Land of the Thunder Dragon: Part II

When you go to Bhutan, you travel in time as well as distance.

The kingdom does not have a single traffic light; you can still see uniformed traffic cops directing traffic with their hands, standing in specially built booths. Cigarette sales are banned. Bhutan has no advertisements and no billboards - not even from the government. The font size for the names of shops is prescribed and uniform. Bhutan was the last country on earth to get television (in 1999). Traditional dress is mandatory in government offices and some public places. Men wear a gho, a long single-piece robe belted and hitched up at the waist. Looking like a dressing gown, it is worn with knee-length socks. Women wear the kira, a floor-length straight dress with a blouse and short jacket. 

Bhutan has not an inch of railway, road transport is the only option. Being a mountainous region, no road is straight. Some roads are a roller coaster of zigzags and ups and downs. The view is generally one of mountains on one side and steep valleys on the other. The narrowness of the roads makes your heart pray to the Buddhist Gods you have just visited. Non-Bhutanese should never ever attempt to drive in Bhutan. When you return from Bhutan to your own country, you marvel at the straightness of the roads.

The kingdom propagates and monitors Gross National Happiness (GNH) rather than the Gross Domestic product (GDP), but I will write about that in another part.   

Live like a King

Foreigners, even Indians, can live like kings in Bhutan. Services are cheap and good.

Paro’s Gangtey Palace offers a hot stone bath. Riverside rocks are heated till red hot and slowly dropped into a wooden tub filled with water and scattered with Artemisia leaves and rose petals. The burning rocks heat the water and release minerals at the same time. Three tubs were prepared for my wife, daughter and me. The air temperature was around 10C. I briefly debated whether to let my five year old daughter see me completely naked. Convincing myself that nudeness is part of nature, I dropped all my clothes. You run to the tub shivering slightly, enter it and then lie in it for an hour or so. The soothing scent and the soaking in the hot mineral water have a meditative effect.

In Thimpu’s Namgay hotel, I treated myself to a manicure and pedicure with four young Bhutanese girls, two working on my hands and two on feet at the same time.  I felt much like the former king of Bhutan who had married four sisters. This was followed with a massage with aromatic oils. My wife and I took it on adjacent beds. Here the hotel took care to provide a young masseuse for my wife, and an old lady for me.

Each of these pampering services cost between 600/700 Rupees (12-14 USD then) per person.

So many queens’ palaces

One of our tasks on reaching Thimpu was to find the queen-grandmother. Surprisingly, there was no address anywhere, not on the letter from Mena’s uncle, not in the internet.

Bhutan’s fourth king, Jigme Singye Wangchuk, is an interesting person. Educated in India and England, he was a reformist king. He introduced the concept of Gross National Happiness. He had always maintained he would abdicate the throne on reaching 50, and he did it voluntarily by making his son the new king at 26. (Some monarchs won’t give up their crown even in their nineties).

If I remember correctly, the king went to ask for the hand of a girl he fell in love with. (They presumably met in India). Her elder sister was divorced, and she had two younger sisters. The girl’s father said if his daughter were to marry the king, who will marry the other three, particularly the divorced sister? By one girl marrying into royalty, the sisters can no longer marry commoners. To resolve the problem, the king offered to marry all four sisters. He married them in 1979 in a private ceremony, and was persuaded to hold a royal wedding nine years later.

Each queen was given a separate palace. As a result, Thimpu has so many queens’ palaces, we were at a loss to find the queen we were looking for.

Fax me what you are saying

While we were mulling our predicament, we bumped into an American lady at the only coffee shop in Thimpu, called Swiss Bakery. Kim is from New York. Going to Bhutan may be pricey for American and European tourists, but they can come to Bhutan to work or volunteer and none of the visa restrictions apply. Kim is an education adviser, working closely with the Bhutan foundation and the ministry of education. She had been living in Bhutan for some time. (She would later take us to see a couple of schools, an experience in itself). In Bhutan in general, and in Swiss bakery in particular, anyone can start talking with anybody without reason. We chatted with Kim, and during our talk mentioned the queen we were looking for.

“I can give you her secretary’s number” Kim wrote it down for me.

I called the number and the queen’s secretary picked it up on the second ring itself. I explained who we were, and how the queen we were looking for was a fan of my wife’s uncle. We were in Thimpu, and would love to meet her.

“Please write to me what you told me.” Queen’s secretary said.

“There is nothing more.” I said. I had explained everything there was to explain.

“You may write exactly what you told me, and send it by fax. Here is the fax number.”

Fortunately, our Thimpu hotel had a fax. I wrote our request and faxed it. I mentioned how long we would be in Thimpu. The same evening, the secretary called me. Two days later, on 1 May, the queen would see us in her palace at 4 pm, for an afternoon tea. Please ask your driver to call me, I will give him directions, he said.

