Lengthening shadows of AAP

Arvind Kejriwal. Freedom from opposition!

Raju Korti
When charity becomes the opium of the privileged, you get a breed of leaders like Arvind Kejriwal. The Convener of the Aam Aadmi Party is presently presiding over one of the most disastrously conducted political experiments that has reduced the party to a theatre of the absurd, and an outfit with fulminations and machinations much in the mould of the Janata Party in 1977.
Although it was seen coming, the swiftness with which the party's National Executive has chosen to kick out and turn Yogendra Yadav and Prashant Bhushan, two founding members into persona non grata, shows that Kejriwal and a bunch his incongruous party men have learnt little or nothing after they frittered away their first chance at power with a minority government that lasted barely 49 days. Yet, their ill-fated electoral debut bolstered by the presence of activists like Anna Hazare and Kiran Bedi, came in for as much public sympathy as criticism. The impression then was it was a nascent party with lots of promise and trying to come to grips with itself. As it turned out, the party and its leaders did not and could not develop the temperament of a ruling dispensation. You couldn't fault the baffled electorate of Delhi if they were unable to decide whether they had chosen a ruling party or an opposition party.
The whiff of change that came from the party that promised corruption-free and open governance finally succumbed to the hokey pokey seen across all the parties. It was an irony of sorts that while stridently espousing the cause of Lokpal Bill, the Kejriwal lobby had the audacity to ask its own internal Lokpal to skip the National Executive on the specious but untenable excuse of "avoiding confrontation". So the party that held out great expectancy and transparency witnessed a series of unsavory developments with allegations flying thick and fast. And all this when Yadav and Bhushan were at pains all along to explain the people that dissensions were a given in any democratic set up. The ferment in the party spilled over to even the ruling BJP at the Centre with Kiran Bedi -- among the most prominent face -- switching loyalties with the BJP. As was only expected, Bedi sank with BJP in Delhi. Surprising for a party that boasts of an array of "intellectuals" in its fold! Shazia Ilmi, another known face kept grudging that she never got her due despite her credentials as founder member, a woman and Muslim. She quit because she was denied a contest from Delhi and packed off to Rae Bareilly to fight a lost battle against Sonia. Her walk-out was followed by Captain C D Gopinath and Medha Patkar embarrassed to see the party crumbling even before its construct. The AAP was besieged by the coterie culture rife in other parties. I am reproducing these vignettes only to show that this couldn't have been a party that swore by the common man.
For reasons of expediency Yadav and Bhushan stuck around. To Yadav's credit, he was perceived as a think tank with the kind of socialist leanings the party should have desperately leant on. But good people rarely take off in politics and Yadav's humiliating defeat in Haryana only made matters worse for a party that never seemed capable of extricating itself from endless bickering.
Come to think of it, the AAP concept wasn't bad at all as initially it touched a chord with the masses in a very short span. Its leaders, however, had no clue how to handle success. The grassroots were weak and organizational management was next to nil. The volunteers on whom the leaders piggy rode were never consulted and transparency became a casualty as Kejriwal started emerging as a superego. The subtle move to wrest all powers from the Parliamentary Affairs Committee and vest it in National Executive was an obvious maneuver to insulate Kejriwal from any opposition in the party. The expulsions and the sordid drama in the Executive proved that beyond any shadow of doubt. The AAP's world -- justifiably or unjustifiably -- didn't have any plans for other states. It came across as a national party with regional outlook that derived its moments of glory in believing that Delhi conquered was India conquered. Kejriwal's so called attempts to arrest the party's slide were pathetic to say the least. Worst, they were construed as events that suited him and meant to eliminate dissidence.
Taking a very conciliatory view of Kejriwal and his party, I had written in September 2014:
It is tough to be Arvind Kejriwal these days. The man who stirred the conscience of the nation not long ago is now witnessing to his chagrin that the ground from under his feet has slipped so quickly and how. Looking at the shambles in which the Aam Aadmi Party finds itself in -- a situation of its own making --  it appears that the outfit needs to pull out a rabbit from its hat to undo the damage done in the wake of a series of rapidly unfolding events after AK quit as the chief minister of Delhi in a huff.
For major part, AK cannot shirk his responsibility as a leader. It is now obvious that he presided over a team of self-serving people who had no clue in hell what the party actually wanted to do or where it was headed. In the process, he frittered away the advantage with a chain of self-goals. In the kind of politics practiced in this country, a cavalier approach to leadership and governance is not particularly advisable. In the run up to the phenomenon he so painstakingly tried to create, it didn't occur to AK's wisdom that being a good bureaucrat is one thing and being a political leader is quite another. A good politician knows when to beat a tactical retreat, but AK kept compounding his errors with more errors. Take for instance his obdurate stand in seeking bail in the defamation case against Nitin Gadkari and then doing a somersault to bow to the dictates of the circumstances. A cursory look at the way AAP and its exuberant leadership has meandered in the recent months, is an eloquent commentary on the political inexperience which was sought to be made up with a peremptory outlook in dealing with party matters.
Internal bickering is a malady with all parties without exception. Like the proverbial goldfish, AK had no place to hide given that his every move was scanned and scrutinized. Although this may sound like a hindsight, AK messed up his chance with power. Thereafter, the party slid into a downhill so much so that it has a huge job on its hands to extricate itself from the morass. The sordid story was complete when rats started deserting the sinking ship, Shazia Ilmi and other disgruntled souls showing amply that they had stuck around only to extract their pound of flesh. AK himself seemed ill-equipped to stem the rot. The fall was as swift as the rise was meteoric.
To begin with, AK must learn to handle people and situations with restraint. Dharnas and campaigns cannot be the resorts of those in the saddle. You cannot fault people if their perception of AAP is that of a party that doesn't know whether it is in power or out of it. The electoral result is not just about one man capturing the imagination of the nation. If success is the Heads, failure is the Tails of the same coin. The AAP story begs the question: What went so terribly wrong for a party that seemed to be riding a crest a few months ago and is now threatened with the prospect of sinking without a trace? Lack of political acumen, inadequate man-management skills, one flip flop after another or sheer over-enthusiasm and over-confidence?
I am afraid, I read it correctly and to be honest, I am not too enthused about it.


