A Fijian Nightmare

You, who will rise up out of the flood

In which we have gone under, Think

When you talk about our weaknesses of the dark age, too,

Which you have escaped

Still, we went, changing our country more often than our shoes ...

When there was only injustice and no revolt.

Nevertheless we know: Hatred even of degradation Distorts the features.

Anger even against injustice Makes the voice harsh. Oh, we Who wanted to make the ground ready for friendliness

Could not be friendly ourselves. But you, when things have got so far

That man is a help to man, Think of us

With understanding. It was clear he was well-trained as the chauffer of ministerial cars, donated by the Australian government.

I had to be at the Fiji Broadcasting Commission by 8.25 am - I was being interviewed on a talk-back radio program in Hindi for an hour. As new ministers, we were being introduced to the public and our government’s new policies were being given publicity on the radio - there was no television then in Fiji.

I’d given several talks on the radio during the election as one of the spokespersons, who knew Hindi and English, for the FLP-NFP Coalition.

Jyoti, my wife, was getting ready to go to teach at the Indian College. Kavita, my younger daughter, was in the Foundation class at the USP. My two other children were studying overseas: Rohan at the ANU; Gitanjali at the LSE.

As usual I said ‘Bye’ to Jyoti and Kavita and left in the car for the radio station. I drove through the Queen Elizabeth Drive as was my wont in my walks in the mornings when the ocean waves shimmered golden in the rays of a rising sun. It was a most exquisite scene when the sea was lit by the radiance of the dawn. The ocean can be so infinitely beautiful in its gentle, rippling waves. A fishing boat could be seen in the waves at a distance. And there was a Korean ship wrecked on the Suva reef. But the Pacific was calm and its waters shone like a shining sheet. On some days I used to see Prime Minister Ratu Kamisese Mara driving his Landrover towards the Vatuwaqa Golf course. We often waved to each other. And then had tea in the Parliament. Fiji was beautiful on most dawns.

This morning the Drive was fairly empty, no ministerial cars for hardly any MP in our party played golf. It was really a rich man’s game and time consuming. And yet one of our most famous golfers, Vijay Singh, came from an ordinary family--his father and he presumably began as caddies but both became talented golfers. My younger brother, Rajendra, and Vijay’s father worked at JUHI at Nadi airport. The evenings were spent drinking grog on our farm in Leglega while Vijay chased chickens and goats into the sugar-cane fields. From here he became one of the world’s top golfers.

*

The last minister who had appeared on this program was the Deputy PM, Mr. Harish Sharma, a fine speaker of shudh Hindi. My voice was familiar to the Hindustani audience as I’d given several political broadcasts on behalf of the Labor-NFP Coalition fighting the general election against the old and established Alliance, in power for more than 17 years since independence in 1970. I’d participated in discussions and debates leading up to the election. The FBC had evolved a reasonably intelligent and intelligible format with a neutral chairperson.

The general consensus was that our budding politicians had done rather well compared to the Alliance Party’s jaded spokespeople who were most inarticulate and

I accepted the Ministry of Health with some trepidation for I didn’t know much about medical matters: I didn’t even know whether one had to starve a cold and feed a fever or the other way round. My own brother, a medical practitioner and the President of Fiji Medical Association, had warned me of the cholesterol of indecisions and maladministration that flowed in the arteries of the Health Ministry. My wife was amused knowing my indifference to my personal health. But I did accept it.