Will She Be Mine (19 page)

“I know. Shallow people, whose knowledge borders on illiteracy, but who win votes on the basis of manipulation, rigging, or roguishness, depend on sycophantic officials to fill their time in office. They depend on administrative services officials to play a supporting role. Naturally, some of the more opportunistic officers use these situations to their advantage and guide- or should I say misguide- the misdirected among the politicians to favor themselves and their own brethren.” Disgust filled his tone. “It’s a tall order to fix manipulative, unscrupulous lobbyists- whether political or bureaucratic, by any means, when the rot is so overwhelmingly widespread and deep rooted.”

“I wouldn’t say there are no means. Dictatorship is one such means if all else fails.”

“To stem the rot?” he asked with innate curiosity. “I’m not sure about the effectiveness of a peaceful uprising, but do you really think a dictator might be a solution to our problems?”

“Maybe. Actually, if you think about it, PS, there are many peaceful ways to achieve the same objective if people have the will. What matters in the end- whether achieved through peaceful protests or dictatorship- is to establish a politically stable system, instead of continuing to live under old, garrulous grandfathers and grandmothers who tell lies to the population instead of retreating to spiritual havens or narrating bedtime stories to their grandchildren.”

He laughed. “I agree that there should be an upper age limit for the top political posts in any country and also in each state.”

“In the olden days, kings who were many times more capable than most of our current crop of leaders, voluntarily abnegated their powers by the age of fifty or even earlier, and bequeathed their kingdoms to capable successors.”

“Not necessarily,” he said in a tone of disagreement. “Sometimes they bequeathed their kingdoms to their legal heirs- sons, grandsons or someone else in the family. That’s where inefficiencies and corruption started in society. In some ways, they started the disgusting cycle of dynastic rule- though the good part was that kings abnegated their powers at the age of fifty or earlier. That was the only part healthy.”

“Why can’t we have the same healthy practice still, without perpetuating dynastic rule?” I asked. “In present times, if our national or state offices retire employees between sixty to sixty five years of age and private companies retire employees- including MDs and CEOs- at sixty, by what stretch of imagination can we hope that any politician at the age of seventy or eighty would be productive or strategic enough to guide a much more complex affair like the governance of a country?”

“Absolutely,” he said amicably. “Those are precisely my thoughts.” He sighed reminiscently. “RK, do you recall we used to discuss similar things in the canteen at night in college? I'm so glad you came to USA. We're able to relive those discussions. We must talk every day on phone while you’re here.”

“Good idea.”

“I agree about retiring everyone, including leaders at sixty or sixty five. In our primary and secondary school days we heard how at old age people usually became garrulous and talked rubbish. But if you notice, when elderly people speak at public forums, they don’t sound so garrulous. Do you know why?”

“Because they read speeches prepared by administrative officers or advisors?” I asked. “Otherwise, normally one would expect them to be garrulous.”

“You got it! The fact that they need to read from prepared speeches- besides giving the speech itself a false ring- also shows their low level of commitment and involvement in the country’s problems. Most of them don’t know enough, nor have sufficient passion for welfare work or upliftment, to speak extempore. It’s difficult to expect good governance out of such people. But that doesn’t mean we need dictators.”

“We do. In fact, if we’d been younger, I might have proposed you to become one, with me as your assistant,” I said playfully, though I honestly meant my suggestion to an extent. At least he appreciated human pain and social administration better than many others I knew. “I always felt you had that administrative edge,” I added honestly.

“I'm flattered, and glad that you didn't miss it,” he said happily, before turning thoughtful again. “I'm still unable to swallow the bit about dictatorship. How can having a dictator be called ‘going forward’?”

“Why not?”

“Dictatorships lead to dynastic rule, which isn’t desirable. Their only interest in ruling is to loot the country and enjoy on a personal level. They paralyze judicial processes and terrorize judges if they go against them, and overall try to perpetuate their own rule and that of their progeny and grand offspring. Such dynasties only increase the common man’s plights and plunge the nation into doom. They create horrific conditions that force citizens to either flee the country or worship them as idols.”