Meeting with Chukie-om  

I spoke to Chukie-om the same evening. She said she would be happy to have us for afternoon tea the following day. Please give us your address, we will come on our own, I said.

Please don’t worry, I will meet you in the centre and take you to my home.

We agreed to meet outside the textile museum. I assumed Chukie-om’s house was at a walking distance from there. It wasn’t.

*****

Outside the textile museum the next day, waiting for Chukie-om, the three of us had no idea how to spot her. When you wait for a person you have never met, you observe each person walking towards you and wonder if that’s the one. I knew she spoke excellent English, but that told me nothing about how she looked or dressed.

A Prado Land cruiser Toyota suddenly stopped in front of us. In Bhutan, such cars attract more attention than elsewhere. A girl who looked like a Japanese princess came out and shook our hands. This was Chukie-om - the same person I had addressed as Mr Chukie-om not so long ago.

Visit to the Bhutanese house  

The land cruiser kept going up and up until we reached Chukie-om’s house, at the top of Thimpu. Its entrance reminded me of the Kew gardens in London. The vast garden welcomed you before you reached the house. Chukie-om’s father greeted us.

Some wise men, some geniuses have no small talk. Chukie-om’s father, Togbe Dorji, was one such man. As soon as we sat at the tea table, Togbe began telling us stories from Vajrayana Buddhism, Bhutan’s religion. He explained how the mantra “om mani padme hum” carved on prayer wheels across Bhutan comes from Sanskrit. In simple language, he elaborated how chanting of the mantra helps the purification of body, speech and mind.

Togbe Dorji did not talk like a preacher, his speech was practical and rational. His wife and Chukie-Om’s sister soon joined us. We were served tea. In some context, Togbe mentioned something about Delhi. It was evident he knew Delhi well.

“You seem to know India well.”

“I lived in Delhi for eight years.”

“Eight years? What did you work as?” I was struggling to imagine an Indian company hiring a Bhutanese for work, even a wise person like Togbe.

“I was Bhutan’s ambassador there.” Togbe said.

“Oh!” I said. “And before that?”

“Before that I was Bhutan’s ambassador to the USA – for seventeen years.”

“How does one become an ambassador here?” I asked. India has the Indian civil service established by the British. I didn’t think Bhutan would have anything similar.

“You see, my father was Bhutan’s Prime minister...”

“... until he was assassinated.” I completed the sentence reflexively. Suddenly the penny had dropped. Chukie-om Dorji and her father Togbe Dorji belonged to the Dorji lineage. If Togbe’s father was not assassinated Togbe and then probably Chukie-om could have been Bhutan’s prime ministers.

I narrated the 1964 assassination and its background to Togbe. I paid compliments to his murdered father for the reforms he had boldly carried out in Bhutan. My Bhutan reading had happened just before leaving; I could reproduce many details from my short-term memory.

Now Togbe and Chukie-0m were looking at me speechless.

“How do you know so much about the 1964 event?” Togbe asked me.

“This was explained in detail by Nari Rustomji in his book ‘the Dragon Kingdom in crisis.” I said.

“Oh, that explains it. That book is banned in Bhutan. We may have a copy lying somewhere in this house. But except our family few people in Bhutan would know these details.”

Chukie-om Dorji, who I initially assumed was a male clerk employed by Gangtey palace turned out to be the owner of Gangtey palace.

In our talk, we mentioned our visit to the queen-grandmother’s palace the following day. I also mentioned the difficulties we had until an American lady had helped us.

“Oh, she is my aunt.” Togbe said. “My father’s sister. I’ll call her now. I’ll tell her you two are with us now.” Togbe briefly left, made the call and came back. “I believe Chukie-om is arranging a car for you, to take you to Punakha and Bumthang. Good. Tshering is the driver’s name. He’ll pick you up from your hotel tomorrow and take you to my aunt’s palace. No need to get directions, he has been there many times.”

We thanked Togbe, Chukie-om and the rest of the family. The land cruiser dropped us back. We had managed to visit a Bhutanese house as I had wanted. But neither the house nor its occupants represented the average Bhutanese population.

(Continued next week)

Ravi

Land of the Thunder Dragon: Part I

India and China, the world’s two most populous countries, share nearly 3500 km of their border. Borders, by their nature, are prone to dispute. China calls one of the Indian states, Arunachal Pradesh, part of South Tibet. Not only foreigners, but Indians also require a permit to visit Arunachal. Over the last two months, a street-fight without casualties took place at a point called Doklam. China planned to build a road there. As the Chinese advanced with vehicles and construction materials, Indian soldiers confronted them with weapons and bulldozers. The standoff continued for two months. Finally better sense prevailed, and two weeks ago both sides withdrew. Some people who read the news were confused, because India openly admitted Doklam didn’t belong to India. India was fighting on behalf of Bhutan.