  

Absolute freedom without absolute responsibility?

Raju Korti
Before this blog suggests anything to the contrary, let me attest that I am as vociferous a protagonist of freedom of speech and expression as anyone else who masquerades as a "liberal" on the social networking sites. But unlike the euphoria generated by the Supreme Court verdict on scrapping Section 66A of the IT Act, I am taking it with cautious optimism.
The apex court yesterday held that Section 66A of the Information Technology Act is unconstitutional in its entirety, striking down a “draconian” provision that had led to the arrests of many people for posting content deemed to be “allegedly objectionable” on the Internet.
“It is clear that Section 66A arbitrarily, excessively and disproportionately invades the right of free speech and upsets the balance between such right and the reasonable restrictions that may be imposed on such right,” said the SC Bench. The definition of offences under the provision was “open-ended and undefined”, it said. I need not cite the examples that have hit headlines in the recent past where the section was invoked, leading to a furore which to me is superficial.
As arbitrary as the provision sounded, Section 66A also provided a remedy against several cyber crimes like stalking, bullying, threatening through SMS and email, phishing and spamming, among others. You do not have to visit the cyber crime cell of the police to know that these crimes are on the rise in a technology-dominated age. The solution is not to scrap the provision but to amend it suitably without taking away the fundamental right of Freedom of Speech. The apex court ruling has not dwelt on this aspect at all. The present IT Act, I believe, does not have enough teeth for many cyber crimes that have been left out.
For the champions of freedom of speech and expression, the apex court ruling is an absolute victory but I am afraid that the very fundamental ethos of any freedom is not getting the same mention in the same breath. With unbridled freedom comes unbridled responsibility. My personal take is Freedom is an anti-thesis of itself. To think of Freedom in isolation is tantamount to chaos if you understand the word "chaos" not quite in the same manner as political scientists do.
Quite simply, the word Freedom has been followed more in breach than practice primarily for the reason that one's concept of freedom more often than not is in complete contradiction to someone else's Freedom. Is Freedom what it is when you uphold someone else's Freedom or trample it? Whose Freedom is it then?
The issue according to me is not Freedom itself per se but the maturity and responsibility with which it needs to be handled. The way political, social and cultural winds have blown -- and continue to do so -- across the world shows that mankind does not have the post-pubescence to deal with what is pompously referred to as Freedom. All that it has served to do is to show that it is a cracker with a dangerously short wick whose burst only leaves some excitement and casualties behind.
Quite expectedly, the focus now has shifted to the "reasonable restrictions" the Indian Constitution places on Article 19 (1) which lists Fundamental Rights among which Defamation is one. It is apparent to me that there are any number of people on social networking sites harbouring the misconception that you can write no holds barred with a unilateral right to castigate. These also include so called liberals who cannot take one word of criticism -- let alone criminal defamation -- in their liberal stride.
I remember my journalist friend Mayank Chhaya making a very pertinent point on Facebook when some of the Censor Board members expressed their displeasure about not being able to exercise the kind of autonomy they expected. Wrote Mayank: Censoring others is what you do for a living. What about their autonomy?" People demand Freedom of Speech as a compensation for the freedom of thought that they seldom use. Abuse simply cannot become a euphemism in the guise of Freedom of Speech. It then becomes freedom of extortion and blackmail.
Nothing is absolute. Not even time. Semantics are at best, a waste of time or an idle pastime. For everything else, there is a raging debate. Freedom of Speech is a double-edged weapon. So if it is taken away and the dumb and silent are led, like sheep to the slaughter, its grant also leads to a situation no less. It is a great concept if you revel in utopia. So here in my limited judgment I will compress the concept: I may not agree with you, but I will defend to the death your right to make an ass of yourself. 

