Kerala Model: Good, Bad or Ugly?

Last year in the middle of the first wave, a neighbor approached me, asking why I wasn’t going to Kerala where it is safe to be. “Jaan hai to jahaan hai”, he said. I stayed put in Delhi. As it happened the virus ran through Kerala as well – the state was the first to report a covid case and the last to peak in the first wave.

Today Kerala is adding more than 10,000 cases to India’s daily caseload every day. The whole country is debating the Kerala model. But why? And what should Kerala do?

Politics

Uttar Pradesh is up for elections. In the second wave, many families in the state lost loved ones. A photo of the departed member hanging on the wall is a grim reminder of the hell they went through those two trying months. Covid is a big election issue. The BJP needs to douse the anger. So its cyber army runs online campaigns pointing to Kerala’s current numbers. We were bad but Kerala is worse. Will it click? Nobody knows. But it certainly has worked as a balm for the diehard fans of PM Narendra Modi and CM Yogi Adityanath.

The numbers

The whole world has been shooting in the dark when it comes to fighting the coronavirus.

The main idea across the world initially was to limit the infections.

Different countries had different strategies. Island nations shut down incoming flights isolating themselves and it worked remarkably well for them.

Others imposed lockdowns. While it helped build infrastructure, reduce load on hospitals, it only slowed the spread of the virus and not stop it.

That was one major lesson learnt. The focus now was on limiting deaths.

Survival of the fittest

Onam is to Kerala what Diwali is to rest of the country. This is when maximum business happens in the state. Two successive years of zero business would mean thousands of traders suffer huge losses. So when the rest of the country is questioning relaxation of norms during Bakrid for three days, people in Kerala are demanding a lifting of lockdown, covid be damned.

Lifting all lockdown norms means racing to reach herd immunity. It also means survival of the fittest. We saw that in Delhi and other north Indian states. Many people I know died without getting proper medical treatment. 

Trust me, it’s a horrible sight.

Imagine spending a whole day working phone numbers looking for a cylinder and oxygen to fill it with.

Imagine hunting for medicines that don’t seem to exist throughout the day and returning to hospital without anything to show for the effort.

Imagine you are a thirty year old struggling to breathe… you can see your wife and friends frantically making calls for ambulances, hospital beds… you can see your little kids looking at you scared and puzzled at what is happening around them… you can feel life draining out of you, the surroundings blur into darkness… you want to say good bye, but can’t find your voice…

Trust me, it’s a horrible sight.

Natasha & Devangana: The Deepti Navals of Activism

This week two student activists ruled the Internet. Natasha Narwal and Devangana Kalita. 

The JNU students, who have been charged under the anti-terror law UAPA, were released on bail Thursday evening from Tihar jail after 13 months of incarceration.

It’s a classic David vs Goliath story.

Two twenty-somethings versus the might of the Indian State.

After a little bit of sloganeering and singing after stepping out of the prison, Natasha and Devangana interacted with the media. Only a few TV channels interviewed them, the one with Rajdeep Sardesai stood out.

The 15 minutes they were on the screen told us a lot about them.

They were not the Angry Young Women they were expected to be.

They were laughing away.

They did not look bitter.

They didn’t shout threats.

They didn’t shout threats.

They didn’t preach.

One of them loves fish curry and didn’t get it the entire year.

Their demeanor was endearing.

They were anything but the terrorists they are made out to be by the Narendra Modi govt.

They were the girls next door.

Natasha and Devangana are the Deepti Navals of activism. 

That is why such interviews trouble the middle class. Most turn their faces away from the screen.  They don’t want to face the truth.

It could well be one of theirs tomorrow.

They got a taste during the farmer toolkit controversy when Disha Ravi was arrested for alleged sedition after she shared a tweet or what was it. Sedition, mind you, nothing less.

In our days college students would do a few uthak-baithaks in the police station if they were picked up for holding protests. Natasha and Devangana spent a year in jail and could face many more for doing that.

Kesavan Mamas, remember this when you go to sleep every night.

Interview

Sudheer adjusted his tie. He rarely wore one, but this is an interview for a job, that too for a store manager. He lost his job a few months ago. His former company shut down a few divisions. They blamed it on the coronavirus, the lockdown, the sinking sales.

This interview is important. These days the classified pages in The Time of India are erratic. There was a time they came as a 32-page supplement, now they are hardly two pages inside the main sheet, and most are for teachers. Having applied for many positions, he has finally got a reply. A proper reply, not an auto-generated one. One with a zoom meeting id and pass code.
 
A few years ago, this meeting would have taken him to Delhi with reimbursement for sleeper class train fare. In Covid times a 40 minute chat on computer will do the trick.
 
The computer buzzed. Ramesh Kumar, the GM, was online. The name sounded familiar. A very common one, so hard to place a face to it. If it was a Thamarakshan or a Nalinakshan, there was no question of forgetting. But names like Rajesh, Ramesh, Rakesh…. They could be anyone.
 
