Banana shake for mango people

Robert Vadra lets Congress stumble

The seasoned wit and raconteur Robert Vadra believes that Indians do not have a sense of humour. That may or may not be true, but it is distinctly better than having no sense at all.

Humour is complicated. One man’s wit is so easily another’s insult. Folklore and general conversation indicate that Indians enjoy murky ethnic jokes almost as much as they delight in the noble habit of laughing at the powerful. How would you rate this SMS that raced around after details about Vadra’s triumphant rise as the most famous real estate dealer in Indian history went public? Rahul Gandhi despairingly told his Mummy: ‘First CWG, then 2G, then Coal-G. And now it’s Jijaji.’ Not bad. That Jijaji has just the nice twang that serves so well in north Indian chai shop chat.

At this moment, however, Indians are not discussing their own sense of humour but Robert Vadra’s. Politics is a tough sport, not suited to thin skins. Invective has been part of its unwritten rules ever since elections evolved into an art form in the fatherland of modern democracy, America. I just read an op-ed in an American newspaper which listed the language used in the age of electoral infancy. In 1800, Thomas Jefferson, an architect of the American Constitution and much quoted for his defence of a free press, was accused of running a “Congo harem” at his estate. Jefferson did not turn the other cheek, like a good Christian. His supporters accused his foe, John Adams, of smuggling British prostitutes for his personal needs. Mark: British! That is equivalent to charging an Indian politician today of running a brothel of Pakistani women, or vice versa. The best riposte came in 1884 when Grover Cleveland was charged with fathering an illegitimate child, inspiring a ditty that followed him on the campaign trail: ‘Ma, Ma, where’s my Pa?’ Cleveland gave his answer after he had won: ‘Gone to the White House, ha ha ha!’

But it is one thing calling your foe names, and quite another sneering at the chaps who voted you into office and its luxurious benefits with a pun, deservedly described as the lowest form of humour. The common man will get a bit tetchy about being called a mango married to a banana republic [in Hindi ‘aam’ has two means, both common and mango]. This sort of joke turns sour pretty quickly. Nor is it a very good idea, unless of course you have invested in sarcasm as a profession, like the bilious Ambrose Bierce who called politics a strife of interests masquerading as a contest of principles, and a means of using public affairs for private advantage. Robert Vadra is not only a distinguished member of India’s most powerful political family, but also nurtures a desire for high office in his own right. The mango and banana will follow him on any election trail. They also hurt the prospects of his wife Priyanka Gandhi, who is slated to inherit the Rae Bareli constituency from her mother, Mrs Sonia Gandhi.

We do not know too much about Mr Vadra’s educational qualifications. He could easily be familiar with geopolitics and the economic history of Latin America, where exploitation by multinationals through pliant family dictatorships gave the English language this eloquent construct, banana republic. Perhaps he is only aware of the colloquial interpretation, which means a country run by monkeys who sell national resources at banana prices. It is not the wisest metaphor to use when there is a debate raging in India about what multinationals might do through foreign direct investment. Someone certainly woke Vadra up to the dark side of possibilities, for he took those remarks off his Facebook page pretty quickly. He will not however be able to efface them from public memory, not least because his tormentors will not allow anyone to forget them in a hurry.

Mr Vadra’s party, Congress, is trapped in uncertainty. Its spokesmen first threatened Arvind Kejriwal, who turned the story into a public fact; and tried to portray Vadra as an innocent who had been wronged by evil manipulators. They discovered that Kejriwal is immune to fear, and soon backed his accusations with more documentation. Moreover, each reaction from a Congress worthy only managed to keep the story alive on that dreaded oblong box called television.

It took a couple of days for the full implications to sink in. This is the first time since Bofors in the 1980s when the Gandhi family is being charged with corruption, and mud is turning into glue. The Commonwealth scandal involved Congress leaders, but not at the high rungs; during telecom, Congress managed to distance itself and direct blame towards an ally, DMK. Coalgate was harder but the responsibility went to the government and the prime minister. Robert Vadra is family.

The Vadra crisis has derailed the Congress’ effort to shift the debate from corruption to economic reforms. The principal attention is back on sleaze.

The columnist is editor of The Sunday Guardian, published from Delhi, India on Sunday, published from London and Editorial Director, India Today and Headlines Today.