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Perhaps Mr. Thackeray should be
believed when he says that the tête-à-tête with the Prime Minister took
place at the Bachchan residence primarily to avoid security
inconvenience. The logical question that suggests itself is why only Mr.
Bachchan could facilitate this convenience. May be the Commissioner of
Bombay Police can enlighten us whether his force could make the requisite
security arrangement for the Prime Minister to pay a condolence visit to
Mr. Thackeray residence; but, meanwhile the presence of two very unlikely
political heavyweights at his dinner table has not hurt Mr. Bachchan's
business image at all.
In the entire hullabaloo that followed the dinner, unsolicited, and
probably not unplanned, respectability came Mr. Bachchan's way, a kind of
intangible asset for which any genuine businessman would have given his
left arm. And it did not take Mr. Bachchan long to encash his new status.
Within a week the megastar-turned business tycoon was addressing a joint
press conference in Bangalore with the Chief Minister of Karnataka,
unveiling his company's plans to host a Miss World pageant.
No one should grudge Mr. Bachchan his millions. Like any another
businessman he is entitled to make his pile. But the problem is that he is
not just another businessman. He has to be understood as a mascot of our
recent times. During the 1980s he was an icon of a dream gone sour; in the
1990s he symbolised the flight of allegiance at the elite level when he
chose to become a non- resident Indian; and, now, in the second half of
the decades he struts around as a one-man corporation, recasting himself
for a role in a quasi-globalised, market-oriented economy. A remarkable
journey for a young man from a middle class family to the very pinnacle of
corporate glory.
It is significant that Mr. Bachchan has not disclaimed his political ties;
though he perhaps remains convinced of his earlier formulation of
`politics as a cesspool'. That is why he deserves a close scrutiny. It was
in fact an unhappy coincidence P{=3 that the day he played a dinner host
to the Prime Minister and Mr. Thackeray, that very morning he had
consciously marked his presence at Vir Bhumi, the samadhi of his friend,
Rajiv Gandhi. Before Mr. Bachchan decided to stand by his friend by
consenting to become a Congress candidate from the Allahabad Lok Sabha
constituency in the 1984 election, he had captured the popular imagination
as a film star. He was generally described as a legend, an actor who gave
expression to a generation's anger and resentment against an insensitive
and callous Establishment. Mr. Bachchan's angry young man was invincible,
invariably having his way against the wicked and the cruel.
It was thus easy for him to make the transition to a political role in
real life. But it was his close friendship with Rajiv Gandhi, which
invested that transition with an extraordinary meaning. After the 1984
elections the Congress had more than 400 Lok Sabha MPs; but Mr. Bachchan
was someone special. There were _ and have been since then _ many stars
who have made it in the political arena; but, the Sunil Dutts, the Raj
Babbars, the Shatrugun Sinhas, and the Vyjayantimalas never symbolised the
age in the manner Mr. Bachchan did.
He was a family friend of the young Prime Minister; he was also a key
member of the Rajiv court. Indeed Mr. Bachchan was widely hailed as a
source of style and elegance in the new dispensation. And he has remained
a loyal friend of Rajiv's widow. He is still regarded as a family friend
who has consistently _ and wisely _ counselled against Mrs. Sonia Gandhi
getting her hands dirty in the cesspool of Congress politics.
But it was the friendship with Rajiv that gave Mr. Bachchan a political
persona. Unlike an M. G. Ramachandaran or a Jayalalitha, he was not
willing to submit to the grind of political apprenticeship. His
relationship with Rajiv remained his only raison d'etre of the Bachchan
phenomenon in Indian politics. Yet not much is known of Mr. Bachchan's
contribution to policy making or political innovations during the Rajiv
regime; what, unfortunately, is known is that his name became embroiled in
the Bofors controversy. Rightly or wrongly he was seen as personifying the
waywardness of the Rajiv regime. May be when a correct and intimate
appraisal of the Rajiv years is undertaken, he could be held responsible
for many an aberration.
As a loyal friend Rajiv Gandhi depleted considerably his regime's
credibility and goodwill in defending Mr. Bachchan's fair name.
Nonetheless the Bachchan presence in the Rajiv entourage transcended two
individuals. The relationship came to symbolise a regime, reeking of
cronyism. The Bofors controversy was only an unfortunate expression of a
mindset that regarded India as a zamindari. After all, the Bachchans were
at the centre of the beautiful set that delighted in a squandermania of
the Festival of India variety. Behind the razzle-dazzle of the beautiful
set, the urge to cut corners remained untamed. Crony capitalism, under the
aegis of a command economy, entrenched itself.
After Rajiv's death this beautiful set found life in India a bit
inconvenient. Crony capitalism had produced its own crisis; rather than
disciplining and reining in the crooked impulses, the governing elites'
answer was to seek an alliance with the crooked among the international
financiers and speculators.
A man who made good in India, a man who became the mascot of the unity of
`the Indian sentiment' in the memorable musical montage, Mile Sur Mera
Tumahara, such a man found India stifling, cramping his style. Mr.
Bachchan became an NRI. Perhaps an unwitting betrayal of a friend who had
presided over the Indian State for nearly five years. Mr. Bachchan's
preference for an NRI status, with all the implications of divided
loyalties and allegiance, was representative of a hypocritical elite.
Having first helped itself to public monies while all the time pretending
to be doing a `public service', this elite cheerfully abandoned the
motherland when things became ugly and frightening. The beautiful people
simply could not stand the stench of Ayodhya, Surat, Ahmedabad and Bombay.
And now that the scene has changed, the people of style and elegance are
back. Mr. Bachchan is also back. Not as an actor, not as a politician but
as a self-confessed businessman. A few months ago, he had told an
interviewer: ``With the change in the country and the economy and the boom
in entertainment, I felt the need for a professional attitude towards the
entertainment industry... I am no longer an individual but a corporate
entity. They have invested money in me as a brand. They can recover the
money through whatever the brand can do: act, sing, do a concert, endorse
a product.''
Perhaps if the interview was to take place this week, Mr. Bachchan would
have made an addition to the list of things he can do: host dinners for
political leaders. Admittedly Mr. Bachchan today feels comfortable being a
businessman. His evolution from a son of the eminent poet, Harbanshrai
Bachchan and from a friend of Rajiv Gandhi into an unabashed entrepreneur,
unfeelingly worshipping at the shrine of profits, is very much in
conformity with these sordid times of greed and sleaze.
Like any other citizen, Mr. Bachchan was and is at liberty to engage in
any vocation of his choice; but what invites public scrutiny is the
continuing need for a cozy relationship with the political crowd. In fact,
the country needs to refute this brand of entrepreneurship, which hinges
on connections and obligations with political leaders. After our encounter
with scams after scams in the era of economic liberalisation, we must be
prepared to demand that our so-called entrepreneurs exhibit genuine skills
and innovativeness of an entrepreneur besides mollycoddling the Sukh Rams
and the Ramlakhan Singh Yadavs of this world.
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