By Swapan Dasgupta
In a curious and unintended sort of way, the
election campaign of Nandan Nilekani in Bengaluru South has encapsulated the
story of the Congress Party in the 2014 general election.
The allusion is not to the Nilekani family’s Rs
7,700 crore of self-made personal fortune which evokes admiration and some understandable
envy. Nor is it centred on an aam-aadmi type outrage over a synergy between
entrepreneurship and politics. Nilekani is a welcome addition to the political
class and should be an inspiration to other successful professionals—and not
merely lawyers—to dip their toes in the murky waters of public life. Indian
politics is in need of a cultural revolution and talented individuals such as
Nilekani can contribute to the process—even if it involves sacrificing a modicum
of self-respect and issuing character certificates to a vacuous ‘yuva josh’.
No, what is significant about Nilekani’s electoral debut
is his sales pitch. As opposed to his Infosys days when he set about
establishing the global credentials of an Indian company, Nilekani is now
singing the virtues of what is derisively called ‘parish pump’ politics. Maybe
all politics is local but it is nevertheless surprising that the themes Nilekani
has chosen to highlight are “water, roads, traffic management, garbage removal
and creating opportunities.”
The surprise is not on account of Nilekani applying
his self-professed “problem-solving” skills to civic issues but that he chose a
Lok Sabha election to peddle them. A well-informed person who has been
grappling with complex Constitutional issues during his stewardship of the Aadhar
scheme, Nilekani couldn’t be unaware that his pet subjects for this election are
concerns of the state government and municipal authorities. In 1996-97, another
illustrious Kannadiga, H.D. Deve Gowda was often described as the Prime
Minister of Karnataka. Is Nilekani following his footsteps and aspiring to be
the first MP to sit in the imposing Vidhan Soudha?
At the risk of flippancy, Nilekani’s ‘local’
campaign plank is about as relevant as those of the radical Left who contest
student’s union elections in Jawaharlal Nehru University to register solidarity
with the Palestinian resistance to Israel.
Nilekani is no political innocent—his stint at the
UIDAI has taught him more politics than he would care to admit. His decision to
focus on the local problems of Bengaluru South is grounded in careful
calculation. In fact, it amounts to a candid confession that the Congress Party
finds the projection of national issues a grave liability.
In the past, Congress candidates, particularly in
southern India, fought Lok Sabha elections on the shoulders of its national
leadership—more particularly the legacy of Indira-amma. Today, Congress
stalwarts believe that their only hope of bucking the fierce resentment against
the UPA Government lies in somehow pointing the finger elsewhere. What
Nilekani’s campaign demonstrates is that the Congress has abandoned hopes of
forming a government at the Centre. Prominent individuals fighting on the
‘hand’ symbol are fighting a rearguard battle to somehow win their own seats by
singing local tunes. The national jingle is proving very unappealing.
Not since I.K. Gujral led a crumbling United Front
into the general election of 1998 has an incumbent government—and one that
retained a parliamentary majority till the very last day—given up the ghost so
completely. The Congress began its election campaign two months ago flaunting
Rahul Gandhi as its new, youthful leader. That aesthetically well-crafted
campaign is now in tatters and has been so after the disastrous Times Now interview that exposed the
heir apparent as a disconnected amateur. Far from being the new hope, the
shehzada is now an object of mockery. Changing
course mid-stream, Congress has been reduced to competing for the anti-Narendra
Modi mindspace with the flamboyant theatrics of Arvind Kejriwal.
The chatter is over Modi contesting two seats; for
Congressmen even entering the race is proving injurious to political health. Between the defection of a Purandeswari, the
reluctance of a Manish Tiwari to return to Ludhiana and the sabbatical of P.
Chidambaram runs a common narrative: the fear of not merely defeat, but
humiliation.
It is also the crafty sub-text of a brilliant
individual’s journey from Imagining India
to contemplating Bengaluru’s garbage disposal, a journey from the sublime to
the expedient.
Sunday Times of India, March 23, 2014
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