“I told you there are many ways to achieve the same goal. Having a dictator is just one of them. But why are you so allergic to the idea of installing a dictator? If you really think about it, aren’t we still living under dictators in many ways, ruled by people who don’t have the welfare of the country in mind? Presently multiple dictators oppress us. I’m proposing one instead.”

“Hmm.” he laughed. “You may have a point there. Considered that way, it would definitely be an improvement over our present state of affairs.”

“Correct. Some of the better monarchs in history were dictators too. They were well respected in their times and are still remembered today for all the good reasons.”

“Well, I do agree that the depravity in our society cannot be corrected by any political party by simply adopting legislative processes, policies or defining amendments that are restricted to paper and ultimately misused out of disrespect,” he said. “We already have enough laws, but lack implementation miserably- in a cancerous way. We don’t need more laws. A plethora of laws without implementation merely creates avenues for corruption.”

“Only a dictator can trash all traditional processes that have been misused to cause political and ethical rot and restart the wheel. Like God does at the end of each cycle of creation when everything degrades irrevocably without any hope of correction. He destroys the creation periodically after millions of years and then recreates everything with absolute cleanliness in terms of morals and ethics.”

“Well, the manner in which you’ve put things, you've got me thinking! Though millions of years are too long to wait for God.” He sighed. “We had a good chat, RK. It’s rejuvenating and refreshing to hear such stuff after so many years of college. I sometimes miss you and our canteen discussions.”

“Only difference is- I'm serious.”

“Do you think I’m not?” he almost snarled. Perhaps my choice of words had been blunt. He didn’t like it. His next words drowned out the bonhomie we had just established. “RK, I- and many others like me- have relocated here not due to the material comforts of life alone. You should remove any such misunderstanding from your mind.”

“What do you mean?”

“At first glance, it’s true that many people from around the world are attracted to this country for its material comforts and the opportunity to earn dollars, with lesser competition. But can you deny the smiles, the courtesies, the simplicity of day-to-day transactions, and the general peace of mind one gets here to pursue what the heart wants? I know you’ve not lived here for long, but speak to those who have and they’ll tell you.”

“PS, I don’t deny that this country is highly developed. Those smiles and courtesies are a part of being developed and they’re meant for everyone during happy, peaceful times- without going into whether they are forced for some or effortless for all. But, don’t you find them aloof towards outsiders, especially to us colored people, beyond the initial courtesies and smiles? Don’t you miss your own country, and your own people?”

“After a certain point in life, there’s no one you can call your own,” he said in a detached, philosophical tone. “I’ve experienced the humiliation of living in our country and don’t want to go back there and endure more of it.”

“What are you referring to?”

“We like to think of ourselves as dignified people, willing to pay respect to others- but we also expect others to treat us in like manner. In our country that doesn’t happen. Our officials treat everybody as fugitives, to be penalized over everything. Are we terrorists or thieves or murderers, to be treated like that? The abject governance inspires no hope for improvement in the foreseeable future.”

“Actual criminals are sometimes treated better,” I agreed. “The mentality at the top percolates down to everyone below, starting from the pubic officials down to the local traders and shopkeepers.”

“Exactly. Whether you go to the regional transport office to register a secondhand car, or visit a gas company’s outlet for a connection to get a cylinder of gas, or approach the electricity office to get your power bill corrected, or call up the helpline of a private telephony company to contest an inflated bill or protest the addition of chargeable services on the sly- they speak rudely to you, humiliate you, take you for a ride. Not all of us want to pay bribes. In general, most of our countrymen don’t have any respect for their fellow countrymen.”

“How do you know they have such respect for you here?”

