We landed at Trivandrum this morning, my favourite corner of Planet Earth. We were greeted by the festivities of electioneering, the peaking of Kerala's daily political life.
Trivandrum is where I was born and raised for many years, in different spells. Other than the temple of Lord Padmanabha I am not sure if Trivandrum is famous for anything else. That does not matter to me though. It still is, and will always be, my favourite place.
Whatever one might say about Trivandrum, or one might not, it is hard to imagine any other place as the political capital of the state of Kerala. I cannot tell you quite why, but there is something about it that makes you feel it is the location for the capital of God's Own Country. There is that smell about it, when you walk by the Secretariat or its relaxed looking rain washed streets, that you do not sense in Kottayam, Kollam or Kozhikode. You certainly do not get that sense in that upstart commercial capital of the state called Kochi. More about Kochi in another post, till my keypad screams for mercy!
Interestingly, not much of what happens in Trivandrum politically gets decided there. It all happens in two or three major epicentres of Kerala. There is Central Kerala where the Christians rule the roost. Then there is the North, popularly known as Malabar, where the Thangal and his Muslim League hold darbar, unchallenged. Woe betide anyone who tries to challenge their political writ. And there is the rest, which is mainly the rag-tag geography of Kerala, formerly known as Travancore.
Nearly all of that happens in Kerala is the result of the dynamic jostling that takes place between the powerlords of the North and Central Kerala.
Yet, neither of those regions has been able to establish that the road to Trivandrum passes through their own heartland. Unlike the folks in UP who seem to have successfully persuaded the rest of the nation that the road to Delhi passes through Lucknow. In that sense democracy in Kerala is far more real than democracy in India as a whole.
How could it be any other way in a state where every man, woman and child would like to lead and not follow? No part or region of the state would be allowed the kind of political hegemony that the states of UP and Bihar have usurped from the rest of the India.
We were greeted by the sounds of electioneering as the train sped through Kerala in the early hours of Monday morning. More electioneering and more window pane shattering noise followed, with stacks of loudspeakers mounted on the ubiquitous white Ambassador, as we reached our home. It was the last day of electioneering before the state went to the polls.
The day we landed was significant for another reason: On that day the incumbent political patriarch of Kerala labelled a prominent leader of the opposition an "Amul baby". When it comes to biliousness you got to hand it to the Mallus. Anyone other than a Mallu may have chosen any other expression that is more strident or less hard hitting, but definitely nowhere as memorable.
The Amul baby metaphor is more than just a political repartee. To put it in Marxian dialect, an Amul baby is is symbolic of a social class that is distinct and cut off from, if not inimical to, the toiling proletariat. Amul milk is what the wealthy mothers of Kerala have brought up her children on. The toiling mother's child suckles at its mother's breast, if it does not go hungry.
The use of the metaphor is yet another instance of how Marxism is alive and kicking in Kerala, whatever may its bill of political health look like elsewhere in the world. Well, Marxian rhetoric surely is, even if one were to be a little skeptical about the health of Marxian thought or philosophy, given the schism within the party cadres.
So, on this momentous day, when my sons asked me their first questions about elections and politics I could not help start the 101. I could not think of a more auspicious place or time. In Hindu tradition place and time make all the difference between failure and success.
With prayer on my lips that I might be sowing the seeds of political awakening in their tender minds and that they might keep alive the Mallu legacy of being politically aware, if not active, I started on how elections work and finally give some people the right to rule over the others; in other words just tell them what to do - the essence of political power struggle.
Hopefully, I said to myself, before long my sons will realise the interchangeability of money and political power in India, well before they learn about the interconvertibility of mass and energy.
The elder of my twins tried to relate it to his world of cars and races and asked me: So that is like a race and someone wins, right? The younger one had a glimmer in his eye. He asked me with his signature shy smile: So if I win an election I can ask you and Amma and Vinayakan to do whatever I want?