Many Indians are not certain if Bhutan is in or out of India. Non-Indians may not know where Bhutan is on the map. My family and I have fond memories of Bhutan - my wife, daughter and I had visited it for more than a month in 2009.

The Paro Airport

The kingdom of Bhutan has only one airport – Paro. We landed early in the morning. The quaint green airport rooftop made the building look like a Buddhist monastery. Outside, the magnificent Himalayas seemed close enough to touch. The air was so pure, we wanted to keep breathing it to fill our lungs. We drove straight to our hotel - Gangtey Palace, a former palace converted. We saw very few people, and they were differently dressed. Some men wore skirts.

In the hotel room, which was truly palatial, I unpacked the bags. I wished to take the passports and cash and deposit them in the hotel safe. I couldn’t find our passports.

‘Mena, where are the passports, I can’t find them.’ I said loudly.

Devyani, our daughter, five year old then, immediately said, “Dad, it’s great if you have lost the passports. We won’t need to go back.”

A five-year old had understood the spirituality of the place on arrival.

No backpackers please  

I am writing in the wrong chronological sequence. My preparation for the Bhutan trip had started more than six months before that. As I learnt in the process, we could go to Bhutan thanks to that long-term planning.

Only the Bhutanese airlines-Druk Air-is allowed to fly to Bhutan. And it wasn’t selling tickets online. I called their authorised agent in Calcutta.

‘You better hurry up,’ he said, ‘on the day you want to fly; only three seats are left.’

‘Sorry, maybe you misunderstood. We plan to fly six months from now, in April next year.’

“I understand,’ he said ‘that’s the flight where three seats are left.’

‘If the demand is so high, why doesn’t Druk air fly more often?’ I asked.

‘Bhutan doesn’t want tourists. The tourists will spoil it.’

I bought the tickets. We didn’t plan to spoil Bhutan.

‘All of you have Indian passports, right?”

“Yes. What difference does that make?”

“If you are not Indian, you will need to pay lots of money in advance.” He said, kindly.

As I learnt, all foreigners needed to deposit 250 US Dollars per day per person (now 300 USD) when applying for a visa. A family of four Americans visiting Bhutan for two weeks need to cough out nearly 17,000 dollars for a visa. That expense covers hotels and other expenses. But there is no way you can live cheaply. Foreigners must take a flight, meaning Druk Air, they can’t enter Bhutan by road.

Not surprisingly, throughout our travel across Bhutan, we never saw a single white (or black) backpacker. The only foreigners we met were mostly elderly, or if young, highly successful.

Indians, fortunately for my family, are not classified as foreigners. The visa rules don’t apply to Indians. When we went, Indians could enter Bhutan even with a driving licence or a voter card, allowed to enter by road.  

Why this special treatment? Because under a friendship treaty, India takes care of Bhutan’s defence. That is why when China tries to make inroads into Bhutan, Indian soldiers rush to help the Bhutanese.

The hereditary prime minister

India, Russia, United States of America celebrate their respective independence days. Bhutan doesn’t. Because it has always been independent.

At the beginning of the twentieth century, the British assessed the mountainous terrain and decided it was better to let Bhutan have their own king. Before 1905, the rulers were under the authority of the Tibetan Lamas – the spiritual masters. Bhutan was essentially made of warring tribes. The British stepped in and identified a wise man, Ugyen Dorji, as a king.

I don’t want to be the king, he said, but I would be happy to be the king-maker. He recommended the name of Ugyen Wangchuk, a great warrior who had won many battles and was the de facto ruler of Bhutan.

It was agreed Ugyen Wangchuk would become Bhutan’s first monarch. Ugyen Dorji would become the first prime minister. And both the royal lineage and the prime minister’s lineage would be hereditary. Not only that, the two families would inter-marry so as to preserve the power within the Wangchuk and Dorji dynasties. This arrangement continued well until 1964.

Jigme Palden Dorji was Bhutan’s PM from 1952 to 1964. Though a Dorji, he had some royal Wangchuk blood as well. He was a reformist, and an able administrator. The military and the monks didn’t like his modernization attempts. Jigme Dorji was assassinated in April 1964. Among those executed following his killing was the king’s uncle who had ordered the assassination.

Lhendup Dorji alias Lenny, brother of the assassinated PM was a playboy. He was showing Shirley MacLaine, the American actress, around Bhutan at the time when his brother was killed. Unfit to be a prime minister, Lhendup Dorji and the remaining family were sent into exile. The hereditary PM-ship ended with the assassination.

