accomplices; that they tolerated that Nazism before it was inflicted on them, that they absolved it, shut their eyes to it, legitimized it, because, until then, it had been applied only to non-European peoples; that they have cultivated that Nazism, that they are responsible for it.” —Aimé Césaire, Discourse on Colonialism

However, this cannot be used as a means to blame the victims. They are almost always the “victims of circustances”, who almost always had no say in the way powers that be cultivated the world before them. Of course, they could have voted sensibly. But did voting save them from the vagaries of price rise, poor health and education policies, or did they get a sound economic system? Weren’t they dependent on the intellectuals who lied and a salaried media that appeared to be free?

In any case, the “philosophy of the bomb” applies to another category of people who come from the very lot who live at the heart of these colonies. They are, however, not the ‘weakest’ kind. The weakest are generally marginalised to the extent of irrelevance and disappearence. They are even below the “proletariat”, who could afford to work in the factories run by the colonial as well as comprodor elites. The weakest, are cast aside from the avenues of education, skilling, social participation and are kept there through perpetuating their state of ‘deliberate uselessness’ as designed by the colonial power centres.

The proletariat and the ‘middle class’, are actually the benefactors of colonial state in varying degrees. Indeed, some of their faculties and labour is exploited by the colonial power to reinforce its authority and ensure commercial viability of the empire. However, they are indeed rewarded - from the handsome excess that the ‘middle class’ receives vis-á-vis the meagre living wage that a proletariat member gets albeit being confined to their urban prisons, fondly called ‘chawls’ of the new world.

In modern parlance, the amorphous “Market Economy”, is commanded by a power centre that is coveted by all seekers of power. Irrespective of the social status of these contenders, they all are benefitted from this Market Economy that distributes largesse as a function of your acquired skills. Only caveat being that these skills are a function of your social privilege - something that the Holy Market doesn’t really care. That it aids perpetuation of structural inequalities is a debate for another day. IMO, the long march of democratic traditions will be halted if this fundamental inequity isn’t addressed through the electoral as well as administrative apparatus.

Going back, the philosophy of the bomb (PoB) needs another exposition around the perceptions that religions or identity is the prime motivator of terrorism. The phenomenon of terrorist being linked to religion is a relatively recent one. Rather, PoB is a remarkably secular apparatus. It is a thinking complex, that works as an antidote to the pains inflicted by the structural inequalities. It is a polemic that goes to great lengths to justify violence as the means of political action.

It might be ironic to state that PoB is a lazy political espacism, given the great lengths its proponents go to, inorder to achieve its stated ends. The only problem is that painful political organisation and legitimate politcal expression of the masses is a long, arduous process to which the revolutionary have no patience. The revolutionary is always childish, even when their actions are inspired & conjured up by the elder lot. Here, the revolutionary is pushed into the thick of action even before they achieve a stage of reason. Here, ‘the state of reason’, shouldn’t be confounded with age of the revolutionary. Sometimes, the revolutionary is an older person, having bored themselves to a point where any sociopolitical action, whatever nuisance it is, is a fulfilment of their romantic ideals. Here, the old revolutionary use age as a justification. They argue that they have tried and tested every other method and PoB is now the only way forward. These perverse justifications of violence arises from the fundamental inability to creatively engage with the larger society. But the PoB gives a reliable outlet through which these anxieties (many a times manifestly sexual) could be relieved.

Anyhow, the PoB always comes back to the perpetrators. It gives a figment of legitimacy to the colonial state’s oppressive apparatus. Adherents of PoB is always a small minority, who pose little threat to the multi-billion enterprise that the extractive colonial state is. In fact, the adherants of PoB lives in cavities carefully carved out for them. They preach various flavours of freedom discourses - tuned to suit various affinities. They have a tailor made version for the urban proletariat. Yet another concocted by university professors who don’t really understand how an automatic rifle or IED works, but see them as a “last resort” means to justify PoB. The post revolutionary anti-intellectualism will almost always consume them. But they have little choice. Under a capitalist & colonial apparatus, they feel emasculated and useless; the post revolutionary world is a promise. Their dilemma is something we will deal with later.

The purpose of this particular article is to examine the mechanism through which PoB infiltrates the minds of radicals in stratified societies of today. It may not always manifest as bombs or mass shootings; for social media acts both as a source and sink of radical hatred and discontent that propels them into action. But when they finally choose action, the fountainhead of their philosophies are the “materials of dehumanisation”, actively employed by them and against them as the situation demands.

