Sitaram Yechury: Comrade’s love, not war

Last week, we had more rain than I can remember in a long time. News trickling in from friends and relatives in the hills is frightening and one lives in terror of the floods and landslides that will surely follow. The previous week, during an idyllic vacation at a resort on the Ganga in Rishikesh, I was appalled to see the surging waters of the river. One slip of the foot and one could be swept away forever. The hotel had barred the gates where guests could walk down for a private dip in normal times and the aarti, done each evening, was performed but with an awning strung over the area. Nevertheless, the serenity and beautifully green ambience was like a balm on the soul of those of us who crave for peace and a noise-free environment.

Back in Noida, where we consider ourselves fortunate if we get a brief, occasional shower during the monsoons, we have been blessed with overcast skies, steady drizzles and the kind of dark thundery sky that uplifts sagging spirits. Of course, we oldies can savour this but the plight of the commuters, delivery boys and schoolchildren caught in the interminable traffic jams is another story.

Then there was the presidential debate in Philadelphia — an event that had everyone waiting to see the outcome. I must say, our politicians are better at hurling insults and trading non sequiturs. The stage was set up clearly to trump (excuse the pun) one candidate, while the other relied on age and charm rather than on facts and policies. Disappointing, to say the least. Meanwhile, our media has been feeding off the visit of our LoP, and he provides good TRPs is all I can say. Let’s wait now for the next Indian leader’s visit and see what he will provide to his friends and foes.

The triviality of all these events was revealed by the demise of Sitaram Yechury after a brief battle in Delhi’s AIIMS. It is significant that every newspaper and all the news channels paid fulsome tributes to a man who was truly one of a kind. Brilliant, without being arrogant, true to his ideological beliefs despite his innately liberal outlook, warm, respected across parties — in short, a man of many parts. He was just a year younger than I and his early years transported me to memories of my own youth, the ’70s, when all of us were looked upon as lefties. From the Gandhian lives of our parents and the heady years of Nehru’s romance with socialism, our first encounter with Marxism came in the wake of a worldwide movement against imperialism and senseless wars. ‘Make love, not war’ was the rallying cry that reached out to us even in the boondocks of provincial India.

Vietnam became a kind of crucible of one’s faith, when young students across universities took to the streets to bring the world’s attention to the courage of this little country in taking on the might of America. Some unforgettable lyrics and poetry became anthems for us students, who never forgot the power of those words. The Beat Poets, singers such as the Beatles, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, among many others, branded their words, forged — as someone memorably commented — in the smithies of their souls. We were young and believed every word. Later, much later, we became involved in our careers and families, and slowly became lapsed Marxists.

However, there were many in that generation who never gave up. And Yechury was certainly one of them. They did not chase success, security and the comfort of a middle-class life. All his life, Sitaram Yechury lived the life of a dedicated party worker, in an austere but dignified way. He remained a Comrade to all and did not deviate from the path he had chosen early in life.

There were many others like him, some dear colleagues in Panjab University, who lived by the ideals (however discredited by time) of the ideology they had chosen as theirs. What made Yechury different was that while he never reneged on his commitment, he realised that the lonely path chosen by other Comrades and the rigidity of their beliefs were alienating them from a larger polity. He was often at odds with his fellow travellers, but he was also a consensus builder par excellence. Of late, he was often reviled as a quasi-Congressman but, unlike many others, he never sought any office or Rajya Sabha seat from them. Nor, like most of them, did he resort to cheap political cracks. His ability to never violate that core of pure humanity is a rare gift now seldom appreciated.

What made that generation of Comrades special was that they were all brilliant minds and schooled in the literature of the world. Not surprisingly, many of them were marvellous poets, playwrights or filmmakers. Just recall the films of Mrinal Sen and others to understand why almost every great writer of those times was left-leaning. If Marxism ultimately failed, it was because no one could ever reach the ideal world they hungered for.

So, today, we live in a dystopic world, peopled by petty men with small brains, but never forget there was a time when we all believed we could change the world by love alone. How wrong and naïve we were, but how grand were our dreams!