The Hero the World Needs?

 Spanning three seasons, translating into 51 episodes and lasting for four years, from 2015 - 2018, Servant of the People, a political satire not only kicked Volodymyr Zelenskyy's career as a comedian/actor up a notch or two, but also provided the basis for his campaign manifesto a year later when he decided to contest the election for the office of the President of Ukraine. As one of its producers and the main protagonist, Zelenskyy, through this popular show, had openly ridiculed the dysfunctional remnants of Soviet era propagandist machinary, promising  instead a simpler, efficient, and corruption-free system.

The plot of the show, Servant of the People revolved around a young high-school teacher whose spontaneous outburst against oligarchy, fossilized social and political structures and rampant red tapism, is caught on a phone camera and released on youtube. This candid paroxysm becomes an instant hit, throwing the young professor into national arena and eventually to Hrushevsky Street, Kyiv, as the youngest President of Ukraine. Through this charming series, by formulating and mouthing the struggles as well as aspirations of the common man, Zelenskyy had already succeeded in amassing a loyal audience. 

On March 31, 2018, he started his own  political party naming it Servants of the People. While the series' hopeful message helped serve as the party's rescript of election promises, Zelenskyy's long association with showbiz also came in handy, aiding him to build an intimate rapport with his target-audience and command their attention.

The show, either consciously or inadvertently, became a precursor to reality, as Zelenskyy went on to win the elections with an overwhelming majority in 2019. His charisma and youthfulness, like that of Barack Obama, played in his favor in a world which so far had been largely dominated by ex-stalwarts of the Soviet communist era.

Interestingly, after his explosive foray into politics which found him at centre-stage, he soon began to follow the authoritarian footsteps of his predecessors. The candidate who had won by a 70 per cent majority, had sunk to low of 25 per cent in a popularity poll in 2021.

The recent Russia-Ukraine war however, has provided the President an opportunity not only to return to his legendary showmanship, but also steal the limelight at global level. In a world plagued by disillusionment and long suffering from the lacuna of visionary leadership, Volodymyr Zelenskyy has become a household name. Here is a man at last: a man of courage and principles, refusing to relinquish his  nation's sovereignty to the brutish force of its tyrant superpower neighbor.

At 44, it makes him 35 years younger than his American counterpart. Moreover, his rugged appeal may put him at an advantage over other politicians, contributing further to the new Zelenskyy cult. Add to his stardom looks the raw material for fanning fantasies and winning him admirers the world over. Want cuddly Zelenskyy? Look up his voiceover for the Paddington Bear film. Patriotic Zelenskyy? Listen to his defiant wartime speeches. Hip-shaking Zelenskyy? Check out his swanky moves on the Ukrainian version of Dancing with the Stars. And oh, if you have the hots for him, there’s even a bare-chested Zelenskyy getting the vaccine. 

He may not be your Gandhi, Mandela, Sadat or Kennedy, but he sure is a showman with a well-oiled PR machine behind him. His famous "I need ammunition, not a ride" has become one of the most quotable quotes of the month. Garment industry can't churn out enough Zelenskyy t-shirts to cope with the rising sale. And despite much resistance on its part, Netflix is forced to bring back Servant of the People, by popular demand from its consumer base in U.S.- with English subtitles, of course.

Everyday one is now confronted with heartbreaking live footage of a country at war; shelled buildings, supermarkets sporting empty shelves, frightened families hiding in the basement, more than 2 million people rendered refugees, now scrambling to cross over to neighbouring countries. But the 'show' must go on. 

"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;

Look at my Works ye Mighty, and despair"

 

A War, a Movie and a Muskrat

My head hurt. The air, heavy with incongruity, was wired with tensions and fears, hopes and prayers. Television channels alternated between frenzied coverage of the ongoing war in our not so distant neighborhood and the blaze of communal antagonism and revenge sweeping  the homefront. 

I watched the birds diving and soaring against the infinite canvas of fizzy clouds, abundant in their expression of unsuppressed freedom. A jersey cow, visibly pregnant  chose my meagre classic syngonium plant peeking out of the railing, to feast upon over the plethora of wild and indigenous flora strewn across her wayward path. The sun set, gloriously round and primeval.