You cannot bomb someone you see as being similar to you. The whole point of the exercise to clear out “something” (not someone) which (not who) you see as threat to the “larger good”. So the victim has to be dehumanised. Now, it is not always the bomber who would have done this. It could be a rabid political philosophy or ethnic idealism that worked over existing social faultlines. Whatever the case may be, according to the bomber, they are not killing people, they are exterminating a ‘threat’.

This is why PoB is only an expression of the larger malice of philosophies and ideologies that seek to dehumanise. And despite the efficacy and utility of dehumanisation, it has to be actively shunned by sane political actors. Modern democratic discourse must have customary as well as legal mechanisms to counter dehumanisation. Lexical controls, conventions or even curbs on discourse in favour of larger humanity should be the norm. If the school curriculum or the early socialisation doesnt’ include this with a spirit of fraternity, the society is doomed to fail.

Aspirations for a united society alone wouldn’t make to it. There is a dire need to act against social faultines. The fighting devices of dehumanisation of dissenters or rivals is something we cannot do without. Sunset begins at noon - we need to act now.

Whether it be the police or military, internal rebellions can hardly crush their material might. But you can easily crush their spirit by sacrificing a substantial bit of human youth, who could be fomented like the tip of a whip, lashing out in all directions - frothing themselves out into a world of glaring injustices. Now, their anger may indeed be justified. But our focus should be on the actors who would find it easier to manipulate this anger and channel it into political action that matters. To take on the citadels of power, a straight fight is hardly desirable. You may want to pull the rug under their feet, and the element of surprise must come from the willingness to sacrifice the maximum number of young people.

History has this bad habit of celebrating those who emerged victorious through revolutions. In reality, most of the outcomes are actually decided by the side that first grew tired of killing young people. Now, I am not vindicating the tyrants who were displaced through these bloody, violent revolutions. They generally keep their teeth firmly clasped to the young meat, but their systems are prone to crack faster. From their ministers to officers to department heads to office clerks - it is far easier to see how their air-conditioned rooms and finely done steak - or a mushroom delicacy that costs many thousand dollars - come from the blood of the young people they call ‘theirs’. These oppressors are more likely to capitulate when both sides are sacrificing same number of (young) human meat in the fight.

However, the same revelation is harder for the ‘side’ that is making revolution. They were the underdogs when the revolution started. They were never invited to the high table. Their commanders theorise about equality because they are the ones who are hurt mostly by inequality. They are very well aware of the amount of young blood they are throwing at the meat grinders of an oppressive state. After all, the guns they hold came through ways known only to them and not the young lot who hold them and fire at the agents of state, who unfortunately look just like them. It is easier when the state looks a bit different due to a change in ethnicity, but the internal organs that their bullets pulverize are hard to ignore. Regularly, they step on a small intestine, gall bladder or a young lad blown into smithereens by a friendly grenade. He/she is more likely to cry reading an intercepted love letter from someone in the enemy line. Warzone is a mix of maimed human limbs, confused minds and loss of collective humanity. We send young people there to make sense of the incredible cruelty/violence over which human societies are built upon.

And who sent them there?

Not just the oppressor state, but also the commanders of the revolution, who knew every bit of what they are doing. This is not a moral evaluation of their decisions - they would most likely say that the violence caused by them is miniscule compared to systemic violence and oppression of the powers they are fighting against. That the sudden blip in the death rates in revolution years will slowly be overcome when Liberty, Equality and Fraternity is achieved and the ‘nation’ attains prosperity. But once the new rule is established, it is only a slow wait till the rot sets in and the next set of revolutionaries are born.

The leaders of the revolution are dressed in camouflage - not just for the battlefield. But also, to cover up their rotten souls which match those of their oppressors. Their youthful appearance and love for life is emphasised in the revolutionary press, with mediocre university dropouts writing paeans about their courage and irreverence towards death. The three-fifth of the paraphernalia of a post-revolutionary society is centred around how they have transcended the fear of death in service of the people. But half of their fables come from the way they held death with their own bare hands. Not their own deaths, but the deaths they caused when they knew every bit of what they were doing. The death of young people and snivels of emptied out families doesn’t reach them when they go around sibilating across the now-empty corridors of power. Revolutions crush only the bodies of the oppressors; they ruin the souls of the contenders. Revolutions beget revolutions. It is not difference in opinion that cause revolutions, it is the lust for power that spawns religions, dangerous philosophies and messiahs that deliver freedom encased in a casket of death.