Bombay’s 200-year old Asiatic library had only six books on Bhutan. One of them was the ‘Dragon kingdom in crisis’ by Nari Rustomji, India’s political attaché to Bhutan at that time. He gave an excellent firsthand account of the events surrounding the assassination. Yangki, the king’s concubine, enjoyed unlimited informal powers through the king. Her relatives lived above the law. The mistress accompanied the king more often than the queen to government functions. She had two sons and two daughters from the king, but the children were without titles.  Yangki used the state’s resources as she wished. She once ordered the military vehicles to carry her luggage. The hyper-efficient prime minister, on hearing that, said military vehicles can’t be used by civilians and had the luggage unloaded. The king was ill in a hospital in Switzerland. The Army saw this as an insult to the honour of the king. According to Rustomji, this event may have sparked the assassination plot.

The queen is my fan

A few weeks before our trip to Bhutan, we were in Jagalbet, visiting Mena’s uncle Manohar Malgonkar, in his village house. Manohar Malgonkar, 96 then, was a well known novelist having written more than fifty books. (The Princes, A bend in the Ganges, Men who killed Gandhi, the Devil’s wind and others). We told him about our forthcoming trip to Bhutan.

“Oh,” he said. “You must meet the Queen. Only this week I have received a letter from her. Mena, you’ll find it on that table. She’s my fan. She has read many of my books. Every time she reads my book, I get a letter from her. You must go and meet her.”

We promptly found the letter in a gold-lettered royal envelope. Ashi Kesang Choden was her name. She was a queen when she started reading uncle’s books, but by 2009, she had already become a grandmother-queen, the world’s only grandmother-queen. We asked uncle’s permission to take the letter with us. Showing it may open the door of a palace.

The small cash

I was preparing for Bhutan on many fronts. Library books gave me a good background of Bhutan’s history. Internet research advised me on the practical aspects. Bhutan had its own currency, Ngultrum, but it also accepted Indian rupees. No credit cards, no debit cards, no traveller’s cheques, ATMs unlikely to work. You must carry cash for your entire journey. India’s two big denominations, Rs 500 and Rs 1000 were illegal in Bhutan. (The prescient Bhutan had demonetised them decades before Narendra Modi did).

Since the Indian ATMs usually give higher denominations, I called my bank manager and asked him to arrange cash in Rs 50/100 notes. That was the only time I had made such an unusual request. When I went to collect the money, the bank manager invited me to his cabin.

“Is everything alright?” He asked.

“Yes, of course. Why?” I said.

“Normally, people ask for cash in small denominations when someone is kidnapped. I was a bit worried.”

“Oh no, nobody is kidnapped. I am going with my family to Bhutan for a month.”

Gangtey Palace hotel

At the same time, I was sending emails to various hotels I had found through my internet research.

Gangtey Palace in Paro, where we would land, seemed like a great ‘value for money’ option. I didn’t know how good Bhutanese were with English. But some Chukie-om Dorji from the hotel wrote emails in excellent English. Not knowing the protocols in the kingdom, I initially addressed him as Mr Chukie-om but after a few emails simply as Chukie-om. He gave us what I thought was a fabulous deal – a suite like room, all three meals included for the price of a small room in a Bombay hotel with no food. We later learnt that in Bhutan all hotels include three meals for every guest. Only in Bumthang, much later during our trip, we would understand the reason for that custom.

No safes

Coming back to our room in Gangtey Palace, I finally managed to find the passports. Looking for a safe everywhere in our spacious suite, I didn’t find one. I decided to visit the reception with our passports and a bag full of Indian small currency notes.

‘I would like to deposit this in the hotel safe, please.’ I said to the person at the counter, speaking slowly and stressing on each syllable.

‘You...keep in the room.’ She said.

‘Sorry, there is no safe in the room. I looked everywhere. That’s why I came down.’

‘We have no safe in the hotel.’ The Bhutanese girl said. ‘Your room is very safe. Nothing will happen to your money or documents.’ None of the hotels we stayed at in Bhutan had a safe. And nothing ever happened to our money or documents. We could have probably left our suitcases on the road.

Chukie-om

‘Who is Chukie-om here?’ I asked the men at the reception. I had corresponded with him for weeks and found him to be quite helpful. I thought I should thank him in person.

‘Chukie-om Dorji? She lives in Thimpu, not here.’ The reception girl said.

‘She? I am talking of the person who emailed me.’

“Yes. Chukie-om. A girl. Lives in Thimpu. Would you like to speak to her?’

I said yes. The voice coming from Thimpu, the capital of Bhutan, was sweet and polished. I thanked her. After Paro, we would move to Thimpu, I said.

‘When you are in Thimpu, please give me a call. You can join my family for a cup of tea.’ She said.

I was delighted. I wanted to see a Bhutanese house anyway. To see how an average Bhutanese person lived. An opportunity had walked my way without any effort. I immediately said yes.

(To be continued)

Ravi

Murders and Free Speech

This week, on Tuesday, 5 September, Gauri Lankesh, 55, editor of a weekly newspaper, was shot dead outside her house by unknown assailants.

