Mark Antony offered the crown of Rome to Julius Caesar thrice during the festival of Lupercalia; Caesar spurned it each time. The reverse happened in Chennai last week. Joseph Vijay asked for the crown of Tamil Nadu thrice after his election win; Governor Rajendra Arlekar refused it each time. Till the actor-turned aspirant came up with letters of support from more than half the members of the upcoming assembly. Fourth time lucky!
The drama reminded us of the famous ‘chitti mili’ moment of Atal Bihari Vajpayee. The veteran who had tried, tested and failed a 13-day government in 1996 made a similar claim before president K.R. Narayanan in 1998. Narayanan, who was inviting leaders in descending order of the size of their pre-poll alliances, asked Vajpayee to produce letters from every party that had pledged support.
Everyone obliged, but AIADMK’s Jayalalithaa sent hers only after keeping the veteran in filmy suspense for a day or two. Scribes of my generation, who were active on the political beat and are now nursing fossilised memories, still recall the charming smile on the poet-politico’s lips as he opened the letter and shyly announced, “Chitti mili”. We sang the lines from a 1992 duet of Anuradha Paudwal and Pankaj Udhas in our headlines.
What was the problem in Vijay’s case? Hadn’t the Supreme Court decided in several judgments (S.R. Bommai, Rameshwar Prasad, Nabam Rebia, Shivraj Singh Chouhan et al) that when the majority is in doubt, it must be decided on the floor of the House? Indeed, but the problem is that there is always a flip side to every judgment in court, as there is to every coin tossed in a Lok Bhavan. Bommai’s case had ruled that the assembly is the only place to test a government's majority, but it could be argued that the case pertained to mid-life change of governments. Rameshwar Prasad’s case of 2006 had held that if a post-poll alliance or a party has claimed majority, the governor has to allow it to form the government, but it could be argued Arlekar wasn’t refusing to swear Vijay in; he was asking him to show proof for his post-poll tie-ups.
All’s well that ends well. The Viduthalai Chiruthaigal Katchi of Thol Thirumavalavan played the Jayalalithaa role, offering the last letter that Vijay needed.
Vijay lacks the versifying talents of Vajpayee, but is blessed with a filmy charisma that should stand him in good stead. He has made the right camera moves to maintain his mass appeal—appearing at his oath-taking in a black suit that his fans adored, taking selfies with them and other leaders, making courtesy calls on the beaten warhorses, and making the right promises for a clean and open government.
The proof of the pudding, as they say, is in the eating. Filmy antics would keep the manrams mesmerised, but the honeymoon with the public and publications may be short-lived. The man on the Clapham Omnibus (shall we say, Kalpakkam Omnibus?) is impatient, and Vijay will soon learn that running a regime is a harder nut than cracking a poll. He has many a promise to keep, and is left with meagre funds to implement them.
He comes sans any ideological baggage, but that could be a handicap. He may soon be asked to spell out his stand on issues ranging from caste census to one-time polls and delimitation. He can learn on the job, as the two film stars who preceded him into politics with new parties did. Both MGR and NTR focused on welfarism initially—free lunches in schools, rice for Rs2 and so on—but soon had to choose between the Congress and its opponents. Vijay, too, would be asked to choose his side—the BJP or others.
Good luck, Thalapathy!
prasannan@theweek.in