When their leaders take over the old presidential palace and unceremoniously poke open the Suede leather of old thrones, they smell rotten flesh - not of animals long dead. But of young people they threw towards a merciless state whose character they very well knew. Every night of war was them clasping their soft bellies in makeshift tents, hoping that they are not killed the day after. Days were spent acting fatherly, jovial and courageous in front of young recruits, only to wish for the night to come. Then, they go to their rough beds, masturbating themselves to sleep, dreaming about the beauties of the Capital that they will win after the revolution hits a bull’s eye. One of them is said to have licked the varnish off a perfume-stained letter that a romance-stricken college student sent to him, as the revolution raged and he was hailed as the hero of the people. She was in love with him, unbeknownst of the boys her age (whose ideals she shared), he was sending to be fried in napalm every day.

Those who spawn revolutions are not young people. It is a product of old age. Not because revolutionary preparedness takes years to master. It is because of the bitterness that every leader should possess to coldly calculate death and destruction while plotting for a change of guard in the corridors of power. Young people seldom are equipped with the feeling of loss and permanent envy that push them there. Sure, young people are angry and volatile, but they wouldn’t be able to handle death as a metric that ought to be optimised. A minority of revolutionary leadership is indeed young, but only of age. Their humanity must have been sucked out of them during a difficult childhood. They are old (wo)men in young clothes; and they generally drink and smoke themselves to death when the revolution is finally successful.

But then, in the moonlit streets of serene capitals post revolution, the night lights may suddenly turn blood red with palaces reeking with the stench of millions of young people dead. It is when the revolutionary overlords vomit blue blood. When the clouds clear, ghosts of revolution will crawl out of the forest - singing songs of oppression and the need for blood to avenge the losses and lubricate the wheels of change. There is a revolution, a river of blood and also large fields full of dead young people - and some of them would be born only in the decade to come.

But there is a problem here.

It is that the people who read this and take pride in democracy are hardly aware of other forms of government. Unless you live in a transitional society that’s slowly democratising post a catastrophic undemocratic government, you’re unlikely to have a perception of what is it like to live under a yoke - domestic or foreign. You are unlikely to have been equipped with enough skillsets to smartly analyse socio-political indicators to measure the health of your democracy. You may not have a ‘canary in the coalmine’ that will tell you whether you will lose your civil rights in the near future. Or, if there is an extant underground, but active, plan to slowly oppress you economically by imposing an extractive system over and above the economic system of your country/province.

This is typical of the infirmities that most of the quotes/ideas that support democracy have. If not backed with proper ideas of praxis, ideology of democracy could be standing on thin ice. Worse, it risks being used as a means to oppress an unsuspecting populace. If we comb through the myths of yesteryears, we’ll see them teaching people about the ruses of kinds and holymen who were ever trying to usurp their well being. Doesn’t democracy deserve its own set of myths and folklore that protects its adherents from the depradations of a maruading elite?

All these are very much real because that’s how humanity works. It is very easy for the individual to believe in the goodness of figures far removed from their immediate surroundings. Humanity invented halos so that the uncertainties of this world could be suspended around figures of authority. This suspension of disbelief is essential to the working of many social institutions that are founded more in prestige than on the routine display of hard power. No doubt, great amounts of violence crawl through the underbellies of our society that tries to put up an air of normalcy. Here, this mechanism works directly against Democracy taking deep roots in any society.

More so for India, where the culture is strong on idolising popular figures and giving them an aura of invincibility and inherent goodness that transcend their fallible humanity. Story of Indian democracy is also the story of many such wholesale abuses of the faith of Indians in the goodness of great men and women. This is a very important aspect of Democracy in praxis that needs to be stressed enough.

Other vices of our fledgling democracy - money being used as a substitute to genuine political work, state power directed to tilting elections in favour of one party, influence of primordial identities in the formation of political units, sabotaging the welfare agenda of state in pursuit of electoral victories alone, near total destruction of civil society as a check on the unbridled powers of the executive, emasculation of free speech ecosystem, corporeal destruction of organised opposition, diminishing space for ideological organisation - all of them exist because the praxis of democarcy is ignored. Most of our discourse around democracy in centred around the ideological dimension of giving value to each and everyone - even if those lofty ideals are not put into practice through a just social order.

