Narendra Modi's fast, which ended on Monday, was sheer theatre. To understand it, one has to see it as a text in itself. It succeeds or fails as high drama. As beginnings go, it was auspicious. The script looked tight. The public event begins on a personal note. He visits his mother on his birthday and she gifts him a Ramcharitmanas.
The university convention hall hired for his performance is perfect space for drama. For the first two days, the crowd is impressive. People visit the hall like they visit a picnic spot or tourist centre. The plot moves along predictable lines, our hero seeming to grow in strength. The pracharak as bit actor grows to Napoleonic proportions. He is much more confident with TV.
Modi's choice of words is immaculate, as quotable quotes gush out in impressive frequency. He treats himself as a verb, a man of action while his critics become sluggish, impotent shadows before his will to power. He makes interesting caveats. He claims he is all for democracy, and looks forward to criticism. He then adds it is allegations he does not like.
The body language of the man is fascinating. Symbolically this is a body constructed around certainties. It has not smelled doubt, can raise a fist in victory but cannot ask for forgiveness. One scene in particular is evocative. When an imam offers him a skull cap, Modi hesitates and asks him to offer his chadar instead. One realises he is trying hard but his body still signals the old biases.
There is narcissism in the air. The man plays monarch receiving a people. He thaws as the crowds come to wish him. The journalists filming the show are impressed. Even sceptics realise the impact of Modi on the middle class is amazing. He seems to represent all they look for - decisiveness, commitment, a no-nonsense attitude to the world, confidence about the future. All is gung-ho till the last day when the mirror cracks for a moment.
A senior TV journalist, an absolute professional known for his sense of balance, makes a mild criticism of Modi. The change is electric. The crowd turns wild, and becomes a mob threatening to smash the cameras. One suddenly realises that this is a fan club, that critics are not welcome. The body and body politic are in unison. The message is of homogeneity and unanimity. Dissent as noise becomes unwelcome music in this orchestrated world of politics.
Modi is a master of dress. He is the ultimate model always dressed for the occasion. There are moments he exchanges traditional turbans, each one an aesthetic delight. The dignity of the ritual is impressive. His choice of colour for each occasion and sense of ceremony are faultless. He is a semiotician's delight. No longer an ascetic pracharak in predictable white, this man understands the costume ball of power, revels in the state as theatre and has in fact turned Gujarat into the first theatrical state of Indian democracy. He has no Lal Qila or Lutyens' Delhi to back him but he understands theatre, especially historical plays where he is the plot unfolding.
The play at the university hall becomes a microcosm of his vision of politics. There is the leader, the hero invoking his ancestors, and there is the mass as the chorus. All communication is between the leader and the people. The leader proposes, the masses greet it with acclamation. He sees in society his own self. He is now the pracharak magnified to the power of thousand.
As an actor he is magnificent. His delivery is powerful, resonant, his pauses effective. It is the script that fails him. As he moves from Act I to Act II and has to express doubt, show something that indicates guilt or echoes responsibility, his text fails him. Even a moment's prayer, a stumble would have redeemed him. When he says he has felt the pain of every victim, the spectator senses the emphasis is on the inflated I and not the victim. The victims' right to suffer personally is lost in the historicity of this monumental ego. This is an actor who cannot play out guilt, whose certainties are so steadfast that compassion, grief, humility seem to be alien traits.
This is a play about solidarity. But Modi refuses to talk to the victims. They do not even enter his play. This is a politician claiming he is indifferent to the language of minority and majority politics, who declares his preference for development as a text. There is no ethics of memory in his statements, no recognition of a wrong done, an atrocity committed. He wants a clear sheet for his role in history. Neither minority nor marginal has any role in his play. His language seeks to homogenise, wants unity and seeks to handle dissent through grievance procedures. Even pain is pro forma before it can access him.
His flaws are obvious, and yet so is his intelligence. This is a man who has mastered symbolism, who understands the swadeshi idiom, whose every dress is a message. To reduce this drama to a makeover will not do. The complexity of the man is in the size of his stage, the increased scale at which he plays his politics. This is why the opposition's homework is inadequate. It needs to examine the very symbols he has appropriated from it and study his tactics as a politician. Modi has to be understood to be defeated. The standard styles of opposition will not do. Dissent needs to be more inventive.