“Good morning Sudheer. How are you?”

“I am fine sir.”

“We gather from your CV that you are jobless right now.”

“Sir, you know these are troubling times. Downsizing, upgrading…”

“You seem to have some experience in running warehouses.”

“Yes sir, I used to work in a C&F warehouse in Delhi.”
 
“That is what we are looking for. We have some space in Kochi. We have tieups with a few companies. Basically we will run C&F for them from this one warehouse.”

“Sir is this an existing business?”
“Not quite. We need someone who knows Hindi. Someone who can handle the labour.”

“I am proficient in Hindi.”

“Most of the labour will be from Bengal, Jharkhand and Odisha.”
 
“Not a problem, sir.”
 
“They can be handful for someone who doesn’t know their language. Communication is the key.”

“From ulloo ka patha to MC-BC, I have it all covered. Not an issue sir.”
 
“Sudheer, you are from Paravur, is it?”

“Yes sir”

“Where in Paravur? Which school did you go to?”

“Vazhikulam, I went to Pullamkulam school.”

“I too am from Paravur. I went to Samooham school.”

“I thought I had met you somewhere, that is why,” Sudheer tried to stretch his memory. ‘Who exactly is this chap?’

“You were into politics, if I am not wrong”

“We were clueless sir. Those days we were stupid. I am totally out of politics now,” Sudheer dodged the bullet. Trade unionism is the last thing you want to be linked to if you want a job in the private sector.

“Nothing to worry Sudheer. But I do remember one fight you got into.”
 
Sudheer didn’t know which direction the conversation was heading. 

“One near Poosharippadi. You guys were terrific.”

“Oh that one. We got into that brawl as a friend sought help. Had no clue what it was about. We just bashed up the guy.”

“That is the thing about friendship. One doesn’t question friends,” Ramesh said, “And you were a hero that day.”

“Sir I won’t brag about that. But the guy had it coming. You don’t come to our area and take panga with us. See sir I know Hindi slangs pretty well.”

“You gave him quite a pasting”

“Haan sir, now when I think about it I don’t remember his face. Actually we didn’t get to see his face at all. We were busy kicking him.”

“Oh, no wonder you didn’t recognise me.”

Sudheer’s face turned pale but he soon regained  his composure.

“To be fair to you sir, you were very brave. Never seen anyone fight like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You held your ground against the five of us. Normal people would have crapped in their pants.”

“What are you doing in the stores, you should be in the sales division,” Ramesh laughed.
 
When the call ended, a voice came from the kitchen. “I have told you many times ‘don’t pick up fights, don’t fight up fights’ but you won’t listen. Now suffer,” shouted Sudheer’s wife.

Sudheer is an optimist. He is brushing up his sales skills now. 

Why Sreedharan did what he did

Everyone knows James Bond throws the best party in town. It is one party I have been wanting to attend for years now. How frustrating it is to be the best spy in business and yet not get an invite to Bond’s dos. My sources say the MI-6 agent may throw the best parties but all is not well there. For instance, at the last party they didn’t put the right amount of vermouth in his martini. At another one, Kerala beef fry was undercooked, giving the dish a very bad name. If only I was there, nothing of this sort would have happened.

This is why I not just know Sreedharan’s pain but also feel it. 

The Metroman has been waiting for that elusive invite to the one party he always wanted to be in, to serve under the one man he considers a true leader. 

In the five-year buildup to 2014, Gujarat CM Narendra Modi had shown how a state is governed efficiently. You guys might question the claim today, but honestly most people bought it hook, line and sinker then. Modi was supposed to handpick meritorious people in his team. Many waited in vain for that phone call, probably Sreedharan did too. 

Over the next seven years, there might have been many instances Sreedharan expected a call from his leader. Take the inauguration of Kochi Metro for instance. Modi came, shared a few awkward moments with Pinarayi Vijayan, cut a few ribbons and went back. There was no ‘moment’ between Sreedharan and Modi as one would have expected. No planted stories in the media about how the PM sought out the nation builder seeking his advice. I don’t know about Sreedharan, but it was a rude shock to the Metroman’s fans like me. 

After all these years of snubs, Sreedharan probably decided to take matters into his own hands. With the help of the state unit of the BJP, he has gatecrashed into the party he longed to join. 

Political commentators have been very soft on him. They have tried to psycho-analyse Sreedharan. They have described him as the technocrat par excellence, who, like his tribesmen, is afflicted by tunnel vision and is unable to see the social trends around him.  This would have been true had he joined the BJP in 2014. But not today, after all those murders over food habits and disastrous policy decisions. 

His interviews show Sreedharan is not the outsider out to practise a new brand of politics. Sreedharan in fact is trying to prove he is as true a Sangh insider as anyone can be. 

There is no need to mollycoddle Sreedharan. It’s time journalists and commentators drop the kid gloves.