It is pointless to expect political processes alone bring lasting social change in a sovereign democracy. This is because almost all political formations in scene will be geared towards capturing state power, with little regard for anything else. Even the ideological movements within will be moved by the concerns of popularity that could preclude them from capturing power. This system will slip into utter chaos if those who hold the vote - the commoner - is not educated in the best ways possible about how all these shifts affect them.

The model of imparting this education through schools alone may not be effective. For these things have to be taught by the communities and households. Indian religions - the ones originated here as well as those found their home here - have this habit of strongly enculturating the young with what they believe in. Such a cultural intervention is the need of the hour. Despite all their differences and possible animosities, various community groups should be brought together to develop a common democratic vocabulary. This shouldn’t be limited to the iconographic approach adopted by the early democrats. They were also the freedom fighters who freed us from the British yoke. But their project of making India democratic is still a work in progress.

I explicitly mention this iconographic approach of theirs because it focused on creating shared images, people and halls of fame in the proces of nation building. But it is not wholly immune to perverted ideological projects that seek to divide the nation. For example, imagery is always about the strong emotions that they elicit. If someone could conjure up necessary emotions to create stronger imagery (and efficient channels to distribute them), it would spiral into a cultural arms race. Sadly, the party that appeals to more primordial identities and related emotional complexes will have a natural advantage in eliciting emotions in their favour.

Here, we should be smart enough to see that this process will not benefit any single party alone for a long time. They may seem to win the war by playing to a set of emotions over a constituency over a period of time. But invariably, a new iconoclasm will arise, much more fierce and committed towards conjuring up necessary resources to take the entrenched party heads on. They may or may not be concerned about national domination. If they are not, they will easily achieve a fragmentation of polity. If this culture war is allowed to go unabated, it will ultimately end up in cleaving our country and polity along lines that benefit these “political entrepreneurs” who sell anything that they can put their hands on in their pursuit for power. The ultimate beneficiaries are only their allies and attached families. Everybody else in the country stands to lose out. Elections degenerate into contests of differences alone and not a meditation on possibilities of co-existence.

In a consummate democracy, elections are not contests of differences alone, but a meditation on possibilites of co-existence.

This is where democracy in praxis should be set up. It consists of large scale political organisation work that focuses on creating systems that impart this essential knowledge to the people. The spread of technology alone would not magically make things better for us, as we have painfully learned in the last decade. Every socially responsible citizen would have to take upon themselves this need to educate, create and spread positive propaganda that will make democracy stronger. We should work harder for we cannot let our democratic elections relegate into a mere contestation of identities. Over and above that, eternal vigilance is the price of liberty. Democracy in itself is no end, but only a means towards a dignified existence for all. Democracy is not something to be proud about; it is a set of responsibilities that we can only shirk at the cost of our fulfilling existence.

Godspeed.

Of course, there are many layers to the Indian political process that makes it hard to “analyse” based on a truly cause-effect investigation. I will touch upon that another day. Here, our discussion pertains to how Indians are shielded from the nuances of political process.

To some extent, we see deliberate social designs that prevent us proceeding from an adolescent flux to a stable ‘adult’ existence. The hallmark of this ‘adult’ existence is the agency that comes along with it. One doesn’t have to see it as the severing of an imaginary umbilical cord with the larger society. Rather, it is a place from which the person enjoys relative autonomy over taking life’s most important decisions. That is, things that have a lasting impact on themselves and the community they live in.

If we look at the way children are reared by the parents as well as the community, the dominant theme is to create reluctant decision makers who are primed to live in a heavily controlled environment.

Mind you, this is not an exhortation to create some libertarian utopia devoid of any social sanctions or control. But this is an honest examination to see if the space in which politics operate in our society is fundamentally constrained. This is not an analysis on the impact of different political ideologies. Rather, this is a study of the social space in which all these ideologies are immersed.

For example, if a particular ideology uses a certain set of lexical collections to put forward a doctrine of passion - hatred for example - this study will analyse why that works as a political strategy. Why did that lexical collection resonated with the people? Why didn’t the people reject it as a silly call for pet hatred, that will corrode every aspect of the society as they know it?

Answering these questions requires creating a model of society that will help us test hypotheses of this kind.