Before that Narendra Dabholkar, 67 (murdered on 20 Aug 2013), Govind Pansare, 81 (20 Feb 2015) and M.M.Kalburgi, 76 (30 Aug 2015) were all killed in a similar fashion, by unknown helmeted bikers, using 7.65 mm pistols, firing several shots  at point blank range to make certain the victim was dead.

“Is free speech under attack in the world’s largest democracy? Who is next?” Asked Washington post the following day.

“In India, another government critic is silenced by bullets”, said the New York Times headline.

“The murder of journalist Gauri Lankesh shows India descending into violence”, asserted UK’s Guardian.

An interesting case

As a peace-loving person, I denounce all killings, pre-meditated, impulsive, war related, state sponsored; irrespective of who the victim or the killer is. The following analysis is neither sentimental nor political. I will try to be as objective as is humanly possible and fact-based where facts are available. As a writer based in India, I am certainly an interested party when questions are raised about the freedom of speech in India.  The case of the cold-blooded murder this week and the reactions to it present several interesting points.

Narendra Dabholkar’s murder

The evening before his murder, Narendra Dabholkar visited his sister Amarja at Mahim, less than 500 meters from my house. Amarja has been my mother’s friend for several decades. I have read many of Dabholkar’s books. Dabholkar was an intellectual, progressive person, committed to his mission of dispelling superstition in Maharashtra. His books expose perversity in certain backward sections of Indian society, where infants are sacrificed by throwing them from the top of a building (supposedly to please certain Gods). Dabholkar relentlessly tried to fight black magic. As a qualified medical doctor, he scientifically demonstrated to gullible masses how “miracles” can be performed. Despite stiff resistance, he tried to get the State to outlaw those practising superstition and black magic.

Dabholkar was called a rationalist. His agenda was neither political nor religious. It was against self proclaimed Godmen, dubious tantriks and pseudo-gurus who exploited the illiterates. Dabholkar, Pansare and Kalburgi were all scholars, authors of several books and social activists.

Gauri Lankesh was different. Her constant criticism of Hinduism, her attempts to pronounce Lingayat as a religion separate from Hinduism show she was not a rationalist. A rationalist criticises the ills in all religions, not focusing on a specific religion. The difference between Dabholkar’s and Lankesh’s activism is not a matter of semantics. It is to show how wrong it is to put them in one bracket. There was a clear motive to kill Dabholkar, none to kill Lankesh.

Motive

Journalists, particularly the activists among them, have been killed at regular intervals in India. There is nothing new about it. In the last twenty five years, some 71 journalists have been murdered. Most of them wrote in local languages. (I presume people in the English media are either more cautious, reach fewer people, or are savvy enough to use police protection). In most cases, the murdered journalists were trying to unearth some corruption scandal or investigate a serious crime. A corrupt politician or a professional criminal can easily silence a journalist before the damaging story comes out. That’s a clear motive. Similarly, in Dabholkar’s case, had his efforts succeeded, many charlatan gurus would have lost their luxurious lifestyles. (Some of them do land in Indian jails, but only after manipulating their devotees for years). What they practised without restraint would have become illegal and criminal. It was better to get rid of Dabholkar before he succeeded. That was not the case with Gauri Lankesh. Based on current data, she didn’t pose a threat to anybody’s livelihood.

The Naxal angle

Naxalites are the Indian group of Maoists-communists, who since 1967 aim to overthrow the government through violent uprisings. They resent the Indian State taking over the tribal forest lands that belonged to them. The Naxalite-government conflict has been among India’s most blood-spattered conflicts. The Naxalite movement was mainly active in West Bengal. But several other states, including Karnataka were affected. Gauri Lankesh was a Naxal sympathiser. The Karnataka government had used her as a mediator. Lankesh actively sought to rehabilitate Naxalites by bringing them into the “mainstream”. This expression denotes a Naxalite surrendering, and the government helping his family with monthly allowance for a number of years. Some reporters have speculated that Lankesh’s connection with Naxalites could have caused her murder.

The problem with this theory is that the movement was already weak in Karnataka. In 2010, Karnataka was removed from the list of Naxal-affected states. More importantly, the central government and Gauri Lankesh were on the same page. Both wished to bring the Naxalites into the mainstream. And if Naxalite revolutionaries were upset about it, they should have gotten rid of Lankesh before 2010, not now.

The Hindutva brigade, RSS, BJP, Far right

Social media these days serves as a platform for civil wars. Facebook and Twitter have two camps. Depending on how debauched a person is, hate is spewed out towards the opposite camp. This is a worldwide phenomenon. I call the verbal exchange an ‘uncivil war’ and call that part of social media ‘anti-social media’. One can opt to take part in this hate war, or ignore it like we ignore pornographic websites. This verbal exchange by the curators of hate is usually devoid of literary talent, rational arguments or factual basis.