A Dream: I am drowned  now in a pall of muddled subconscious world, in which terror-stricken by some ongoing war, we are coerced into living underwater. Living is an overstatement; surviving should have been the word. "Just like a muskrat", I think to myself. Wind in the Willows comes to mind, and scoots out immediately, chased by the loud music bounding off from the temple a kilometer away. Traveling down the night-infested road, it has managed to incite my eardrums to vibrate. It seems so close, I can almost touch it, gauge its musty thickness. 

As my conscious mind takes the front seat, I realise it is the muezzin summoning the faithful to the adhan from a mosque situated 3 kms from where I am...who at this unholy hour could be tempted into seeking salvation?

Again, whirls of sleep take over. World goes on. The wars, the parliaments, The Kashmir File, sloganeering...I keep sinking and yet something inside me attempts to stay afloat, pretending to be a muskrat.

The War Machine

As a regular blogger, I feel weighed down by a moral obligation to write something about the ongoing war between Russia and Ukraine...The images of surgical strikes, of an enormous tanker mowing down a car, of hungry students in bunkers, of backpackers hoping to cross over to the neighbouring countries should have made me indignant of the superpower's browbeating approach. It should have been an inner compulsion, and a natural revulsion against such a tyrannical act of this magnitude which should have prompted me to pen something incisive. But I have been numbed over the years by the plethora of causeless wars fought mainly for personal gains of some civilized nations and mega multinationals. Skeptical of the unwarranted haste with which U.S. invaded Iraq, brutally ending the lives of more than a million civilians, and of the war in Afghanistan which raged over four decades, the Vietnam fiasco and its meaninglessness, Bosnia tragedy and the Syrian seize, a never ending Israeli-Palestinian conflict, and an ongoing civil unrest in Yemen, I  have reached the conclusion that  wars are increasingly being used as booster shots for world economy. It is an effective means to mobilize an immense machinery being manipulated by several invisible forces across the globe. Weapon deals get struck in billions. Defense contractors too bag their fair share of business, and so do the intelligence and surveillance divisions of several tech companies. And certainly it's a field day for oil and gas corporations as well.  Stock markets turn bullish, and all's well with the world. People go on with their lives, trying to cope with rising inflation, because of a war they were dragged into. Wikipedia and history books get upgraded.  

While in its present form, the shape of the current war is being determined through confusing statistics, only future will reveal the real story. Right now, what we have is live coverage of explosions, of people fleeing to the borders, some scrambling to leave Ukraine, some returning to partake in the war, empty shelves in the supermarket and traffic jams, as well as plenty of forged news and virtual war footage directly picked from popular video games circulating the whatsapp circles, accompanied  by frenzied commentary by self-proclaimed anchors. In India, PM Modi is being portrayed not only as the ultimate saviour of 20000 some students stuck in Ukraine, but also as an epitome of wisdom to guide the world out of this unparalleled crisis. Here are some headlines from local media:

"Both Russia and Ukraine request PM Modi to intervene"

"On PM Modi's request to give a safe passage to Indian students stuck in Ukraine, Russia orders ceasefire"

"PM Modi World's only hope to charter a peace treaty between the warring nations"...

Not surprisingly, for the ruling party in India the war might turn into yet another opportunity to gain political mileage. Period. 

Yet, all things considered, one can't overlook the fact that it is the first time since World War 1 that a country has invaded another, not feigning any ideological ground, but simply to deter western forces from entering their buffer zone at the pretext of Liberty and Freedom for all.

Call of the Wild

In an endless panorama of blinding clarity, it moved leisurely as though in the amplitude of forgotten time, drawing wider and wider circles...just the way its ancestors must have done some thousands of years ago when legends were being laboriously scripted on palmyra leaves. With the same intentional intensity it  gyrated the heights, sowing seeds of freedom. Aerial crop circles. And with the same envious intimacy whereby a million others before me must have watched this flaming  monarch of reign and territory, so was I doing today, and had done so for almost a week. 

Yes, besides having to use the restroom, the nasal tremerous call  of the brahminy kite was the only reason to drag myself out of bed, and stay perched by the window to  acknowledge its presence, and express my heartfelt gratitude  for having come to lift my spirits when I lay swathed in misery, pain and isolation.

Its call always succeeded in momentarily drawing me out from the febrile abstraction I was prone to sink into, back not into the drab reality of the shadowy room, but into the promise of a new day brimming with unreceived love and light, and eager to offer itself. I would catch a glimpse of the mighty bird, swerving and twisting away from the lower air. Then spiralling towards the spring warmth of the sun until it was just a notion of its real self, it seemed to waver between motion and stillness, silent  in the blue depths of the sky. And sometimes, shredding the space, faint yet audible, its message of ultimate camaraderie, would  pierce my heart and set it quivering with joyous reciprocity.

