The Atmospherics

JUST BEFORE THE G20 summit in India, Chandrayaan-3 got to the moon for less than what it costs to buy two houses in Lutyens’ Delhi. But some people insisted on looking at the proverbial finger rather than the celestial orb both times. Thus, carping about “moon mis­sions while millions go hungry” was followed by concern over G20 ‘issues’, such as monkeys, dogs and ‘monumental’ excesses. India-that-is- Bharat increasingly has that effect on some people.

Little wonder then that as world leaders prepared to land in New Delhi with their delegations, the New York Times decided to run a story about an underpublicised major concern: mon­keys. The detailed report, co-written by its correspondent from Seoul, informed readers that India’s capital had “wild mon­keys” that “steal food and chase pedestrians”, “invade” minis­tries and even the Prime Minister’s Office, “attack” patients in hospitals and “romp” inside Parliament.

In other words, world leaders were warned that they were about to land up in the Planet of the Apes, aka Bharat. The intrepid reporters even got an Indian academic to hypothesise that a “monkey disruption” could give the opposition “fodder to attack” Prime Minister Narendra Modi and hurt his party’s prospects in the coming state elections. He even conjectured that if any monkeys were killed—by security forces?—India’s “Hindu majority” would be irked too.

The paper must have been relieved then that the summit went off with nary a simian showdown to report, presumably thanks to the G20 organisers’ excellent bandarbust. Major poten­tial international incidents, not to mention domestic political disasters, were averted by the simple and economical measure of hanging life-size paper cut-outs of langurs, the traditional enemies of monkeys, in the likely conflict zones. Call it the Chandrayaan Principle.

Had someone got the bright idea on time, attention may have also been drawn by the foreign media to “packs of wild dogs” roaming the city attacking people, as the desi phenomenon of ‘street’ dogs (not strays or abandoned ones) is little understood by outsiders. But before they thought of it, the narrative changed to cruelty by municipal workers while moving those dogs to shelters, so a chance to reiterate that it was a jungle out there in Delhi, was lost.

The civic authorities did, of course, reinforce the old trope of tigers on India’s city streets by dotting key venues and roads with carved stone lions and elephants amid potted jungle greenery. But the endless rows of cheek-by-jowl planters—unfortunately made of white plastic instead of a G20-compliant, planet-friendly material—marked with the unmistakable initials of the Public Works Department quite spoilt the effort to evoke a ‘jungle by the Jamuna’ vibe.

Most of the ‘beautification’ initiatives were regarded by sec­tions of the media and social media as mounting evidence of India’s descent into Bharat. Mumbai’s iconic Gateway of India being gussied up for the soigné attendees of Dior’s Fall 2023 show in March was one thing, but Delhi’s Qutab Minar wreathed in bright colours for a new sound-and-light show for the plebs? Just not on. How could India’s heritage be appropriated by Bharatiya aesthetics?

Most Bharatiyas who ventured forth to have a dekko of the décor and bandobast for G20 neither knew nor cared about such elite reservations, of course, judging by the milling crowds and selfie activity around lions, lit-up lampposts, painted flyovers and gurgling fountains. This underscored the general principle that public interest increases these days in tandem with the amount of opprobrium heaped on something (or someone) by the commentariat.

Predictably, sensibilities were offended by the “inauspi­cious” Nataraja at Bharat Mandapam, even if the same aficionados admired the one installed at CERN in 2004. They were also affronted by the “gaudy” murals on civic infrastruc­ture outside the “Lodhi Art District” although flower bedecked Raj Ghat passed muster as did foreign leaders and spouses donning traditional Indian attire. The ubiquitous Earth and Lotus G20 logo just about scraped through too.

But their evolved tastebuds vicariously revolted against the millets and vegetarian fare served to world leaders and delega­tions, instead of India’s fabled biryanis and kormas. What on earth is a jackfruit galette, they raged. Who eats millets, they bristled. Modi is Gujarati but President Droupadi Murmu is a tribal so how can she host a vegetarian dinner for foreign guests, they fulminated, unable to swallow that our First Citizen and First Adivasi is actually shakahari.

But the food—and the company—was inviting enough for even President Joe Biden to turn up for the vegetarian ratri bhoj, though he had skipped dinners at the conclaves of G7 in May, NATO in July, and G20 last year. Without Jill around though, ol’ Joe may not have noticed that the menu bore an uncanny resemblance to what was served at the White House state dinner for Modi in June this year: millets, mushrooms, and a cardamom-scented dessert.

Would millet pudding with apricot compote shift the epi­curean focus from DC to Delhi? Will jackfruit become the new tempeh and put Portobello mushrooms and Western ‘plant-based meat’ industries on notice? Could millets become the new quinoa? Such were the conversations buzzing around the banquet, but long-distance commentators came to the gristly conclusion that India’s meaty culinary repertoire was being inexorably Bharatised—vegetarianised.

What truly got their goat, however, was the undeniable evidence that neither monkeys nor relentless gripes about the décor, aesthetics, traffic restrictions, menus and entertainment hindered or deflected attention from the successful conduct of the largest conclave of major heads of state and government in India since the summits of the Indira-Rajiv era in the 1980s. Consequently, the dated India versus Bharat narrative is about to begin a new chapter.

About The Author

Reshmi Dasgupta

Reshmi Dasgupta is a Delhi-based journalist

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