One such Indian civil war takes place between Modi fans and Modi haters. Modi haters think of him as a genocidal autocrat, his party fascist, his associates terrorists. They call him the Supreme Leader, they deride his fans as Modi Bhakts (devotees), and they paint Hinduism with saffron, a colour so terrible that India’s bleak future lies in its possible saffronisation. India currently doesn’t have a worthwhile opposition leader. The opposite camp has no choice but to attack the Modi haters. Two of the Indian portmanteau terms used are presstitutes and sickular. On Twitter, you don’t need to create anything new. You can simply take the venom of your liking and retweet it. When millions retweet, a giant hate cloud is formed in the air.

Gauri Lankesh belonged to the camp of Modi/Hindutva/BJP/RSS haters. Her Twitter page is filled with an artillery of hate re-tweets. She herself acknowledges some of her posts are not verified and may be fake. 

One proposed theory is that her murder was the result of her relentless attacks on BJP/RSS/Hindutva brigade. 

To test this theory, let us assume it was a state-sponsored killing. In order to silence a Hindutva/Modi critic, the ruling party decided to silence her for ever.

There are two reasons why a contract killing is ordered: threat or revenge.

Gauri Lankesh was not a threat of any kind. Her local weekly tabloid was small, its circulation was between 10,000 and 15,000. As a Naxal activist, her interests matched with the government. Her social media posts were nothing out of the ordinary.

And if revenge was a motive, and Lankesh was punished for her persistent criticism of the Hindutva brigade, then a few more million Indians would need to be murdered. Millions of Indians post, tweet or re-tweet stuff similar to what Gauri Lankesh posted. Why target her?

That is the reason I reject the theory of a state sponsored murder. No doubt there may be private Hindu groups willing and capable of terrorising and killing. They still need to have a motive to target Gauri Lankesh from among the millions saying the same things day in and day out. Why her?

A woman

Also noteworthy is that a woman activist was targeted. Of course, several women are routinely killed in India, by husbands, lovers, boyfriends, in-laws. But as far as assassinations of politicians or journalists are concerned, I can’t remember anyone apart from Indira Gandhi. The Indian Prime Minister was killed by her Sikh bodyguard as revenge for her sending troops to assault the holiest Sikh temple. A very clear motive.

Please look at this list of Indian journalists murdered as a result of their work between 1992 and 2016.

They are all men.

One reason, of course, could be that there are fewer women in politics and journalism. The other reason could be that many religions and moral laws prohibit the killing of women and children. Quite often, hijackers and terrorists let the women go, and keep the men hostage or kill them. Even terrorists can have a lower boundary below which they can’t fall.

That’s what surprises me in this case. Targeting a woman for media impact or terrorising is bizarre. In India, a woman getting killed in a private feud is far more probable than a planned killing by a terror group.

Getting away with murder

Dabholkar, Pansare, Kalburgi were murdered, but their killers are not found. This has been projected as evidence that the killers of journalists, intellectuals, rationalists are backed by the police and the state. This is another myth.

The above three murders and Gauri Lankesh’s murder happened in two adjoining states: Maharashtra and Karnataka. The Indian rate of disposal of cases by the police is 71.6%. Maharashtra (59.9%) and Karnataka (63.8%) have rates much lower than the national average. This indicates that in Maharashtra, in 4 out of 10 cases, investigation is not completed. The police force is underpaid and overburdened. India is not as well covered by CCTV as richer, Western countries. Contract killings by bikers using smuggled or homemade pistols are the most difficult to resolve.

The Indian intolerance  

A picture has been projected to suggest the intolerance and violence in India is growing, particularly in the last three years (meaning since the time Modi became India’s PM).

A country half of whose citizens have little or no access to reliable electricity, drinking water or toilet; 50% of whose children are underweight, and 30 million citizens alarmingly hungry; where 1.3 billion people are squashed in 2% of world’s land; where diversity is such that a banknote needs to be printed in 17 languages; should have had gory social revolutions long ago. The fact that for seventy years India has remained one despite immense poverty and abysmal quality of life, suggests its extreme tolerance.

The perception that India has become increasingly intolerant after Modi/BJP government is rarely fact based. In the context of this article, it should be noted that Narendra Dabholkar was murdered when both in his state (Maharashtra) and at the centre (Delhi) the Congress government ruled. Unless Modi/BJP began intolerance with retrospective effect, the Dabholkar case can’t be offered as proof of BJP’s intolerance.  

Murders and freedom of speech

Journalists’ murder statistic is not necessarily co-related to freedom of speech. For example, in the past twenty five years, only two journalists have been killed in China and none in Saudi Arabia and North Korea.

