This Above all
Can’t understand Atalji
KHUSHWANT SINGH

Now that Justice MS Liberhan has squarely blamed Atal Behari Vajpayee for being a party to the conspiracy to destroy the Babri Masjid on December 6, 1992, I can mention my meeting with him a few days after the event. It was at a small dinner party of five or six persons, specially arranged for us to meet. I was still reeling under the shock of the barbarous act of vandalism, and could not believe that a suave, civilised man whom I respected, and for whom I had a feeling of friendly warmth could be a party to it.

He arrived accompanied by his life-long friend Mrs Kaul, in whose home he stayed. For a few minutes we sipped our Scotch in silence. Then Mrs Kaul said to me: "Ask him to read out a poem he has recently composed." I repeated the request to Vajpayee. It was obviously all pre-planned between them. Vajpayee fished out a piece of paper from his pocket and read out a poem entitled Kya Mila`85Boorha Ho Gaya hoon. It was about the destruction of the mosque and the deep regret he felt over the episode.

I could not keep myself back, and said: "Vajpayeeji, why don’t you say so openly? Khullam khulla ? Why just read it out to me?" He simply nodded his head without saying anything. I continued: "Will you let me publish it in my column? I will translate it into English." He handed over the poem to me, saying: "Do what you like with it." I said: "Sign it." He put his signatures on it and handed it back to me. I published it in the weekly column I write for Hindustan Times.

I still cannot make anything of Vajpayee’s personality. He oozes with warmth and goodwill. Maybe, I am easily befooled. Or perhaps he is, as Govindacharya described, a mukhota (double-faced) — a fundamentalist with fundamentalists, a liberal with liberals.

Rewarded for writing

Some weeks ago I wrote how many kinds of fruit, vegetables and juices, which could be easily produced in our own country, were being imported. Amongst other things, I mentioned kiwi being imported from New Zealand and available in Khan Market across the road. It paid me handsome dividends. I got a letter from General JJ Singh, Governor of Arunachal Pradesh, enclosing a photograph of a tree laden with kiwi being grown in his state.

With it came a basketful of Arunachali kiwis — every bit as tasty and nutritious as those from New Zealand. My next question is if they grow in profusion in Arunachal, why are they not available in towns and cities of India? Furthermore, there are fruits and vegetables grown in India and relished by foreigners for which Indians have yet to cultivate tastes. If grown on a large scale, these can be economically viable. We can offer our common folk to enjoy them — avocados, artichokes and asparagus. My mother, who was a dehatan and a vegetarian, developed a passion for asparagus, as it was often the only non-meat, non-egg item on offer in European homes.

Class

These days herding is the name;

Of the game we sadly play;

Be we sheep, or any kind of cows;

Horses, politicians, or humans;

Be you a Pericles, a Socrates;

If class defines one;

Travelling or at rest;

Home or overseas;

Your class, alas, is, without a doubt;

As you are bred;

The cow and the sheep;

Every bullock, every peke;

Has his class, defined by his breed;

In other words, his pedigree;

Every creature is defined;

By nurture or by breeding;

Humans, also by their learning;

By their thoughts;

It is these that separate;

From ordinary mortals;

All the statesmen and the politicians;

Who are surely very different;

From any Ram and any Mohan;

Any Shilpa, Rani, Sarojini;

Whether travelling by bus, train or plane;

No singer like Subbulakshmi;

No Gandhi like the Mahatma;

For every man and every woman;

Every sheep and every crow;

Every bird or horse or dog has class;

Whether travelling business, first or regular;

His class remains his class.

— (Contributed by F. Seervai)



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