Again, the infantilization of the population is only one aspect of the larger question - what is the fundamental nature of politics in our country? Also, what is a feasible political philosophy that we all can take up so that all our lives are better? Some prerequisites to this study are what constitutes our nationhood.

For instance, if someone is to consider only people of a particular religion as belonging to our nation automatically, things will be quite different for her. But we won’t solve this conundrum if we treat her as an object of derision. If you are to ask her if all humans should be treated equally, she will most probably answer that they should be. If you ask her, should all humans be treated with dignity, she will most probably answer with a resounding yes. But if you are to put it this way - “Whether human rights should be applied to all”, they may have a different answer.

This is because “human rights” is a sticky word that comes with a certain amount of baggage. To a liberal minded person, this is a sacrosanct entity that need to be protected at any cost; to some it is a reason why terrorists are able to constantly terrorise us. It prevents legitimate state action that could have saved us from this menace. To them, misuse by human rights activists is a bigger problem than a corporate media be allowed to terrorise us 24x7, warning about enemies within - real or perceived.

In a constitutional scheme of things, we ensure human rights to all. Even our enemies or those who have sworn to kill us. This is because if we don’t do that, there’s a lot of scope for the misuse of those doctrines to usurp those rights away from people who are innocent. It is the people of India, we, who maintain the state here. We pay for its existence. We ensure that it lives on through us. The state derives everything it has from us - “We, The People of India”. Hence, we are responsible for all actions of the state even if we didn’t call the shots. At this juncture, we should also pause to define this “We”, the first word of the Indian Constitution.

The “We” here doesn’t correspond to any community of people that existed at a particular point in time. For example, if it was just the people of India when it got independence, how could the generations that came after it (and those legally migrated into the country) be included in that “We”?

150 years down the line, we all will be dead. Still, the constitution will be expected to represent the people. It should ensure that the same dreams of Liberty, Equality, Fraternity and human dignity be protected. This brings us to an unassailable truism that has been neglected for long. That is, the survival of the Constitution hinges on the maintaining of the “national community” as an essential entity that agrees upon the basic precepts of protecting the dignity of all humans - along with dreaming the same dreams of welfare for all. If that is not deeply embedded in the national consciousness, the nation will see its Constitution mauled and disfigured to suit the whims of a few. First in praxis, then in letter and later in spirit.

By then, the national community would have long withered away. Their national imagination would have been corrupted and maligned by an insidious process of long drawn campaigns that attack the very roots of Unity. Every attack on Unity is aimed at ultimately tearing down the Constitution. And hence, if it is liberty, life and dignity that you love - you must resist everything that seeks to undermine the unity of our people and our national imagination.

The question of national imagination is intricately tied to the ‘maturity’ of a people. This maturity however cannot function if it is a mere legal fiction. The genius of the people is not something that you attribute to them. Neither is it something that you can excavate from society to prove your point. It is something you can appreciate only if you look at people from a non-judgmental and neutral point of view. This is the reason why Indian constitutionalism is inseparably tied to the larger project of decolonisation. Here, the people are no longer treated as subjects. They are thinking entities that can act on their own. A lot of characteristics are attributed to them which may not apply to each and everyone. But that is a given - you cannot generalise anything over the whole population in such a diverse country.

What we seek to achieve is to ensure certain things that make life better for everyone in the long run. A life with dignity, protection to life and liberty etc works to the advantage of the nation and whole of humanity in the long run. Certain life choices that people make - like voting for a certain party - could sabotage this only if the institutional democracy is not strong enough in that country. The Constitution seeks to remedy this by creating an institutional framework that protects human dignity and life quality no matter the transient electoral majorities that the politics of the day manages to produce.

The process of creating an electoral majority is always with an aim to create a monopoly over government. The Constitution acts as a referee that creates a level playing field for all. It also ensures smooth transition of power from one majority to another. If this system is damaged, the fundamental ideal of Constitutionalism - rule of law - will be damaged beyond repair. It is not difficult to see that all these concepts are closely tied to each other.

An attack on Unity - attempts at undermining fraternity - will directly lead to transient electoral majorities that can be sustained only through continuous assault on liberty and equality. This attack on liberty and equality would be sustained at an ideological domain for a long time before it becomes feasible to weaponize the arms of state to attack these prized ideals.

This article is already long, but it is trying to break down these ideas into fine granules that will readily help us see how all these are interconnected.

