BOOK EXCERPT | A new political star is born and a ‘Guruji’ who won’t let go of power

Naresh was in a state of nervous agitation. He paced up and down his suite and asked his party workers incessantly if the crowd was big enough. His earlier confidence had vanished. He relaxed only when one of his aides came in to show him a photograph on his phone of the massive crowd gathered in front of a high stage that had been set up on the Assi Ghat. In the backdrop of the stage was a bridge on the Ganga that was lit up with garish lights. There were so many people in the audience that some were waiting on the steps of the ghat and others had climbed up a large banyan tree that was some distance from the stage for a better view. ‘The crowd might be just for you, Amit,’ said Naresh with a pleased smile, ‘but boy, am I glad to see it.’ 

‘Is it time to go?’ 

‘Yes. Is Maya coming with us?’ 

‘No. She says it’s better for her to come on her own and mingle with the crowd. She’ll meet us later at this little restaurant she’s discovered on the Assi Ghat. She says it serves better Italian food than any Italian restaurant in Delhi.’ 

‘Great. I hope she’s being careful while coming in and out of your room, though. The last thing we want is a scandal. I’m not worried about the hotel staff, but now that people know you’re here, paparazzi will be lurking in the corridors.’ 

When they arrived at the rally there were patriotic songs from Bollywood films playing in between speeches by local Parivartan Party leaders. These were mostly bright-eyed young men and women, and their speeches were filled with passion and idealism. In their jeans and kurtas, they looked more like college students than politicians. They had joined the party through a membership drive conducted over the last few weeks. 

When the actor appeared on stage, there was a near stampede. Amit was used to this sort of reaction and knew what to do. He walked to the front of the stage, grabbed a microphone and recited a line from one of his films. When the crowd demanded that he sing, he calmed them down by saying that they were there to listen not to songs but to a new political idea. ‘I want you to transfer all the love you have shown me over these years to the Parivartan Party. It is a party that we hope will finally make real the dreams of prosperity that so many leaders have promised for years but always failed to deliver. And now I want you to give your attention to the man whose vision will make this possible.’

The crowd seemed disappointed to see the politician, and a few rowdy voices continued to demand that Amit sing a song. But when Naresh started to speak, the atmosphere changed quickly. He had a voice that, when they were younger, Amit used to describe as being ‘as sonorous and deep as Amitabh Bachchan’s’. And his good looks certainly helped. In politics, looks matter almost as much as they do in cinema, and compared to the politicians of the time, Naresh was practically an Adonis. 

‘Most of you do not know me and have never heard of the party I have started, the Parivartan Party. So I want to begin by explaining why I felt the need to start a new political party. I have been in Parliament for two terms now, long enough for me to see that something must be very wrong with our political leaders and their policies if India—with so much natural wealth and such an abundance of resources—remains decades after Independence a country unable to give her people their most basic needs. It shames me that we are still talking about drinking water, electricity and roads. These things make up the infrastructure of development as much as good schools, good hospitals and good jobs. And the supposedly socialist policies that our leaders espouse have failed to deliver these basics. It is time to ask why this is. Good schools and hospitals and basic sanitation are things other socialist countries provided to their people even when their economic policies failed to create wealth. 

‘So why is it that dedicated socialists such as Jawaharlal Nehru and Indira Gandhi, ruling for nearly fifty years between them, were unable to deliver the basics that all other socialist countries managed to deliver? Some people believe the caste system was the problem. Lately, others have started blaming the population explosion. But with the youngest population in the world, surely our youth are our wealth. Our political leaders boast about India being the fastest-growing major economy, but what they do not tell you is that the base we start from is very low. We may have overtaken many countries when it comes to the size of our economy, but what our people earn every year is less than two per cent of what people in the United Kingdom earn. This is why our people are so desperate to emigrate to Western countries that they fall into the traps set by human traffickers. Remember that Gujarati family, so many years ago, that was found frozen to death on the border between Canada and the United States? They were rich enough, by Indian standards, to pay human traffickers lakhs of rupees to get them into the States, and yet they left. The number of millionaires leaving every year has tripled. In the villages of my own state, Punjab, there is only one dream that any young person has: to somehow get to Canada or the States. They take what is called the “dunki” route. I have heard of so many young men who have died in distant jungles, and those who do manage to get to the States are routinely sent back in shackles these days. The new chief minister of Punjab has advertisements on TV these days promising to transform Punjab so that Punjabis do not feel the need to leave for other countries. 

‘The question you should be asking is the one I ask myself every day: Why do our political leaders always talk about what will happen in the future? We in the Parivartan Party ask for your votes so that we can speak no longer of dreams but of the harsh problems of the present that we need to fix.’ 

There was a moment of dead silence when he finished speaking. Then, slowly at first, the audience began to clap in unison till the applause reached a crescendo. When party volunteers stood outside with donation bags, there was almost nobody in the audience who left without dropping in a small amount of money.

Later, on their way to the restaurant, the actor noticed that Naresh looked dazed, as if he could not quite believe what had just happened. His party workers had told him that the meeting was bigger than any held in the city in recent times. ‘I have you to thank, Amit,’ he said. 

‘Naresh, have you really no idea how powerful your speech was? I’m willing to bet that everyone who came to listen to you today will vote for Parivartan. They may have come for me, but they stayed for you. You’re the real star.’ 

The restaurant sat atop an old fortress-like building that had small windows in its gloomy stone exterior, but the terrace of which offered a panoramic view of the Ganga. Maya, dressed in a black salwar-kurta and red dupatta, waited for them at a table set slightly apart from the others so that they would have more privacy. It was late, and the restaurant was almost empty. There were two or three tables occupied by people who looked up when they saw the actor but did not approach him. Waiters in white uniforms hovered about on the pretext of service but really to catch a moment for a photo. The manager soon appeared to shoo them away. Maya had ordered a bottle of white wine and was sipping a glass while gazing out at the dark river. 

‘I’ve ordered Scotch for both of you,’ she said as they joined her.

‘What an incredible place this is,’ said Amit. ‘There really is something about the Ganga.’ 

‘This building used to be a home for abandoned widows. I once did a story on them. All they were given was shelter. They were sent out every morning to beg for food. If they didn’t get any, they remained hungry. The Hindutva lot who are making such a big issue out of the hijab should remember the heartbreaking Hindu customs when it comes to women.’ 

‘It’s true that there were some cruel customs,’ Naresh said, ‘but most of them are gone now. Widows are no longer sent away to homes, and I know nobody who would object to a widow remarrying. But tell me, Maya—what did you think of the rally?’

‘It was extraordinary. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t expecting half that number of people to show up, even with the lure of Amit. And your speech struck a chord. I could feel a resonance in the crowd. What worries me is what will happen next.’ 

‘What do you mean?’ 

She waited for the waiter who brought the drinks to leave before saying softly, ‘People who threaten Guruji’s hold on political power don’t fare well. You know this.’ 

‘I do. But it’s a risk worth taking, don’t you think?’ ‘Ido. But only because I’m not the one taking the risk.’ 

(Excerpted with permission from HarperCollins India.)