Geetanjali Krishna: Politics on an empty stomach

The recent events at Jawaharlal Nehru University have rekindled the debate on what constitutes nationalism and freedom of speech. These are, sometimes, little more than abstract concepts for the average Joe on the street - as I realised after a short conversation with a migrant in Mumbai.

Ram Kishan Pandey, a long-time migrant from Ayodhya, and I got talking when I stopped to buy some fruit from him. While weighing the fruit, he said he was put off by the state of affairs in his home state. "Even though I sometimes long for my home and the sight of the river Sarayu on whose banks I grew up, I have no option but to earn a living here," he said. "In fact, if things continue like this, a day will come when most of Uttar Pradesh's population will have migrated to greener pastures in other states." I wondered aloud why he was specifically disgruntled with UP's governance. He told me it was because the state had chosen to do nothing to resolve the Babri Masjid issue.
 

It transpired that Pandey's family lives quite close to the disputed Babri Masjid, and has a shop on the ground floor of their house. "Unfortunately, Ayodhya is such a sleepy little town that the shop hardly does any business, certainly not enough to support our family of five brothers with their respective families," he said. Consequently, only his eldest brother managed the shop, while the rest plied different trades in Mumbai. "We send money home, as the shop doesn't provide much income for even the few family members left there to feed." Back in 1992, there had been a ray of hope for the family business, when the Babri Masjid was demolished by Hindu right-wingers.

"So many people, so many journalists from India and abroad began coming to Ayodhya. Being so close to the scene of action, for a few months we did good business in the shop despite all the unrest. My mother even started selling home-made kachoris and tea there for some added business," Pandey recounted. Pilgrims from across the country began thronging the temple gates to pay obeisance, and Pandey's family began planning to convert their home into a modest guest house. "We figured that whether it remained a mosque or became a temple, we stood to get regular business from the polarised pilgrims, regardless of the community they belonged to," he said.

Their euphoria and grand business plans trickled to a stop when the furore died down. The disputed area was declared out of bounds for everyone, and sales from the Pandey shop plummeted. "So many political parties have come to power since, but none of them have tried to resolve the Babri Masjid issue," he said. I asked him what he believed would be the best way to resolve the dispute.

"As a Hindu, obviously I would like to pray at the hallowed spot where Ram was born," he said. They were, he said, a religious family after all. "But as a small-time shopkeeper running a failing business in Ayodhya, I wish the government would let someone worship there." There was no room for politics on an empty stomach, he said. It was time to think of business. For the residents of Ayodhya, he said, increased revenues from tourism could perhaps give the local economy the much-needed fillip. "Else, more and more people like me will be forced to seek their fortunes elsewhere," he said.

Later, I wondered whether Pandey's demand for a resolution to the Babri Masjid dispute made him anti-Hindu or secular. Possibly, neither. It showed him to be a political opportunist, like so many seem to be these days.