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By Chandan Mitra
The Bengali
intellectual (and almost every second person in Kolkata regards
himself in this category) has always entertained a healthy disregard
for Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi and Gandhism. He views the Mahatma's
admittedly whacko theories as a measure of his eccentricity―wearing
khadi and drinking goat's milk, for example. The Bengali disregard
also has something to do with Gandhiji's transparent dislike of
Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose who's been worshipped in Bengal since the
1940s. Perhaps Gandhiji did not quite make it to the top of the
pecking order of Bengal's demonology, a position firmly occupied by
cricket coach Greg Chappell at present, but the Mahatma was often
the target of gentle humour.
Given his iconic status in the rest of India, it is inconceivable
that people would ever mock Gandhiji; ideological criticism may
still be permitted, but making fun remains a no-no. Long years ago,
I recall reading a children's book by humourist Sibram Chakraborti,
which took a few digs at the man Bengalis loved to rile. It revolved
around an animated discussion mohalla elders apparently had to
dissect the true meaning of the Mahatma's exhortation, "Back to
village". Sibram made one of his irreverent characters in the short
story insist that Gandhiji wanted people to show their backs to
villagers! Another, more sedate, character vehemently disputed this
interpretation arguing that Gandhiji wanted people to go back to
villages, abandoning big cities. In the story, the argument could
never be resolved but the balance was tipped in favour of the person
who argued that Gandhiji wanted residents to abandon villages (Gram
chhadiya palayan karo―flee
villages, show your back to the countryside). This was a typical,
urbanite response to the Gandhian notion of the idyllic Indian
village.
This episode from the children's short story has been knocking at my
memory, probably prompted by the copious lip service that is often
paid to villages and their residents by MPs cutting across party
lines. It is a sacrilege in Indian politics not to genuflect before
the God called rural population, variously estimated to range
between 60 and 80 per cent of India's total. But very often, I find
the concern hypocritical, with politicians shouting themselves
hoarse on the plight of the garib kisan and grameen janata, gaon ka
berozgar yuvak (poor farmer, rural masses, unemployed youth of
villages) as if rural India were an undifferentiated mass and as if
India's overflowing cities do not have counterparts of these
segments.
Till Gandhiji transformed India's political discourse by drawing
rural India into the vortex of politics, urban, rather metropolitan,
concerns and lifestyles dominated the political agenda. It is well
known that the pre-Gandhi generation of Congress leaders such as
Motilal Nehru, Chittaranjan Das were fine examples of westernised
oriental gentlemen, pejoratively referred to as WOGs by Europeans.
Gandhiji changed the ground rules, took politics out of sedate
debating chambers and Town Halls, but the involvement with the
countryside was still pretty much token. On his insistence, the
annual AICC sessions started getting held in villages, except that
the venues chosen were almost invariably located within walking
distance of some big city. Frankly, there was no electoral need to
cultivate the indigent farmer. Even the Government of India Act of
1935 extended the franchise from a minuscule two per cent to a
rather modest 10 per cent. Till Jawaharlal Nehru pushed ahead with
universal adult franchise and that got enshrined in the 1950
Constitution, rural India existed only on the peripheries of India's
political mind.
The mindset did not really change subsequently. If anything, the
emphasis on industrialisation under Nehru's "socialistic pattern of
society" accentuated the urban-rural divide. But it suited
politicians to talk volubly about the self-sufficient rural economy,
yet another unreal notion propounded by successive Congress regimes.
In sum, the myth of the ideal, idyllic Indian village where
Gandhiji's Ram Rajya prevailed, got embedded in the urban mind
frame. It was a perfect way of skirting the responsibility to do
something to help improve conditions in India's vast rural
hinterland. As a result of the widening chasm coupled with the
decline of agricultural productivity in many parts of the country
and ongoing sub-division of already unviable landholdings, migration
to cities increased manifold. That brings me to the central point of
this article. Sixty one years after Independence and midway through
the 11th Five-Year Plan, a sudden concern to improve conditions in
the countryside appears to have gripped the political class. While
the UPA Government embarked upon the colossal National Rural
Employment Guarantee Scheme to assure 100 days' of jobs to people in
villages (starting with 200 districts), it has also talked of the
omnibus Bharat Nirman Programme as well as PURA (Provision of Urban
facilities in Rural Areas).
All these ideas are, however, based on the theory of the imagined
village where social harmony prevails, mutual interdependence
ensures cohesion, peace and tranquility reigns. Sadly, none of this
is true. The average Indian village bristles with social injustice;
consequently violence is the norm rather than exception for settling
disputes. Interestingly, however, during the last decade the Indian
village has undergone an economic transformation. Those who travel
beyond the metros know that abject poverty and economic squalor are
largely sights of the past. Arguably, such pockets do exist, but
they are becoming less visible. If you just count the number of
pucca houses you see as you drive along roads in the interior, you
would testify to this change.
In principle, the idea of providing "urban facilities" to rural
areas appears sound. But what exactly would these facilities consist
of? Those who are busy drafting such schemes at Yojana Bhawan might
do well to go on a guided tour of Mumbai's inner city to examine the
"facilities".
I wonder if they have driven down P D'Mello Road that runs past the
dockyards. When I first went down this road, I was horrified to see
the double-decker slums that line the route, with men bathing on the
open street and women washing clothes and utensils at hydrants. The
kholis are no more than pigpens. It is no surprise that children
growing up in such conditions readily turn to crime or prostitution.
Kolkata's bustees are no different. In Delhi, a sustained media
campaign has led to people equating all unauthorised colonies with
the verdant green lung, Sainik Farms.
But if anybody deigned to visit one of the less affluent of the
1,423 colonies on the unauthorised list, they would realise that
living conditions there are hellish beyond description. The point,
therefore, is: Could we please start by providing urban facilities
to urban areas before embarking on a spendthrift programme to
introduce these in rural areas?
My sense, having traveled across the country more than the average
babu or policy maker, is that rural India is progressively taking
care of itself; living conditions are steadily improving in the
interiors. But, practitioners of vote bank politics want to
emphasise the rural poor for more votes lie there and the scope of
swindling funds in their name is greater.
I believe India's cities, big and small, are fast becoming classic
instances of urban collapse. Without decongesting them and planning
their future growth, we are helping ignite a time bomb that will
cause a gigantic social explosion. Do we want to act when we hear
the device ticking or should we begin thinking about it only when
the first explosion goes off? |
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