That India regularly loses journalists/activists to attacks implies they continue to exercise their freedom irrespective of the risks. Many journalists/writers are naive in thinking nobody would actually bother to kill them. M.M.Kalburgi, one of the three scholars killed, had police protection. He asked the state government to withdraw it. Within 15 days after the withdrawal, he was killed. Both Kalburgi and Gauri Lankesh might have been alive today, if they had police protection.

Politicians the world over enjoy a high level of security. That is one reason they remain safe. Every writer, journalist, intellectual receiving death threats must ask for police protection.

Conclusion

My views in summary:

(1)               The murder of Gauri Lankesh can’t be put in the same bracket with that of Narendra Dabholkar, simply because the killing modus operandi was the same. Dabholkar’s killing had a motive, Lankesh’s didn’t. (Or at least we don’t know yet).

(2)              If Lankesh was killed because of her strong views against Hinduism and the ruling party, a few more millions would need to be murdered. Why pick her, why pick a woman?

(3)              The probability is that Lankesh was killed for a specific reason (of a private or local nature) by the person/group who ordered the killing. India has enough madmen, enough mercenaries, and enough smuggled or homemade pistols.

(4)              Given the context of poverty, overcrowding and diversity, India remains one of the most tolerant countries. The default for a poor country is dictatorship. India is a notable exception.

(5)              The rate of killing of Indian journalists has not changed over the past twenty five years. There is more noise than substance, more propaganda than facts to say the freedom of speech or tolerance levels have deteriorated since Modi’s arrival. They have become worse, in line with the global deterioration. Part of social media encourages hate campaigns and intolerance. If one were to study Indian social media, we now have the highest level of freedom of speech.

            Readers disagreeing with my conclusion are welcome to send me facts (real facts, not alternative facts) to substantiate how tolerance, violence and speech freedom have gone down in India.

Ravi

Poliana

Of all the essential things we need for survival, air is free.  Because its supply is abundant. You pay for air only when dissatisfied with its temperature. Conditioning of air, cooling and heating both, is generally paid for. Other than that, free air is taken for granted. We notice air only when we are short of it.

The fastest moving consumer good

Food is equally critical for survival. Unlike air, it is not free. In fact, that is one commodity we pay for every day. Food is the fastest moving consumer good. Out of habit, we consume three meals a day: breakfast, lunch and dinner. The word breakfast is interesting. It talks about breaking a fast. What fast? The fast that we, unfortunately, have to suffer during our night sleep. Breakfast, lunch and dinner are the three key milestones of our day. We perform different activities during the breaks between meals. No wonder that none of the readers of this article, nor its writer, really knows what hunger means. Just as air is appreciated only when we are deprived of it, hunger is understood only when food is unavailable.

In this age of globalisation, the availability of food is not global. According to UNICEF data, every 3.6 seconds a child dies of starvation somewhere in the world. Tonight, at the restaurant table we may face the dilemma of stuffing our overfull stomachs with those last two slices of the giant pizza or letting them go. At the same time, five million people in South Sudan are experiencing life-threatening food shortages. South Sudanese able to get a single meal a day are considered blessed. In my own country, thirty million people are considered alarmingly hungry and malnourished, and 50% of the children are underweight. If the Sudanese hunger is partly war related, the Indian hunger is a result of not having enough food supply or the ability to access it. India’s second largest state Madhya Pradesh (72 million) is the epicentre of hunger. It ranks worse than Ethiopia and Sudan in the hunger index.

In our lifetime, the world has been adding 1 billion people every 12 years, taking the global population from 5 billion in 1987 to 7.5 billion this year. It is projected to reach 9 billion by 2042. All 9 billion would want two or three meals a day. Scientists may one day invent instant food pills made in labs. Even if invented, they are unlikely to be tasty, more like the e-cigarettes that failed to satisfy smokers. The world will have to rely on agriculture to feed the 9 billion.

Non-vegetarians may feel they have found a solution to the agricultural food crisis. In fact, meat-eating makes the problem worse. Chickens, cows, sheep and pigs need vast amounts of food and water. If the entire world were to become vegetarian, it will have at least two times more food and a lot more water than today. It takes 27 litres of water to produce one pound of potatoes, but 9000 litres to produce a pound of beef. (Interesting for vegans: It takes 1000 litres of water to produce one litre of milk). Meat-eating also eats up vast amounts of land. An Indian family living on rice, beans, vegetables and fruit can produce their food and live comfortably on an acre of land or less. An average American, who consumes nearly 300 pounds of meat a year, needs 20 times more.

Competition for land and water

Arable land is land capable of being ploughed and used to grow crops. (Land on which cattle graze may be agricultural, but not arable). Only 10.6% of the world’s land is arable. Arable land per person is declining rapidly, in the last fifty years from 0.4 hectares to 0.2 hectares.