A salutation to my Tai

A heroine if there ever was!

Raju Korti
It is easy to run the temptation of using a series of cosmetic platitudes when you describe someone who you look up to and idolize. And when that someone happens to be your near and dear, the exercise is peppered by a high emotional quotient.
Take a look at the angelic, infectious smile on that face in the picture. The owner of that beaming serenity was my  sister fourteen years older than me -- old enough to cuddle me in her lap and sing lullabies to me when I was a toddler. It was well before she bore three children -- now past their thirties -- that I had seen in her a gifted mother who managed her family in a society that is often reprehended for its patriarchal leanings. Personally, it was a two-fold loss to me. When she passed away a day before, I felt orphaned because she was a mother, father and sister all rolled into one -- each office handled like she was born for it.
I have been in the business of writing long enough to realize that great biographies and tributes are not necessarily of the great people. Often, they are about unsung people whose proficiencies are taken for granted. It is as if their craft is a disqualification. But all through her epic saga of struggle and pain I could still see what potential she packed in her fragile 5 feet two frame. She was probably ordained among the few that the Gods -- if they exist -- would fight shy of replicating.
Gentle to a fault, she was an astonishing package of every virtue you could think of. A living example of human existence in its pristine form, she came across as too surreal but that's how she spent all her life. Exceptional woman with exceptional qualities, she was kicked up about life. There was no corruption in her world. Braving all odds with a genuine smile, she inspired everyone around her. All through her 73 years, no one ever saw her complain, crib, grumble and gossip. It was probably an in-built mechanism she had developed to insulate herself from the pain that first destiny -- and then a plethora of ailments -- inflicted upon her all through. Not even death could rob her of that serenity she had patented as her own. In the large circles she was known, stories about her dignity, grace and benevolence had already become part of folklore.
Even in the evening of her life, she wasn't the one to recline and watch TV soaps. Despite an affected vision, she would rather spend her time solving crossword puzzles with books and newspapers held almost close to her retina. Her cooking was as flawless as it could get with minimal ingredients, never even once faltering in her proportions. She rarely needed any resources when she was resourcefulness personified. In her simplified comprehension about life, the biggest bonding came from mere talking to people.
I remember how charged up she was to come on Facebook and Whatsapp. True to her nature, she only wrote good thoughts. "There is enough cynicism and negativity as it is. The world isn't so crooked," she said to me once, knowing very well that it wasn't true. But she was too good-humored to look at the darker side of life. Excited that she had been gifted with a smartphone barely a few months back, she was keen to be on Whatsapp and it was perfectly in sync with her complaisant nature when the first message she dashed me off was not about herself but her concern for me. "Kasa aahes tu? Jevlas ka? Tabyetichi kaalji ghe" (How is you? Had food? Take care of your health). The word "self" didn't exist in her lexicon. Till her last breath, she remained a giving person always concerned about others. Having always taken her seemliness for granted, we siblings learnt she was a much more nobler soul from friends, relatives, neighbours and even rank outsiders. She had this unique quality that endeared her to all and we ordinary souls in the family were often awe-struck when people lavished praise upon her each time her name came up. Apparently there was nothing in her that merited any attention but anyone who came in contact with her was just smitten by her persona and dignified, smiling visage.
The last four years were hell for her with almost every second day spent on this medical test and that or being admitted in one hospital or the other, but there was not a murmur of grievance. She would go to the doctors all alone, dissuading others and asking them to carry on with their work. Bombarded by steroids and potent medicines her body was wrecked beyond repairs but the smile on her face never revealed the pain she harboured. To us unsuspecting siblings, reality sunk only when we saw her battered and bruised body on the ICU bed in grip of saline drips, oxygen masks and a maze of tubes. Even in her bouts of unconsciousness, she would mumble and tell us all to stick together and live like good human beings. Souls as noble as her descend on Earth by a freak of nature. And consciously, although unsuccessfully, as I try to ward off my gushing tears, I sense her oozing affection telling me "Why do you weep? I am very close to you here." That makes the pain of losing her excruciatingly unbearable. How does one live when the meaning goes out of life? If you have a sister and she dies, do you stop saying you have one? Or are you always a sister when the other half of the equation is gone?
As journalist my writing has usually courted the morbidity that obtains in the society today. So it took some effort to write about someone who probably deserved all this eulogy although it would appear to some as a brother's tribute to his sister.
Here is an ode to her resilience and nobility though I have never ever dabbled in poetry.