In my battle with the virus, it was my daily rendez-vous with this wild spirit, which proffered something to look forward to. By and by, as I began to recuperate and emerged  from isolation, I would still hear its call, and if I were fortunate enough I would catch sight of it scanning the long white spine of a stray cirrus, or teasingly visible within the fluffy brilliance of a cumulus. But, as days piled onto one another and I recalibrated myself with the mundane rhythm of clocks, its call receded within the darkling hue of the coconut grove. And as the sky emptied out of its luminescent enchantment, I was once again left alone to grapple with the solitary vistas of my being, and its hushed susurrus of expectancy.

Lion and the Lamb

Gaffar market in Delhi presents itself not only as a pageantry of imitation brands for all kinds of electronic goods, such as mobile phones, laptops and sound systems, but also for Chinese clothings and trendy footwear. Squeezed in the narrow bylanes of Qarol Bagh, it's a less affluent  counterpart of upwardly mobile Khan market, in South Delhi, which, dotted with gourmet eateries, bookshops, cafes and even a couple of art galleries, caters to a yuppy crowd. Yet there exists between these two places a forgotten yet strong filial bond. They are named after two brothers Khan Abdul Gaffar Khan and Khan Jabbar Khan, both of whom went on to become staunch stalwarts of the Indian freedom struggle. However, it was Abdul Gaffar Khan who, with his pacifist ways and his resolve to uplift the downtrodden of the country, became a lifelong ally and close friend of Mahatma Gandhi. Apparantly, seeing Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan and Mahatma Gandhi next to each other was a rather comical sight. Khan, who was well over six feet tall and weighed more than 100 kilos, overshadowed the small, thin Gandhi. Moreover, Khan could be very vocal while making a point whereas  the latter was shy and soft-spoken.  Because of his non-violent principles and his close association with the movement for Indian independence under Gandhi, Khan was repeatedly imprisoned. It was during one of the many prison terms that he got the opportunity to read the Bible, the Geeta, and the Guru Granth Sahib, paving the way for his lifelong commitment to inter-faith harmony. Interestingly, in 1937, Khan accompanied Gandhiji to Varanasi to inaugurate the shrine of ‘Mother India’, a huge relief map of India engraved in marble. He made it a point to join the recitation of Vedic incantations, and while doing so he expressed his sincere hope that the new shrine would become a common place of worship for all. 

Son of a tribal chief, this great nationalist leader chose to live with the ordinary and the poor. Certain that education was the key not only towards freeing the country from the oppressors, but also towards rooting out the evil from the society, he set out to establish a network of schools, encouraging  both boys and girls to enroll and espouse reforms. At the age of 20,  he founded his first school and travelled throughout British-India to spread his ideas. Khan condemned nepotism and believed that people should earn respect based on their deeds, and not on their class background. 

 A political and spiritual leader, along with social reforms, Khan also spoke up against British imperialism and its ceaseless pilfering of India.  He was amongst the four members of Congress Working Committee, along with Mahatma Gandhi, Jayprakash Narayan and Ram Manohar Lohia,  who vehemently opposed the idea of a divided India. In fact, he came under harsh criticism from many of his followers who favoured partition of the country into an independent Hindu-majority India and a Muslim-majority Pakistan. It was at this time that he was given a second nickname: "Frontier Gandhi," meaning the Gandhi from the Northwest border, the region adjacent to Afghanistan where he was born. Gandhiji is said to have declared the following attribute on Gaffar Khan, "I have a number of Muslim friends who would sacrifice everything for Hindu-Muslim unity, but none greater  than or equal to Ghaffar Khan'. In 1987, at the age of 97, the highest civilian honor, the Bharat Ratna Award was conferred on Gaffar by the then prime minister Rajiv Gandhi.

Abdul Gaffar Khan, also known as Fakhr-e Afghan, Bacha Khan, Pacha Khan and

Badshah Khan lived to the ripe old age of ninety-eight, passing away on 20th January, 1988. He lead an exemplary life, becoming an epitome of honesty, selflessness, and non-violence. Unfortunately, for many Indians and Pakistanis today, Gaffar and his teachings seem to have  slipped into complete oblivion. So much so that in February of last year, a few days before his 131st birthday, the Government of Haryana decided to change the name of Badshah Khan Hospital, built in Gaffar's honor by his close associates and followers, to Atal Bihari Vajpayee Hospital, as a tribute to an ex-prime minister who was a member of the present government. Even though changing names of cities and institutions is an ongoing ideological trend intended to further the agenda of the ruling party, but substituting the name of a hospital built in the memory of one of our most dynamic freedom fighters goes on to symbolize a dangerous surge of sectarianism in the country. Thankfully, successful lobbying by several prominent citizens who felt emotional over the issue helped retain the hospital's original name.

