The Making of a Revloution

It was 8 am on Friday. I had just retired on a borrowed bed at a friend’s place, after my weekly editing night out in office, when the phone rang. It was my boss.

“We have to something on this Anna thing yaar, it’s a revolution in making”

I was just about to reason out why this wasn’t a revolution when the voice on the other end boomed, “This is the first time since 26/11 that people like you and me, the common Indian, is raising his voice against a totally corrupt system. Be there at Shivaji Park and make sure you do a half hour on this.”

After this, I realized there was no point in arguing, and thought that this might actually turn out to be revelation… Probably I would uncover something I did not already know… And in all senses of the term, it did turn out to be a revelation.

The Revelation(s)

I went for Rang De Basanti style candle light vigil, at the Gateway of India, and the first thing that struck me, was that the march was in the opposite direction… not towards the Gateway, but on the opposite side, with the Gateway in the background.
I was muttering this to myself, and wondering what could be the reason, when the answer came from the ‘Fraternity’.

“This would give us a better view. You can have the Gateway in the background, it would make for a better picture. Moreover, here they have constructed these platforms so that we can stand over the crowds, and we can have the lighting also.”

He turned out to be absolutely right. The pictures were definitely more grandiose, and with part time activist-actors leading the charge, it was more dramatic too.

The rest of the evening was along expected lines, with the usual slogan shouting match on, till, somebody turned up with a megaphone. He was a 25 something , a ‘something’ which my boss calls, ‘The Face of New India’. Dressed in a ‘Being Human’ t- shirt, donning the Gandhi cap, he decided that the mass should sing Vande Mataram. And so he started, in his voice hoarse from the shouting match.

Vandeaaaaaaaaaah Maaaaaaataram

He was desperately trying to hit the right notes, till somebody pointed out; he was trying to sing the Rehman version. He put the megaphone aside, turned around, and asked in a hushed tone

‘What is the tune for the original one? I can’t remember it.’

Handling the Media
So while the crowd was trying to figure out the tune for Vande Mataram, I sauntered to the end of the ‘Gateway’ enclosure, and bumped into a group of students from a famous management school. Since, I had the ubiquitous trade tool in my hand [the Boom Mic], the first thing that they asked me was for my contact number, and then, if I could cover a seminar in which some hot shot businessman was the chief guest.

“But isn’t this supposed to be about Anna Hazare and the Jan Lokpal Bill?”

“Yes, yes, we are for that only”, said one, quickly changing his tone “We have been coming here for the past three days”

So, I did my customary duty of getting ‘bitten/byten’. The jingoistic sound bytes do sound good on air, and these guys seemed to fit the bill to a T.

But as we continued chatting, they confided a major reason for them turning up for the ‘march’ was to get in touch with the Media… They were first year students, and had been given the responsibility of ‘handling the Media’.

Jumping the Queue
So, while the drama was drawing to a close, those ‘in-charge’ were busy deciding their ‘dinner’ plans.

“Let’s go to Jazz by the Bay”

“Today, is Friday yaar, there would be a cover charge. And then there would be a mad rush for tables”

“Chill dude, I have a friend there… No cover charge for us, and we can jump the queue!”

The Day it all Ended
So finally at breakfast time on Saturday, Mr. Hazare broke his fast. And here at Azad Maidan in Mumbai, the crowd jumped in joy, and the ‘Fraternity’ was gripped by collective madness.
I too approached the person who seemed to be running the show.

“Sir, can I have a couple of minutes?”

“You want a byte?”

“Yes. And No”

“??”

“I mean I do want a byte, but before I do that, I’d like to talk to you for sometime”

“Ohh! Then you will have to wait. You see there are so any others waiting for me. They have their ‘lives’ on. Let me finish with them first”

So, off he went, jumping from one frame to another. [It was not really jumping, it was more like one step left, and one step right.] And while he was doing this, I realized, it was such a symbolic moment. The entire media world was not only small, but was strikingly similar, towing the same line.

Mood Kharab Kar Diya Yaar
Azad Maidan, was a scene of contrasts that day. On one end of the enclosure was The Hazare Show, and on the other, there was another protest.

A group of women from rural Maharashtra were protesting against the extortionist practices being followed by the Banks. By sheer numbers, theirs was a much larger group, but their voices got drowned in the high decibels bellowing from the ‘Bose’ sound system installed at the other end.

Perhaps, it was too much of a contrast for them to bear. And finally there was a scuffle between the ‘fraternity’ and the ones on the other side. Apparently, one of the women asked a cameraperson to cover their ‘cause’ too, and when he refused saying it was not ‘news-worthy’, she completely lost it.

I had gone out for a smoke, when this happened, and as I was walking in, the sight was horrific. A group of Policemen, had decided to intervene when they saw the scene ‘getting ugly’, and the result: There was this woman, bleeding profusely from the blows of the ‘fibreglass’ lathi, being carried away.

The media, on the other hand, was all one, and did not allow my cameraperson to take any shot of the injured woman. So even though it was there, it would seem as it never happened.

Back at the The Hazare Show, a 30 something remarked, “They spoiled the mood. I am telling you India is going down because of people like them”

In a couple of minutes, it was back to ‘normal’. The show was on, the protest had resigned to its fate.

The Brown Sahib’s Burden
However, the big surprise of the day, was yet to come. The man in charge went on stage, and blared into the microphone.

“Today, is the day of our second Independence”

“Yayy”

“Today, is the day of celebration”

Yeaaaaahhh!

“Today, we’ll have a rock concert in the evening, and Kailash Kher would also sing for us”

Yaaaaaayyyyyyyyy
[Claps all around]

“And tomorrow, we’ll all get together again. We’ll have a car rally. From Shivaji Park to Borivali. Get your cars, and be there tomorrow at 9 in the morning. We want atleast 300-400 cars”

Somebody from the audience, “Bikes? Are bikes allowed?

“Yes, bikes can come too”

“And those without a car?”

“Yes, they can come too. We can accommodate them in our cars”

So, here was a ‘revolution’…

A revolution of the middle class, for the middle class, and by the middle class…
A ‘revolution’ that the middle class, and the middle class dominated media, thought they deserved. And they could not have been more right. When the entire world was looking up to these ‘Faces of New India’ how could they be left behind when it comes to ‘moral highground’?

Or, is it that the middle class thinks it’s beyond scrutiny… They think they have created the New India, and only they have the right to form its laws. They are the guardians, and it’s their land, their rules and their culture.
And as I was contemplating this, the speakers blared again… The rock concert had started, and the ground reverberated with the lines “Mera neta chindi chor hai”…