Helpless as I was, what could I have done
To help you through your darkest hours?
I wish I could take away all your troubles
And gotten rid of your demons.
But I was blind, I could not see,
And now you are gone forever.
A crippling wave of grief,
Relentless, merciless and endless has hit us hard,
And in its might, I am hurt, devastated and shattered.
We shared so much, but I misjudged,
And did not see your struggle and sufferings.
If I could change, what fate held out,
I would do it in a heartbeat.
You will have my throbbing heart as your permanent abode
No matter where I go or where I will be
Till death unites us again.
Constantly thinking, never to be the same,
Tears gush forth, just hearing your name.
Silence is not golden anymore,
But an unending spool of memory.
The nights are sleepless, dreams out of bounds,
Crying in my pillow inconsolably, to you I beseech.
Surrounded by kith and kin, I feel forlorn and desolate,
My heart is so empty, this pain I must own.
I wish I could fall back in your lap, hug you,
And just see your face,
But now I have memories to stand in your place.
Gone but not forgotten, that's what they say,
If only you could have stayed.

Stupidity is never a handicap in Politics

Raju Korti
Propagating a thought process or promoting political views on a social networking site comes with its ancillary risks. Not that there is anything wrong in it but I have long since realized the abiding futility of engaging myself in raging debates that are seldom conclusive and nobody is none the wiser. In the end -- if there is any -- nothing changes and no one who is a fierce participant cedes an inch for reasons ranging from personal ego to political steadfastness. It is just some steam let off and maybe some brownie points scored on each side.
Political conviction is an individual belief and choice. It is more often than not bereft of objectivity which again is left to personal interpretation. But having spent decades in the Media and watched political personalities and events unfold in the most unexpected and quirkiest of ways, it has come to my perceptive comprehension that politics only divides people and makes them self-righteous. Those two create crevasses that are bridged only in expedient circumstances. Politics per se may not be fickle, but politicians and their loyalist admirers are.
I studiously avoid taking part in political discourses which degenerate into nasty altercations at the drop of a hat. With a few exceptions -- that only prove the rule -- most end up in bitterness and break in friendships. There is of course no disputing an individual's understanding of political issues as no one is any less informed.
There is a certain vulnerability at the bottom-line of this considered belief that some "ism" or "logy" is superior than others. The internet teems with trolls who sow seeds of discord by posting inflammatory statuses provoking "friends" into an emotional response. And then all hell breaks lose with cuss words and profanity in spate. The "friend" whose status you "liked" barely a minute ago becomes a persona non grata in your estimate in much lesser time.
For instance, the debates on Modi (and his 'bhakts'), 'AAPtards', 'sickulars", leftists, rightists, right of centrists and what have you, come without an expiry date. "Pheku" Modi's extravagant pinstripes, Kejriwal's matching extravagant manifesto, the decline of Gandhis, the virtues or otherwise of secularism and the pre-meditated hypothesis that womanhood alone should be respected (and by default men be despised) guarantee you an endless slang match. Even if granted that debates are a healthy sign of democracy, the results are not. The much trumpeted Freedom of Speech and Expression is itself a subject of nasty debate. I recall a Washington Post journalist once telling me "freedom of Press, whatever that means, is freedom of the Press." I guess it applies to all those who tempestuously advocate their political thinking on the social network.
I am well aware that my not subscribing to any particular political thought process is also open to fierce criticism but that puts me at a distinct advantage. Being unattached allows me to train my guns with objective crosswires though at times I am also sniped at by "friends" for being pro or anti something at that juncture.
Let me cap this with a small story. Once a prince, soon to be crowned as king, sets out on world tour to gain some experience in administration. Tired, in the night he decides to halt in a jungle. When he is fast asleep, a cobra emerges from the nearby furrow and is thrilled to find someone it could bite. Meanwhile another cobra emerges and feels the same way. There ensues a fight between the two on who will bite the prince first. Hearing the two quarrel, the prince wakes up and kills both with his sword.
Politics is the art of looking for trouble, finding it everywhere, diagnosing it incorrectly and applying the wrong remedies. I would rather be a prince on wisdom tour than a cobra fighting for a bite. Politics, they say, is the second oldest profession but it also bears a striking resemblance to the first. Now don't pan me for this. Hope you are all "liberal" enough to take this in your stride. 
    

Protection so divine!