I was happy to see the making of a 21st century Indian political leader. Amen.
Nanni. Namaskaaram
Trivandrum is where I was born and raised for many years, in different spells. Other than the temple of Lord Padmanabha I am not sure if Trivandrum is famous for anything else. That does not matter to me though. It still is, and will always be, my favourite place.
Whatever one might say about Trivandrum, or one might not, it is hard to imagine any other place as the political capital of the state of Kerala. I cannot tell you quite why, but there is something about it that makes you feel it is the location for the capital of God's Own Country. There is that smell about it, when you walk by the Secretariat or its relaxed looking rain washed streets, that you do not sense in Kottayam, Kollam or Kozhikode. You certainly do not get that sense in that upstart commercial capital of the state called Kochi. More about Kochi in another post, till my keypad screams for mercy!
Interestingly, not much of what happens in Trivandrum politically gets decided there. It all happens in two or three major epicentres of Kerala. There is Central Kerala where the Christians rule the roost. Then there is the North, popularly known as Malabar, where the Thangal and his Muslim League hold darbar, unchallenged. Woe betide anyone who tries to challenge their political writ. And there is the rest, which is mainly the rag-tag geography of Kerala, formerly known as Travancore.
Nearly all of that happens in Kerala is the result of the dynamic jostling that takes place between the powerlords of the North and Central Kerala.
Yet, neither of those regions has been able to establish that the road to Trivandrum passes through their own heartland. Unlike the folks in UP who seem to have successfully persuaded the rest of the nation that the road to Delhi passes through Lucknow. In that sense democracy in Kerala is far more real than democracy in India as a whole.
How could it be any other way in a state where every man, woman and child would like to lead and not follow? No part or region of the state would be allowed the kind of political hegemony that the states of UP and Bihar have usurped from the rest of the India.
We were greeted by the sounds of electioneering as the train sped through Kerala in the early hours of Monday morning. More electioneering and more window pane shattering noise followed, with stacks of loudspeakers mounted on the ubiquitous white Ambassador, as we reached our home. It was the last day of electioneering before the state went to the polls.
The day we landed was significant for another reason: On that day the incumbent political patriarch of Kerala labelled a prominent leader of the opposition an "Amul baby". When it comes to biliousness you got to hand it to the Mallus. Anyone other than a Mallu may have chosen any other expression that is more strident or less hard hitting, but definitely nowhere as memorable.
The Amul baby metaphor is more than just a political repartee. To put it in Marxian dialect, an Amul baby is is symbolic of a social class that is distinct and cut off from, if not inimical to, the toiling proletariat. Amul milk is what the wealthy mothers of Kerala have brought up her children on. The toiling mother's child suckles at its mother's breast, if it does not go hungry.
The use of the metaphor is yet another instance of how Marxism is alive and kicking in Kerala, whatever may its bill of political health look like elsewhere in the world. Well, Marxian rhetoric surely is, even if one were to be a little skeptical about the health of Marxian thought or philosophy, given the schism within the party cadres.
So, on this momentous day, when my sons asked me their first questions about elections and politics I could not help start the 101. I could not think of a more auspicious place or time. In Hindu tradition place and time make all the difference between failure and success.
With prayer on my lips that I might be sowing the seeds of political awakening in their tender minds and that they might keep alive the Mallu legacy of being politically aware, if not active, I started on how elections work and finally give some people the right to rule over the others; in other words just tell them what to do - the essence of political power struggle.
Hopefully, I said to myself, before long my sons will realise the interchangeability of money and political power in India, well before they learn about the interconvertibility of mass and energy.
The elder of my twins tried to relate it to his world of cars and races and asked me: So that is like a race and someone wins, right? The younger one had a glimmer in his eye. He asked me with his signature shy smile: So if I win an election I can ask you and Amma and Vinayakan to do whatever I want?
I was happy to see the making of a 21st century Indian political leader. Amen.
Nanni. Namaskaaram
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