Today*, on the occasion of his 132nd birth anniversary, at a point in history, when once again the forces of religious fundamentalism are raising their ugly heads, devouring politics, culture, and day-to-day life, it pays to remember Abdul Gaffar Khan, his humility, and his grand vision.

*6th February, 2022 was Khan Abdul Gaffar Khan's 132nd birth anniversary.

My Tryst with the Beast

They say that because I didn't take the jab, the virus has chosen to take a jab at me...

Head exploding with blinding bits of jarring light, body pumping out heat, bones broken into a million pieces...young leaves on the cashew tree form hearts and blow kisses. Birds are vocal. They come visit, blabber a lot. There might come a point when I would be delusional enough to understand the language of the avian world, and all my knowledge of the human tongues might simply slip away from me...imagine all the great secrets i might be privy to! Who knows I might even be able to spread my wings and take off. The idea excites me and is saddening at the same time. Yet, would I be a lesser being if Rimbaud's audacious flights into visionary realms did not encompass my consciousness or Dostoevsky's nosedives into the subliminal eschewed my pinioned comprehension? Or...there are illimitable ors which could be illustrated here and honed to brilliancy but I think the point is made.

A few moments from my feverish reverie:

1.

The sun stretched
lazily on the balcony
beckons me;
i haul my feverish
body and lie atop;
together we pump
out heat merging
into one another.
the volcano
erupts and lava flows
out; a file of black
ants marching past
urges me back in

2.

the night a huge
organic beast
with uneven folds
where i lie tossing
and turning, craving to
fall through some deep
crack and disappear
into an infinitesimal
moment of not being...
a heart beating:
not mine.
a body breathing:
not mine.
dreams roll in like
a blanket of early
morning fog, smothering
the consciousness, yet 

here 'i' am, awake and
groaning with pain

3.

Beyond the mortal cells
dying and renewing
I resurrect myself:
an entity, an energy
a force of
a sprawled shadow
with an arrow of sunshine
darting through it

Spinning Webs, not Dreams...

The sky split open and a voice boomed from above: 'Thou shalt contest the elections from Mathura'...And there He stood, the cerulean blue vision of beauty and delight, holding the unmistakable golden flute, smiling mischievously. It was Lord Krishna himself urging Uttar Pradesh Chief Minister Adityanath Nath to go forth and conquer his beloved city Mathura. How could the CM refuse Him?  Humbly he accepted.

The dream made headlines in the media across the country. People offered their oblations to the CM, the Chosen One. Who would have thought that such an epiphanous directive from the Lord himself could be overruled by the party high command? Yet, it was. And being an obedient cog of the party, he did not dispute the decision.  And disregarding the divine implications of his dream, he resigned himself to his assigned constituency. 

The Chief Minister's sputtering fire in the belly to reclaim Mathura from the Musulman would have to find its deliverance somewhere else. And his insatiable craving to pitch seething speeches to raze the Shahi Idgah Mosque adjacent to the historical Sri Krishna Temple, to a hungry and frenzied mob would have to wait for another time. For now, he will have to let his dream sleep. 

Interestingly enough, America's dear old ex-president (now an avid painter) George W Bush, in his waking dream, claimed that he was on a mission from God when he sanctioned the invasion on Afghanistan and Iraq: "I am driven with a mission from God'. God would tell me, 'George go and fight these terrorists in Afghanistan'. And I did. And then God would tell me 'George, go and end the tyranny in Iraq'. And I did." He did indeed... It would seem that directives from On High are infallible.

Almost six decades ago Rev. Martin Luther King, in one of his concluding paras of 'I have a dream' speech, said: "I have a dream...With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood."

One wishes that today's world leaders would change their sleeping positions; turn to living dreams like the one Rev. King so eloquently expressed, and help transform old hatreds into new empathies. All emancipated nations take their first step by learning to  create an organic  internal harmony within the existing demographics of the land, instead of divisions the way our colonizers did.