The writer is a social scientist .
The university convention hall hired for his performance is perfect space for drama. For the first two days, the crowd is impressive. People visit the hall like they visit a picnic spot or tourist centre. The plot moves along predictable lines, our hero seeming to grow in strength. The pracharak as bit actor grows to Napoleonic proportions. He is much more confident with TV.
Modi's choice of words is immaculate, as quotable quotes gush out in impressive frequency. He treats himself as a verb, a man of action while his critics become sluggish, impotent shadows before his will to power. He makes interesting caveats. He claims he is all for democracy, and looks forward to criticism. He then adds it is allegations he does not like.
The body language of the man is fascinating. Symbolically this is a body constructed around certainties. It has not smelled doubt, can raise a fist in victory but cannot ask for forgiveness. One scene in particular is evocative. When an imam offers him a skull cap, Modi hesitates and asks him to offer his chadar instead. One realises he is trying hard but his body still signals the old biases.
There is narcissism in the air. The man plays monarch receiving a people. He thaws as the crowds come to wish him. The journalists filming the show are impressed. Even sceptics realise the impact of Modi on the middle class is amazing. He seems to represent all they look for - decisiveness, commitment, a no-nonsense attitude to the world, confidence about the future. All is gung-ho till the last day when the mirror cracks for a moment.
A senior TV journalist, an absolute professional known for his sense of balance, makes a mild criticism of Modi. The change is electric. The crowd turns wild, and becomes a mob threatening to smash the cameras. One suddenly realises that this is a fan club, that critics are not welcome. The body and body politic are in unison. The message is of homogeneity and unanimity. Dissent as noise becomes unwelcome music in this orchestrated world of politics.
Modi is a master of dress. He is the ultimate model always dressed for the occasion. There are moments he exchanges traditional turbans, each one an aesthetic delight. The dignity of the ritual is impressive. His choice of colour for each occasion and sense of ceremony are faultless. He is a semiotician's delight. No longer an ascetic pracharak in predictable white, this man understands the costume ball of power, revels in the state as theatre and has in fact turned Gujarat into the first theatrical state of Indian democracy. He has no Lal Qila or Lutyens' Delhi to back him but he understands theatre, especially historical plays where he is the plot unfolding.
The play at the university hall becomes a microcosm of his vision of politics. There is the leader, the hero invoking his ancestors, and there is the mass as the chorus. All communication is between the leader and the people. The leader proposes, the masses greet it with acclamation. He sees in society his own self. He is now the pracharak magnified to the power of thousand.
As an actor he is magnificent. His delivery is powerful, resonant, his pauses effective. It is the script that fails him. As he moves from Act I to Act II and has to express doubt, show something that indicates guilt or echoes responsibility, his text fails him. Even a moment's prayer, a stumble would have redeemed him. When he says he has felt the pain of every victim, the spectator senses the emphasis is on the inflated I and not the victim. The victims' right to suffer personally is lost in the historicity of this monumental ego. This is an actor who cannot play out guilt, whose certainties are so steadfast that compassion, grief, humility seem to be alien traits.
This is a play about solidarity. But Modi refuses to talk to the victims. They do not even enter his play. This is a politician claiming he is indifferent to the language of minority and majority politics, who declares his preference for development as a text. There is no ethics of memory in his statements, no recognition of a wrong done, an atrocity committed. He wants a clear sheet for his role in history. Neither minority nor marginal has any role in his play. His language seeks to homogenise, wants unity and seeks to handle dissent through grievance procedures. Even pain is pro forma before it can access him.
His flaws are obvious, and yet so is his intelligence. This is a man who has mastered symbolism, who understands the swadeshi idiom, whose every dress is a message. To reduce this drama to a makeover will not do. The complexity of the man is in the size of his stage, the increased scale at which he plays his politics. This is why the opposition's homework is inadequate. It needs to examine the very symbols he has appropriated from it and study his tactics as a politician. Modi has to be understood to be defeated. The standard styles of opposition will not do. Dissent needs to be more inventive.
The writer is a social scientist .
Courtesy : Times of India
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