THE COST OFTEFLON
Beauty shall save the world. That was Dostoevsky, in another world, in another era, in another context. The Great Russian was, of course, declaring his faith in the eternity of imagination, and its redemptive utilities in a godforsaken place. But what exactly was Dr Manmohan Singh up to when, tarred and considerably shrunken from his political medium size, he recited a telling Urdu couplet? Hazaron jawabon se achchi hai khamoshi meri/ na jaane kitne sawalon ki aabru rakhe ( My silence is better than a thousand questions/ Too many questions deserve the honour of silence), he sang in defence of his wooden stillness in the face of coal- hauling opposition. Metaphors, even if borrowed, could not have been misplaced with greater alacrity. And poetry could not have saved Planet Manmohan, no matter how much Teflon was wasted to keep it corrosion free, either.
Well indeed, there were a thousand questions, or more, and they had been swirling around him ever since the Spectrum scam broke out. Silence was his shield then, and it was less than honourable. And whenever his facial muscles moved to the collective astonishment of the nation, it was to take refuge in I- know- nothing, I- hear- nothing, I- see- nothing make believe. With mind- blowing moral elasticity, he was arguably the first prime minister of our times to disown his own Cabinet, as if he was an autonomous island in an ocean of corruption. If we were fortunate enough to be born in another democracy with a higher sense of decency, we would by now have had an ex- prime minister called Manmohan Singh. Instead, when a nation was hungry for change, a Raja was thrown into the arena. Take him and be happy— that was the attitude then, arrogant and smug, and the Raja, steeped in silence as usual, remained unfazed.
There he is, again, the Teflon almost worn off, cracked and tottering, and left with nothing but the fig leaf of an Urdu couplet. Even in his political last gasp, the words that come out of him are meant for isolating himself from the system. Manmohan Singh has not changed; he is busy blaming everyone around him, sparing not even the constitutional authority of CAG. This time, when he finally broke the shell of “honourable” silence, it was to paint a self portrait of innocence in thirty- two shades of grey. And it took him so long to tell the Parliament what was his role in the allocation of coal blocks for mining. Now, it seems, he did have no role; it was all a matter of bad mathematics of others. It is this moral deception giftwrapped in pious triangulations that has resulted in the atrophy of Brand Manmohan. As a couple of independent surveys have shown, India is angry, and the prime minister, far from being a reassuring figure of moderation and modernisation, has become the patron saint of corruption.
Strangely, even as the Congress sinks, the party continues to waste its resources on a redundant brand, not realising the political cost of this enterprise. In 2004, Manmohan Singh was an accident; in 2009, he was inevitability. As 2014 looms, he is a liability. This career curve of Dr Singh coincides with the diminishing market value of the Family itself: Rahul Gandhi is still an idea both India and the Congress are trying hard to comprehend, or it could be vice versa. And Sonia Gandhi must be the only maximum leader who leads from the rear. Still, it is not a Gandhi who is the face of the Congress in mortal crisis. There is no poetic justice as a rare political life confronts its darkest moment, in spite of the Urdu couplet.
IN 2004, MANMOHAN SINGH WAS AN ACCIDENT; IN 2009, HE WAS INEVITABILITY. AS 2014 LOOMS, HE IS A LIABILITY. THIS CAREER CURVE OF DR SINGH COINCIDES WITH THE DIMINISHING MARKET VALUE OF THE FAMILY ITSELF.