Water is in shortage, and agricultural lands have to compete with cities for water. Bio fuels are now produced on the same agricultural land. Fuel vs food is a burning debate. The fields that can feed people are diverted to feed diesel-hungry vehicles.

When food crisis exists and is certain to become acute, when demand for food far exceeds its supply, why do people keep migrating from rural to urban areas? Why are there shortages of farm workers everywhere?

City and village

Instead of working in nature, breathing fresh and clean air, eating healthy organic food, living in spacious houses; most of my family and friends prefer to work in air-conditioned offices with no open windows, stare at a computer screen for ten hours a day, eat a high calorie diet, commute daily for two to three hours either in overcrowded transport or in slow-moving traffic, breathe polluted air, and live on top of one another. Why?

Being a city-lover myself, this is a question I have often thought of. I mainly lived in two big cities, Bombay and Moscow. (I like to be surrounded by 10 million people.) Following is the list I had prepared to justify living in a city rather than a village. (1) 24-hour electricity (2) 24-hour water (3) Internet (4) gym (5) library (6) cinema halls (7) education (8) medical facilities (9) jobs and (10) people, lots of them.

After visiting Martin’s Bulgarian farm Poliana, I began to question this list for the first time.

Poliana, the Bulgarian farm

Martin, our WWOOF host in Bulgaria was very different from Jurek in Poland. Martin qualified as a Chartered Accountant, with an additional degree in international relations and worked for Price Waterhouse for many years. Later he was a successful corporate executive working as a finance director for a major oil company. He speaks in many languages, is a well-read intellectual, appreciates art and has a well developed aesthetic sense. Not really the profile of an organic farmer.

Nine years ago, taking advantage of the recession, he decided to buy 1000 hectares of agricultural land at throwaway prices. It was situated in South-eastern Bulgaria. The population of the village Poliana is 216. Martin gave up his blooming corporate career and became an organic farmer. The hundreds of hectares he bought now produce wheat, rye, sunflowers, lentils, organic almonds, organic walnuts, lavender, salvia, chamomile, dill and many herbs. He exports his herbs and other products to Germany and other European markets.

Parallel to that, the farm breeds sheep, cows, goats, bees, ducks, chicken, pigs, ostriches and other animals.

It is worth noting that Martin could have made lots of easy money by re-selling the land. Instead, he decided to cultivate it, and make money the hard way.

The most incredible thing on the farm was the guest house he has built overlooking the hundreds of hectares. The owners, the guests, and the WWOOFers stay here. This farmhouse is a modern palace - built tastefully, with all modern amenities, and a speedy internet. Mena was commissioned to paint murals on two walls in the outer coffee lounge.

Meeting Martin and the stay at his farmhouse shattered a few myths for me.

Agriculture can attract a city person. Martin admitted he had no connection with farms before. /Agriculture can be a profitable business. /The farmhouse had 24-hour electricity, 24-hour water, internet, lots of books, five-star interior and satellite television.

There was no gym, but I could run every day in the fresh air, sometimes not meeting a single soul or vehicle for hours. (True, a single horsefly once ran 21 km along with me, buzzing all the way without stinging me. I felt an immediate sympathy for horses). 

Yes, you can’t have millions of people around you in a village. But in the cities, how many amongst those millions have the time or desire to meet you? The megacity crowd is an illusion. Crowded metros have many lonely people. People are becoming self-centred (or Selfie-centred), and relations increasingly digital. I suppose a lack of people as an objection to rural life is no longer as strong. Sitting in Poliana, the Bulgarian village, I talked regularly with my parents and friends around the world on Skype and Facetime.

That brings down the list of the advantages of a city over village life to three. (a) Jobs (b) education and (c) medical.

Martin, with his example, showed that agriculture can be a good business. The career of a farm owner can be as lucrative as that of a corporate executive.

Education of children remains a problem in villages anywhere in the world. Adults can’t really move to rural areas until their children’s school education is over. However with the internet, self-education is no longer a problem.

Medical facilities are usually available in the nearest town. However, if you breathe clean air, work in nature, and eat organic food; medical access won’t be at the top of your mind. The longest living people on earth are found in the villages of Okinawa, Japan; Sardinia, Italy and Loma Linda, California. Not in the cities of London, Paris, Moscow or Bombay.

Takeaway

My biggest takeaway from meeting Martin and staying at his farmhouse in Bulgaria was that it is possible for city people to live and work in rural areas. In the modern world, most of the city amenities can be made available in a village. Food insecurity is one of the global problems, and will continue to be so during our lifetime. Shrewd decisions can make agriculture a successful business.

The problem of company can be solved by a bunch of like-minded people forming a commune and living on a farm.

Martin’s Poliana showed, against my expectations, that reverse migration can enhance the quality of one’s life.

Ravi