For example, an autocratic leadership inside a political party (any one of them) is dangerous to the whole of democracy. This is because their ways for the pursuit for power will be different from the rule books of parties that are used to Constitutional contests. These parties will also find it difficult to create pluralistic structures that are aimed at preserving the Unity of India.

Conversely, if the DNA of a political ideology shudders at the thought of collective and democratically elected leadership, it cannot aim to ever uphold the Constitutional safeguards. It will forever be condemned to autocratic leadership that distribute largesses across their patronage networks. These are feed-forward loops that need to be broken if there is any hope for creating an open, free democracy that works for everyone. This is much more than just writing and ‘observing’ the sacred letter of the law. This series (of articles) will touch upon the practical implications of trying to implement such a system.

Another discussion is moot here. An argument of ‘practical difficulties’ in politics or dismissing this as “Idealism” is only counter productive. There should be an agreement within the thinking populace to document all these realities. They should organise effectively to act on this documentation of facts.

Instead of waiting for grand schemes like Revolutions that shake up the entire system and ruin millions of lives (and lead to proliferation of movements that feed on bloodlust under a cloak of “serving the weakest”).

“Serving the weakest” or “ending preferential treatment of X” or “Defeating the malicious neighbour” are tropes that are worse than the ‘Divine right to rule’. These are entities that could be raised to the canon of sacred domain in the society - all talk and no action. Worse, they could be used to suppress dissent and legitimise violence. These are the dangers that everyone should be warned about.

Before I end this, I urge the reader to look for concepts that need to be further deconstructed. Explication of any political philosophy starts with breaking it down and addressing each of the underlying assumptions. Some of these assumptions are inevitable - or are ideological. Some of them will be sacrosanct - like the unity of the nation. But that is the framework under which we operate.

The nation needs to stay together. The political action here would be the desire to make sure that the unity of the nation creates something of value to us and to the rest of humanity.

Reflections on Nationalism and its implications and what we could do (political action) will also be discussed in this series. Suggestions may be left as comments or mailed. I seek to develop this series as a free flowing essay that doesn’t really fit into any structure or organisation.

I admit that this is a lazy decision and may make things hard for a disciplined learner who may want to follow this. My assumption is that the academic value of my work will be scant, but the practical application may add value to the reader. It is easier to apply when the ideas appear as part of discourse. At the least, my aim is to create a workable set of ideas that will improve the human condition in our country upon its application in politics. I know that this is a grand ambition to have. Maybe, the practicality of these will be foiled when it meets the harsh reality of entrenched systems that regulate the pursuit for power. If it may help some of us to crystallise their thought process, I will call it a day.

Thank you for reading. Later instalments will be updated here.

I don’t think they are searching for any answers. And this post is not to vindicate Gandhi for his faulty positions whatsoever. From my extensive reading of his OG archives, I know that his corpus is interlaced with pseudoscience, faux pride for culture, an admiration for Caste system etc - to name a few.

But still, why am I so enthusiastic about the man? What is it that I find so enticing about his life and work? For all the questions that have been raised about my articles on him, I believe that I owe an explanation.

Gandhi - the man - was always a work in progress. His greatest contribution is the process of self discovery and the purification of the ‘soul’. Now, this is something that is susceptible to metaphysical trappings. For example, one may ask - of what is soul and is it a real entity? Or if the ‘purification’ as propounded by Gandhi had any connotations with the Caste paraphernalia?

And they are not wrong to raise these questions. In fact, Mahatma Gandhi himself was trapped in many of those - as can be seen from how he interpreted Caste as an eternal reality that holds a lot of promise. But the man’s conclusions - or the way he articulated them publicly - should not be used to represent him.

This is because Gandhian philosophy is not something that churns out answers to life’s complicated queries. Rather, it is a process that greatly simplifies the ‘discovery’ and ‘description’ of the world - both material and moral. You should visualise it as a simple machine that outputs answers (which are closer to the ‘truth’), according to what you feed it.

In Gandhi’s moral universe, Truth reigns supreme. In his political imagination, truth is the sovereign power and the ultimate arbiter. He interlinks Truth with non-violence because violence is possible only when there is paucity of truth (here, one could define truth as a refined form of wisdom - which in turn is processed information).

