Sensing the alienation that comes with the job and is reinforced through the trappings of position, power and wealth "" an unusual politician was prompted to take a bold step to get in touch with the people. In the autumn of 1994, Surjit Singh Barnala, former chief minister, governor and a prime terrorist target gave the slip to his security cordon and vanished.
Disguised in hair deep dyed a glossy black, kurta pyjama, a shawl and a money belt, Barnala had no fixed destination in mind. He simply had an overpowering urge to get away and be in touch with real people again. Even his family had no idea where he was going or for how long.
To go back to the people as plain John Doe for any length of time and to do it incognito (remember that for a politician there's incognito and there's incognito) requires nerve. To do it when an appreciable portion of the populace would like nothing better than to swim in your gore is in my book courage of a high order.
Quite simply, this then is a book which details Barnala's ramble across India in the period he was away. A successful politician travels in disguise, alone and like any other ordinary mortal "" a better storyline would be difficult to conceive. This is a subject that merits treatment from Premchand, or Marquez or Rushdie. Think about it the treatment could be symbolist, or magic realist, or even plain old story telling "" and it would be a good read all the same.
Having thus been attuned to the right frequency of expectation the reader finds that the harmonics that emerge are awry. The story begins promisingly enough. Chapter 1, titled 'The Escape' delineates the moments through which Barnala makes his bid for freedom. It is reasonably well written, but the action soon begins to pale.
The next chapter doubles back to the actual preparation made in making the break. But by now the long wait for Godot has begun in right earnest. For starters, the narrative goes even further back in time to the emergency. The author describes the trials and tribulations that were his lot, how he suffered them patiently, and finally how he was embraced by an expectant electorate.
The cavalcades, the reception committees, the fireworks are all there. Around four pages are more or less devoted to the state of his dental hygiene in prison. The crowning glory comes in the form of his election to the Lok Sabha and ascent to a post in the union cabinet.
The next chapter is devoted to Barnala's stint as a member of the union cabinet. The one after this is more of the same thing, with one important exception. How I came that close to the prime ministership is the burden of this part of the tale; as it is probably of any high-ranking politician the world over. The caravan moves on, only to be tripped up by Ope-ration Bluestar and Longawals' rise to the forefront of Punjab politics and his assassination (chapter 6). The narrative then dwells lovingly on Barnala's ascent to chief-ministership and his ouster.
And the story of the escape? We're back on track and moving along by the beginning of chapter 8. The remainder of the book is more or less devoted to the main theme. But it is dull reading. The laboured style of writing reminds one of an amateur camera at work "" flat, one dimensional. Either the author has not pointed himself in the right direction, or has not clicked the shutter a sufficient number of times.
Pages and pages are devoted to the most mundane things. The truck in which Barnala is travelling stops at an agents office, the author waits, the truck starts again, the author and the driver talk, life stories are swapped, the truck stops again, Barnala defecates, then later reminisces about his gaol days again. Characters waltz in, are described meticulously, and waltz out again.
In Indore, Barnala checks in at a hotel, walks the streets, takes a detour to a nearby fair, meets up and moves in with a stranger, checks out a holy site and then moves along again.
He then goes to Aurangabad, takes in the sights at Ajanta and Ellora, and indulges himself by giving a lecture on art. En-route to Lucknow he meets some more good samaritans and tells us about them.
Lucknow, a city where Barnala spent six happy years of his youth triggers off more reminiscences, a bit of family history, Barnala's early political grounding, the trauma of Independence and the post-Independence struggle for a Punjabi Suba. The barrage of descriptions comes thick and fast from all sides all at once, with no reason as to why it is sparked off.
His Lucknow experiences get a brief airing, there are more lectures on architecture, a comrade of earlier years is remembered, old places are revisited. Finally, Barnala runs into the wrong side of the law, talks his way out of trouble and goes back home, this time on a first class AC ticket.
Thats it.
By now the oft-used literary technique of flashback becomes jaded. The ending of the book degenerates into a mish-mash of fond remembrances, peppered with family history.
The sheer audacity of what Barnala pulled off does not come through at all because of the weak narrative. The book is simultaneously a lacklustre tale of a daredevil escape and a compressed autobiography "" both are handled badly and do little justice to someone I know is a remarkable man.
