Loose Canon

This 473-page collection of middles of the kind The Statesman made popular under the ‘Now and Again’ rubric and more substantive op-ed style articles is not a reader-friendly volume. The print is small. The pages are dense for this kind of writing. The book’s eight sections overlap. One begins to wonder whether every word Shashi Tharoor ever wrote hasn’t been shovelled between the covers. That isn’t true, of course, for Tharoor is a prolific writer. India Shastra is the third of a series. The first two volumes were probably equally long. However, there are seams to be mined and nuggets to be unearthed, although getting at them is bound to be a hit-or-miss business.

The publisher must know that it’s not in the nature of readers to wade through 100 essays with the consistent attention that a gripping thriller commands. Some of Tharoor’s more delectable pieces might be overlooked, especially if the title (‘Towards a Knowledge Society: Higher Education in India’ doesn’t exactly set the Ganga on fire) isn’t immediately arresting. That would be a pity, for he is an acute observer of the passing show in which he clearly enjoys his own more-than-walk-on part despite being a late and fortuitous entrant. The writing is brisk and, individually, the pieces don’t demand too much time and concentration. This, therefore, is a book to keep and dip into from time to time. But it might have served a more useful purpose if it had been split into two or even three themed books whose contents can stand the test of time. There would have been no need then to try to justify the grandiose India Shastra title or the even more ambitious ‘Reflections On The Nation In Our Time’ subtitle. This attempt to saddle pleasant reading with sombre meaning is typical of the quite-unnecessary Indian predilection for confusing the pretentious with the serious.

The first 22 pieces are devoted to some aspect of Narendra Modi who crops up in several later essays as well. Although Tharoor sounds properly disapproving of Gujarat’s communal holocaust and of Modi’s ambivalence about it, he seems to write more in sorrow than anger. Since he is seen as a leading opposition politician, readers might misunderstand the absence of a more combative response. It’s even more curious that in ‘Congress: The Way Forward’ the author describes his own party’s rout in last year’s Lok Sabha election as ‘historic’. That sounds like gloating! The only other explanation of a malapropism would give offence to someone who obviously sets store by linguistic fastidiousness.

The response to this genre of writing is usually subjective. Many readers will endorse the insight of ‘How Proud Should We Be of Bobby Jindal?’ Others might think Tharoor has got the wrong end of the stick if he imagines Dinesh Trivedi was sacked because he put up railway fares. I hope his discovery of the true purport of Kipling’s If will help to end other popular misconceptions regarding The Ballad of East and West (quoted more glibly than read or understood) and The White Man’s Burden, which, again, is misquoted to suggest a eulogy of British imperialism. Tharoor’s comment on Modi’s four points to IFS officers (‘One is right, one is partly right, one is wrong and one is disastrously wrong’) makes no allowance for the possibility that the Prime Minister may have confused his own diplomatic obligations with theirs.

One can go on forever. Essays on such a wide variety of subjects as the significance of birthdays, black money or West Bengal’s decline are like the bright pieces in a kaleidoscope. They may please or amuse, but when put together, don’t necessarily project a coherent picture of an India that shares the author’s commitment to ‘political liberty, social freedoms, minimal restrictions on economic activity, and a concern for social purpose’. They are not, however, any the less enjoyable for being without a Higher Meaning.

(Sunanda K Datta-Ray is a journalist and author of several books)

About The Author

Sunanda K Datta-Ray