Raju Korti
Doing a business without advertising is like winking at a girl in the dark. You know what you are doing but no one else does. So, be in the face. That seems to have become the working philosophy in these blatantly commercial times. I have no clue in heaven or hell nor a meter to gauge how much advertising is good advertising and where you draw the line. But in this complex maze of incalculable consumerism there is little doubting the overwhelming effect advertising has on not only the gullible of the likes of me but also those who have fine-tuned the art of seeing something genius gone into the making of even an utterly pedestrian advertisement. So each time the hairy brawns of a John Abraham or Arjun Rampal stare at me while they plough a razor on their facial wasteland and a petite young thing walks in at the precise minute to caress their feather-smooth cheeks, I am stung with the intensity of a mosquito bite. The reality doesn't seem to sink in that even my one and only wife of antique value of twenty-five years is nowhere around, let alone stroke my obstinate and ever-growing stubble.
Almost four decades of driving heavy-duty bikes like the BSA American, Bullet and Java may have held out their indescribable charms for me but your thrill is tempered when you know the only lady riding the pillion is your better(!) half constantly poking alerts about the vehicles you must to dodge to reach home in single piece.
Having spent donkey's years in the Media, it took decades for me to realize that advertising is only meant to create an anxiety that can be relieved by purchase. Lighter the pocket, lighter the anxiety! Often, the after-effects of advertising would raise my anxiety levels enough to miss the elementary fact that marketing is what you do when your product is no good. That, I thought, was a small consolation in the times when one has to sell oneself to survive the cut-throatism that obtains today.
Of course, I am not so visually impaired as to be carried away by the advertisement blitzkriegs that dot the Media these days. In my moments of sanity, which are few and far between, I am confronted by the excesses committed through visual scandals and outrageous sales lines that go into the making of advertisements. Advertising is the master-key that unlocks the wallets and handbags of all. No one is spared.
I do not know the rules of advertising grammar or glamour. If you are trying to persuade people to do something or buy something, it seems to me that using their language pays. Watch the dedicated slots given to the consumer products across television channels through tele-advertising beyond midnight. They have honed the skills to draw customers without resorting to any of the optical shame or scurrilous small talk passed off -- and justified -- in the name of copywriting. Better still, they dish out more excitement than most other channels that swear by wholesome entertainment.
I have spent sleepless nights -- watching with nothing but unvarnished admiration -- wonder gels that grow hair on your bald pate faster than the Congress grass or seaweed, liquid perfumes that draw people (read women) to you like iron filings do to magnet, vegetable cutters that slice and dice vegetables in shapes and sizes an artist cannot think of and lucky charms that turn your world Technicolor and all-fulfilling the minute you wear them around your neck.
Two of them have particularly caught my fancy. One is the Hanuman Chalisa Surakshayantra which is being promoted by Bharat's biggest Brand Ambassador Manoj Kumar. Of course, Mr Bharat doesn't do any talking since he knows by experience that it will only ruin the product. So it is left to ACP Pradyuman Shivaji Satam who takes time off his busy investigation schedule to wax eloquent on the potency of this "gold-plated" contraption even as a bald man speaks about the greatness of Lord Hanuman like there is no tomorrow or no other God to stand competition. Manoj Kumar just sits through with a poker face that we all have come to be acclimatized with in his unduly long acting career.
With the Hanuman Surakshayantra making such a divine impression, can the Allah Locket be far behind? This one has a bevvy of beauties with marble-smooth cheeks telling you how the locket has changed their dreadful lives 360 degrees. And then, they also warn you about the fakes abounding the market! It is as if the Jannat has descended down on Mother Earth. But this is done so convincingly that you forget Hey Bhagwan and Haye Allah.