If you can see the other ‘human’ and have complete knowledge of his self - committing violence on her is extremely difficult. If you are punishing them for their identity - truth tells you that all identities are constructed. Or that identities don’t define a man. If you are punishing a man for his actions, knowledge of truth will also put you in their shoes. And help you see the world through their eyes. From there, you may have scant reasons to unleash violence upon that person.

So you see, Truth exposes the world to you. It is the connecting link between Philosophy, Law, Engineering and Administration. Can you pass unjust laws, without concealing truth at some point? If you are taking an administrative decision that oppresses a class of people - can you do it without turning a blind eye on the truth about their sufferings and the ultimate truth that all men are created (or born) equal? Can you do this without neglecting the truth about the humanity that weeps at the suffering of others? Or the shrine of compassion that we all carry within, that makes us sob when we see suffering?

Can you commit any act of violence without yielding to the seductive power of lies and deceit?

This was at the core of Gandhian philosophy. And as you can see, it is a long, arduous process. Being a Gandhian is building this machine of truth from first principles. It is to assemble this simple machine inside your mind and analyse the world with all the information, interactions and experiences you have. You refine your inputs through travel, reading, conversations and outright observation of the world, the self and the rest of humanity.

This is the Gandhian philosophy in praxis. The ends of these are deeply personal. What Abdul Ghaffãr Khãn deduced was not what Mandela deduced and their ‘conclusions’ varied greatly from Martin Luther King Junior.

But they all are Gandhians, who sought to dismantle the yoke of lies and deceit to uncover the truth. Truth also negates the use of religion in politics. For, the shroud of religious bigotry could easily cover the violent underbelly of an expanding state. When Alexander invaded Egypt, he got the Oracle of Siwa to pronounce him the son of God Amun and enabled his royal writ to run large with legitimacy. The dabbling of the spiritual world with material politics only corrupts them both. This was at the heart of his teachings.

A Hindu cannot hack a Muslim to pieces (and vice versa), if he could see the humanity and the pain of himself in the other. But they killed each other in the millions. Gandhi showed us that this tragedy and ghore could only be staged with an elaborate web of lies, propaganda and deceitful machinations of the clergy and social elites. His politics was a philosophical reproach to all these marauding political entrepreneurs.

This piece is not seeking to vindicate Gandhi of his faulty positions. But rather, my humble effort is to illuminate the conditions that led to those positions. But the man displayed remarkable commitment to change his course if and when the faults are pointed out to him. This great quality of self correction and refinement would have been impossible without the machine of truth that he built with his philosophy.

Yes, he has written Xenophobic comments when he was jailed with black men in South Africa. But one would see that the Gandhi of the 1940s would never do that. The long praxis of his philosophy has changed the man a lot, and it charged his life and learnings as a radical. What made Gandhi a radical was his infectious commitment to learn and correct his mistakes. And for someone who was essentially the connection between India’s national past (riddled with corruption and perversion) and its modernity, he ought to be a bridge that touched both the ends.

It’s easy to despise a bridge for its roots are deeply submerged and organically joined to both the shores. But without that act of being there at both ends, there cannot be a bridge. Without the bridge, all are lost. Still, the bridge is viewed as some sort of contradiction, a perversion. Gandhi is no different. Even when he blessed the constitutional scheme of things and went along with the dominance of a secular-atheist Nehru in deciding the national future, he stood strong for the rustic charm of a golden past and his village republics. Gandhi was the bridge here, and his heart was committed to the Truth and the resultant dousing of violence.

It is this power of truth that gave him the ability to see. And it was a contagious gift that spread from him to the people around them. Suddenly, the killer masses of Noakhali can see the seductive cocktail of communal venom and political oppression that they have been fed. And how they all are thrown at the meat grinder by the selected few, who cared less about them. And death devours them all equally, no matter who yielded the machete.

The cutting action of a machete is a circular one. It also represents the cyclical nature of violence (a Churuli, as we call it in Malayalam). This cycle can be broken only with a patch of non-violence. This is done through the illumination of truth over this space. Gandhi’s satyagraha melded the spirituality (quest of truth) with the secular reality of political solutions. Here again, truth assumes the role of ultimate arbiter. This was Gandhism in praxis. It is what you must choose, even if you cannot see the humanity in the divinity of his idol.

I wrote this article as a follow up to an article that I wrote about Gandhi,which you can find in my archives. Other aspects of Gandhian philosophy will be discussed in further instalments. Please leave comments. Thank you.