At the Stroke of the Midnight Hour

This week I picked up India After Gandhi by Ramachandra Guha. Guha attempts (quite successfully) to remedy the fact that post independence Indian history is overlooked in our history books, "the past is defined as a single, immovable date: 15th August 1947. Thus, when the clock struck midnight and India became independent, history ended, and political science and sociology began."

But India After Gandhi does not stand alone, it has a companion piece! Another book, one I had read recently but written decades earlier! A brother, if books ever have one. The protagonists of the two brother-books are twins, born on the same day, "And the time? The time matters too. Well then: at night. No it's important to be more ...On the stroke of midnight, as a matter of fact...Oh, spell it out, spell it out: at the precise instant of India's arrival at independence, I tumbled forth into the world." The story of Saleem Sinai, Midnight's Children.

The two books take off from that midnight hour and tell us a breathless story. It is as if their souls are intertwined. One is a history book that reads like a best in class fiction, the other is a fictional account that carries in it the essence of history. You could read a few chapters from one and pick up the thread on the other. The two together form a jugalbandi, Guha provides the facts, Rushdie adds the emotions. Though, at times, with equal skill, they exchange their roles. Guha's account is backed up with a whole lot of footnotes and references, Rushdie, is telling you the tale with a wink and a smile. The historical references in Rushdie's allegorical tale are sometimes inescapable, sometimes subtle. Reading India After Gandhi brings them all into focus. This is one from the earlier chapters.

During the 1950s Nehru tours the United States and Russia. The then US Secretary of State, Dean Acheson, does not warm up to Nehru, and finds him "one of the most difficult men with whom I have ever had to deal." Nehru too was not predisposed to appreciate the US, and "had ticked off the US as unrivaled in technology but predatory in its capitalism." Nehru received a lot more affection from the Russians. "In 1951, while the American congress debated a request for food aid from India, the Soviet Union - unencumbered by democratic procedure - offered to send 50,000 tons of wheat at once." Thus, despite Nehru's protestations of non-alignment, India leaned the tiniest bit towards Russia.

At roughly the same time, Saleem, is falling for the recently arrived American, Evelyn Lilith Burns, and, "gave her a necklace of flowers (queen-of-the-night for my lily-of-the-eve), bought with my own pocket money from a hawker-woman at Scandal Point. 'I don't wear flowers,' Evelyn Lilith said, and tossed the unwanted chain into the air, spearing it before it fell with a pellet from her unerring Daisy air-pistol. Destroying flowers with a Daisy, she served notice that she was not to be manacled, not even by a necklace: she was our capricious, whirligig Lill-of-the-Hill"

Things however go better with the "champion breast-stroker" Masha Miovic, with the "low, throaty voice, full of promises - but also of menace". Soon, "Saleem takes the floor with Masha Miovic, swearing not to smooch. Saleem and Masha, doing the Mexican Hat; Masha and Saleem, box-stepping with the best of them! ; you see you don't have to be perfect to get a girl!...The dance ended; and still on top of my wave of elation, I said, 'Would you care for a stroll, you know, in the quad?' Masha Miovic smiling privately. 'Well, yah, just for a sec; but hands off, okay?' Hands off, Saleem swears. Saleem and Masha taking the air...man this is fine. This is the life. Goodbye Evie, hello breast-stroke."

The above excerpts were but a glimpse, reading the two books together is an all together wonderful experiences and is highly recommended. I have a sneaking suspicion that Guha had a copy of Midnight's Children next to him while he wrote his account. If one thinks about it, that is so much more fantastic and wonderful than a fiction writer consulting a history book.

History and Us

You know what kind of history I like?

As much as the stories of kings and their architectures and Marshall and his plan are important what really interests me is the slice of life kind of history.

History like this:

"Finally the Tuscany reached the Gangetic delta in September 1833 to great reception. There was a reason for this enthusiasm: they were finally getting rid of the Hooghly slush which was the ice equivalent. To make Hooghly slush, boiled water was poured in earthenware and placed in shallow pits filled with straw. The cool air froze the surface creating a thin film of ice. These pots were then collected and stored in pits for sale during summer. This Hooghly slush was expensive and it was slush. The slush was available for six weeks at a rate of 4 pence per pound and now pure Boston ice was available all year around for three pence a pound." (Full article at varnam, possibly one of the best blogs on Indian History I have come across.)

History which is ordinary with respect to the people involved and at the same time is a beautifully detailed piece of the bigger picture.

During one such discussion with a colleague about his grandfather, a law student in Pune who was jailed for distributing pamphlets during the Quit India Movement, I realised that Pune was quite the hub of student activism during that time, and that some schools would only give you admission after you had signed an agreement stating  that you "...would not participate in anti Crown activities..."

Gets me thinking, 50 years later, when people talk about the single greatest thing that happened in India during our time, what would it be and would we have played a role in it?

Jaane Bi Do Yaaron?

Saw Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron again last night. Curiously, even though I was in splits watching Satish Shah as a dead body, Om Puri's drunk antics, and last but not the least that genius of a Draupadi scene, what hit me the most was the angst. I was surprised that this aspect had completely escaped me on previous viewings. The feeling of desperation that the youth feel when up against the powers that be was epitomized by one of the scenes in which Naseeruddin Shah and Ravi Baswani are at the railway station, their cash being snatched off by a hawaldar, are left without any money to go home. The look that Naseeruddin Shah gives as he asks, " Without ticket?", captures it all.

That got me thinking. We are currently one of the youngest countries in the world. Similar demographic points in the history of nations have coincided with major civil unrests. France had May '68, USA had its whole 1960s counterculture thing going, China had Tianamen. These civil unrests have more often than not led to laws being formed in favour of civil liberty, women and youth empowerment, and not to mention have been times of unparalleled artistic achievements.

For a nation which has more than 600 million citizens under the age of 30 and an equal number under the poverty line, we sure are a quiet lot.