The "victims" in these endorsements are more real than real. Your heart bleeds for the bald men who stop short of weeping their embarrassment out; or those who have lost their fortune in some business; or women who sweat in liters cutting those vegetables. And having summoned your indiscretion, comes the catch-line. "So what are you waiting for? Nikaliye apna credit card aur aaj hi order kijiye."
In my case, the line has drawn a blank only because my bank balance is not as strong as any of these products. If only it were not my fledgling fortunes, I would have been the most protected man with a Nazar Suraksha Kawach, Hanuman Yantra, Allah Locket (Yes, I am secular when it comes to my own interests) and all other potions, devices, gadgets and gizmos to make me a He Man and the Master of Universe.
Let me confess. For quite some time, I have been wanting to buy a Kuber Yantra. I am also waiting for a Jesus Amulet. Kuber is believed to be the God of Wealth. The only problem is I have no money to buy one. When you have less money, you have more sense, but who needs sense these days?
   

In through Rajiv, out through Rahul!

Raju Korti

In my more than three decades in Journalism, I happened to bump into the suave and urbane Jayanthi Natarajan only once when she was Minister of State for Coal, Civil Aviation and Parliamentary Affairs in 1997. Then, my interaction with her was mostly from the sidelines as a bystander at a press conference.
In the light of the new soap opera being played out on the Congress turf, I can now relate to a crucial but un-noticed link that instantly makes you realize there is something more than amiss in her claim that she was "forced to blow up Modi snoopgate" by a party that was thriving on "lies and suffocation".
Now Jayanthi is a lawyer by profession and politician by choice. So there is every reason why her frustrated outbursts on the party she willingly prospered in, should be taken more than on face value. Jayanthi's wavering conscience had poked her similarly when she chose to break away from the Congress over the functioning of then prime minister P V Narasimha Rao. She had joined old guard GK Moopanar, of whom one heard mostly as an "Observer" visiting dissidence-hit Congress-ruled states to perform fire-fighting operations. The TMC in its new found hatred for the Congress had embraced the DMK.
Quite easily among the more articulate faces among the party's spokesmen, it is not clear when exactly Jayanthi realized that the party was back to its "lies and suffocation" mode. Since Sonia Gandhi was the one who found her to be intelligible enough to be the party spokesperson and Rahul was the one who had "vilified, humiliated and sidelined" her, it can be deduced that she was well aware that "lies and suffocation" were nothing new in a party where sycophancy and loyalty were the only merits.
There is nothing incredulous about Jayanthi's contention that there was too much interference during her tenure as Union Minister of State for Forests and Environment. Political meddling is routine at ministerial levels. What is incredible is for someone as feisty as Jayanthi Natarajan -- who stood up to the party's bosses and had replaced Jairam Ramesh -- should have endured it for so long. Her qualification as a lawyer and the craft inherited through political lineage are inconsistent with her submissive posturing during the time she was encumbered by the subterfuge in the party.
That Jayanthi has enough political wisdom to deflect Rahul's maneuver is evident the way she has portrayed the issue. With allegations of overruling the Forests Advisory Committee (FAC) and handing out big ticket contracts doing the rounds during her tenure, it is believed that the former minister would soon be confronting a probe. The party's damage-control machinery has, as usual, put up a ham-handed defense of the latest fiasco. “It should be clear to one and all that at whose instance she wrote the letter are the ones who coined the phrase Jayanthi Tax. It is also clear that the pressure exerted from the same people is the reason why she has written this letter now,” said Abhishek Singhvi, whose briefings are seldom taken seriously.
While theories will abound in the next few days, here is my summary observation of the whole episode: Jayanthi Natarajan has been a lawyer by profession and politician by choice. That she was "forced to blow up Modi's snoopgate" by a party that thrives on "lies and suffocation" is a stunning example of self-indictment.

