A book of half revelations

If you ask me to describe Sheila Dikshit’s autobiography in a single word I’d say it’s tantalising. Called Citizen Delhi and to be launched at the Jaipur Literature Festival on Saturday, it’s also revealing, touching, and delightful to read. But what lingers in my memory is how it teases but fails to offer more. It’s full of enticing snippets that whet the appetite but leave you hungry.

Let’s start with the events that precipitated her fall. Speaking about the Opposition campaign around the Commonwealth Games, Sheila Dikshit says, “they pilloried the Delhi government for its many alleged acts of corruption. I did not know how to respond.” But she never reveals why nor what the problem was. Then, referring to the Aam Aadmi Party she says “many of us had underestimated (it)”. She even admits “we were foolish” to do so. But why did that happen? She’s not an inept politician to do this inadvertently. So what’s the explanation?

Ms Dikshit’s real explanation for her defeat is to point the blame towards the Manmohan Singh government in the Centre. She does so on two separate occasions but only with suggestive hints. First, “I knew that the Centre’s misfortunes would impact our standing in Delhi as well.” Then, “many attributed our loss to public anger against the central government as the Delhi government was often identified with UPA2 simply because it was a Congress-led government.” But that’s all she has to say. No further details follow.

Even more tantalising is the following half sentence: “It was not always smooth going between our government and the Centre”. This is the first time I’ve ever heard a Congress chief minister complain about her own government at the Centre. But what were the issues? And why did they become a problem? Again, silence.

Even when Ms Dikshit is deliberately revealing something she does not go beyond a brief statement. Speaking of how she became Governor of Kerala, she writes: “Sonia Gandhi offered this assignment and I did not refuse.” But, surely, this was the Prime Minister’s prerogative and Sonia Gandhi was trespassing on his powers? Again, Ms Dikshit says nothing about that. Just silence.

Let’s now come to the many other teasers in this book. Ms Dikshit was on the plane that brought Rajiv Gandhi back to Delhi in 1984 when Indira Gandhi was assassinated. She writes of Pranab Mukherjee, a fellow passenger: “Pranab Mukherjee put forth his view that a precedent of having an interim Prime Minister had been established in India from the time of Nehru.” So was Mr Mukherjee making a claim? Is this confirmation of why he was subsequently dropped from the Cabinet and expelled from the party? After hinting, Ms Dikshit has no more to say. I was left wondering why her lips are suddenly sealed.

Of the Emergency we’re told that her father-in-law, Uma Shankar Dikshit, who was a minister when it was declared, “experienced discomfort”. He was “discontent” and “disturbed by the draconian aspects of the Emergency.” But what were these aspects? Slum clearance? Sterilisation? I don’t think those words even occur in this book. We’re simply left to guess why Dikshit pèrewas unhappy.

Elsewhere you discover she had a key role to play convincing Congress MPs to vote for the Bill that reversed the Supreme Court’s Shah Bano judgment. But she never explains whether she did this willingly or, even, whether she believed in the measure. When she asks at a later point “why do we not discuss issues like marital rape in the context of domestic violence?” you get the feeling she must have compromised her views in supporting the Shah Bano Bill. But, of course, Ms Dikshit won’t say so. In fact, she doesn’t even hint at it.

So what do I make of all this? No doubt these are small gems and the autobiography is littered with them. At times they even sparkle. Yet they lie scattered like pieces of an unstrung necklace. And you search in vain for the thread that should connect them. Why is it missing? It could hardly have been forgotten or deliberately overlooked? Which leads me to the conclusion Ms Dikshit still has a lot more to say. But will she ever speak out fully?

I doubt it. Ms Dikshit has avoided discussing two issues where her 15 years’ experience as chief minister must have given her great insights and which are major controversies under her successor. They are the question “Should Delhi be a fullfledged state?”, and “Is it inevitable that the relationship between the lieutenant governor and chief minister will be fraught?”

Neither has been touched upon. Not a sentence. It’s as if Sheila Dikshit thinks they’re unimportant or irrelevant. Yet, as chief minister she was in favour of full statehood. She also had moments of sharp tension with the lieutenant governors she served under.

This silence is disappointing. She has obviously deliberately chosen not to speak out. But why? I can think of no credible, leave aside convincing, reason.

The book is more forthcoming when it addresses her personal life and marriage. She calls her late husband, Vinod Dikshit, “the love of my life”. She describes how they met, how he proposed, her motherin-law’s fierce opposition, and how she was made to sleep in a “store room crammed with utensils”.

Few politicians write so frankly. The Dikshits would do wonderfully crazy things like seeing three consecutive shows of My Fair Lady. And she adored him. Her description of his tragic death may be brief but you can feel the shock and pain. “Part of me died with Vinod forever,” she adds. What a wonderful job she’s done hiding that from the rest of us. CITIZEN DELHI

My Times, My Life Sheila Dikshit Bloomsbury 175 pages; ~599