“I agree that they may not respect immigrants and settlers here either- but the big difference is that they don’t show it on their face, they don’t necessarily talk rudely to you on your face, they don’t deny you your rights in day-to-day transactions because you’re colored, they don’t harass you or deny what is yours by right.” He paused for effect, as if prodding me to agree. I kept silent, refusing to be browbeaten into submission, though I admitted to myself that he had a valid point. “And remember- most importantly- they’re not even our own countrymen. We’re taking away their jobs, so some of their aloofness and anger is understandable. Despite that, the smiles I encounter here in public life in a month are more than what I encountered in our own country in a decade. Doesn’t that convey volumes? I wish our own people back home were half as polite.”

“You might have a point there,” I admitted reluctantly, breaking my reservation at last.

“I’m glad you admit it. One can’t deny the truth. I lead a respectable life here, which I can’t lead as easily or effortlessly there. It’s not that we don’t miss our country- so it’s a compromise you might say, to stay here for such a long stretch of time, and eventually settle down. But it’s a compromise I’d be willing to repeat, given another chance. In fact, given another chance, I’d like to be born here.”

One morning I got this grand idea of calling up Shalini's house from USA. I’d already emailed her my hotel phone number but she neither replied to my email nor called me up on the hotel number.

Desis
- as PS referred to our countrymen- usually got impressed when their acquaintances traveled to the USA. Any association with the whites- or
firangs
as they were known in the local lingo- in Europe, USA or Australia, usually set tongues drooling in our country. A call from here should prod her in the right direction regarding the possibilities in life with me, though I considered her much better than the drooling majority. Since she’d herself visited USA recently, my advantage of one-upmanship was gone.

Though she’d already proposed to me, she had hardly kept in touch after that besides ignoring my attempts to communicate with her. Somewhere within I had started feeling insecure again- and would always feel like that- till we actually got married.

With trembling fingers I dialed her number on the press button phone from office. Usually she answered the phone when she was home, otherwise her younger sister, Ragini did. Today, neither picked the phone.

“Shalini's not home,” it was her mother who finally answered gruffly. “Where are you calling from? Your voice has a delay.”

“I’m in the USA, aunty,” I replied hopefully. “There’s nine and a half hours of difference in time zone between the East Coast where I’m currently located and India.”

“Aren’t you working?”

“Why, Aunty? What else am I doing in the US?”

“I just thought.”

It was irritating that she always considered me idle. Granted that I’d been without a job for a while after graduation, but that was by choice. I was chasing her daughter at the time.

“When is Shalini back?” I asked.

“No idea,” she replied in a callous tone.

That was rather unhelpful, not divulging when the girl would be back, nor inviting me to try again later. I could never figure out what that woman had against me. Initially she’d always seemed so happy whenever I visited their house. On a few occasions she’d even cooked delicacies for me when I visited. Everything seemed like a dream now.

But over time, she’d evidently been displeased by my growing interest in her daughter and that had transformed her from a friend into a foe. I was amazed how people underwent such change. She’d become a rude woman, always brusque with me. Before I could ask further questions, she hung up!

I poignantly recalled happier times when she’d welcome me to their house. She’d raise her arms to tidy her hair behind her back as she spoke to me. PS had coached me in college that it was the sign of a woman who’d fallen for someone and wanted to develop the relationship deeper.

It was disgusting to think of her falling for me, the prospective son-in-law, in a physical sense. Even if she’d been unaware of my matrimonial intentions for her daughter earlier, she should have welcomed my interest in her daughter when she came to know of it later. I suspected Shalini had informed her by now that we intended to marry, which might explain her abrupt rudeness. It was sickening for me to think of a motherly woman in an intimate way. I admitted she did have a good figure and the other good wares that went along, and like her daughters was pretty too, but somehow I couldn't bring myself around to think of her in any manner other than motherly.

She’d suspected my more-than-friendly interest in her daughter for long and disapproved. Quite natural for a woman who wanted me for herself, behind her husband's back. With the decision taken that I’d wed Shalini, her unholy dreams would have crashed for good if her daughter had informed her of her plans- which I was sure she had- turning her permanently against me. Not that it mattered in the long run. She couldn't bring disharmony to my family. I’d live with her daughter in a different house after marriage, not with her.