My friend Obama!

Obama's sketch courtesy friend Bhagvan Das

Raju Korti
You stumble upon friends in the most unlikeliest of people and dubitable of situations. After grappling with an irritable medical condition for years, I have found one in my adversity. In few minutes of enlightenment I have concluded that under the circumstances my best and abiding friend is -- justifiably or unjustifiably -- the world's most powerful man.
Thanks to garrulous Media, I found the common chord that binds us two at the extreme ends of the spectrum. United States' first Afro-American President who dropped down on the Indian soil barely twenty-four hours back suffers from the same disorder that my fragile body has been enduring for some time now.
So it was with a first-hand feeling of natural trepidation and second-hand feeling of certified glee that I discovered Obama is discomforted by the same Acid Reflux that has made my battered body its second home.
It is not my case here to burden you with the usual drivel about the roller coaster relations between New Delhi and Washington or Obama's palpable interests in investing India or his country's geopolitical compulsions. Nor do I wish to underline the subservient predilections of the Indian government in dealing with a nation that never stops labeling itself as the greatest democracy in the world.
My immediate concern was the probable predicament on the American President while some of the choicest dishes were laid out for the consumption of his brittle digestive system. For those who do not know, Acid Reflux is a condition where the food gulped down has a nasty habit of navigating back to the throat, resulting in hyper acidity and a feeling of nausea.
I do not know whether Obama battled a feeling a bile or of a drooling saliva when his gastronomic preferences were so robustly challenged with a range of epicurean delights. Though not a word was uttered about Kashmir as hotbed of world terrorism, the Valley made its presence felt through Galauti Kebabs, Mustard Fish, Saunfia Fish Tikka, Chicken Korma, Roasted Leg of Lamb with only a semblance of western involvement in Broccoli and Walnut Soup.
In my new-found love for Obama I wondered how could the Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi with his self-proclaimed 70 mm vision lose the sight of the emphatic advisory that the American President would not touch anything that was even remotely spicy. Quite likely Modi forgot in his overenthusiasm to break the protocol and reach out to him right at the tarmac that a patently Gujarati menu would have served the august guest's revolting stomach better. As someone who has been braving Acid Reflux with more pills than food, I should have been the natural choice to decide the right menu for the American President.
Hugs and protocol smiles are not known to cure Acid Reflux. As first step towards restoring a balance between the American interests in the world and Indian interests that percolate to only immediate neighborhood of South, West and South-East Asia, I suggest a tummy-to-tummy meeting between Obama and me. It will, if nothing, help restore the digestive system of the US, and I dare say this on the basis that my Acid Reflux is far more senior than that of Obama. The Americans have already showed perceptible improvement with their Communist neighbor Cuba. I can bring down the American acidity to a manageable extent.
Modi just needs to give me one chance. Obama will be guaranteed go back with an ear to ear smile and will give me a warmer frontal hug than he did to Modi. Acidity brought us together. Sweetness will do us apart.