Mamata needn't worry about a backlash: the would-be President remains a distant second to the could-be prime minister
The Economic Times, 9 July, 2012
Zail Singh was handpicked by Indira Gandhi to be president. The Shiromani Akali Dal voted for him.Pratibha Patil was Sonia Gandhi's choice. The Shiv Sena supported the Marathi manoos. The Bengal CPI-M has forced its central leadership to backPranab Mukherjee. So how come the Trinamool Congress initially opposed, and is now silent on, Mukherjee's candidature? Does not the party risk hurting the Bengali sentiment?
Indians love icons and Bengalis are starved of them. Even the long shadow of Ray's towering genius struggles to cover half a century between Tagore and Ganguly. Few remembered Bose before one boson recently gained mass appeal. Others forced Mukhopadhyay to commit suicide after the good doctor created India's first test tube baby. So Bengalis have had to turn to what they do best, or, at any rate, most: politics. India's longest-serving chief minister easily became Bengal's biggest political icon.
Mukherjee is not Basu. He excelled in Delhi. Whatever politics Mukherjee tried in Bengal only prolonged Basu's record stint at the Writers' Buildings . Probably that was his high command's mandate in the coalition era. But the success of his Bengal mission finally backfired, splintering the state Congress and unleashing a certain Banerjee on the decadent Left and, eventually, himself. But let's stick to the story.
STATE'S ICONS
Mukherjee has not been the only Bengali politician in Delhi. There was Gupta, who, with a family and political background more formidable than even Basu's , remained merely a giant of a parliamentarian. His only brush with power triggered tragiccomic moments such as when a nubile TV reporter, having secured a bite amid a mini stampede on the staircase of the CPI-M party office as Left leaders descended after a "Front meeting" , asked the country's home minister for his name and designation .
The capital also saw Chatterjee, whose nickname of MoU-da (thanks to numerous futile forays to capitalist shores to fetch investment for Basu) stuck despite his gallant, non-partisan parting shot as the Speaker. Among his Bengali compatriots, Mukherjee has certainly been the most influential politician in Delhi. Like Basu, his charm and authority cut across party lines and ideologies. If Basu pioneered the art of coalition management in Calcutta , Mukherjee later perfected it in Delhi .
Though the head of a Left government , Basu enjoyed an unrivalled fan following in the chambers and industry. The slowdown during his second stint as finance minister notwithstanding, Mukherjee remained the business' choicest go-to man before and after liberalisation . But Basu's national appeal far surpassed Mukherjee's aura in Bengal. During the volatile Third Front era in the late 1990s, Basu's rare monosyllables tested the patience of the Delhi Press.
On one occasion, a couple of desperate reporters got into the service lift that was ferrying the chief minister's dinner to the fourth floor of Banga Bhavan, the Bengal state house in the Capital, to "hunt for a scoop" . Quizzed about the giant portions of fish in a runny curry, an attendant nonchalantly replied: "What with the fish, he will also digest you." The reporters dared not step out.
ALWAYS NUMBER 2
Mukherjee's entry into big-time politics was through the Rajya Sabha in 1969. The first time he went to the people in 1980, against the advice of Indira Gandhi, he badly lost from Bolpur in Bengal. Lesson learnt, Mukherjee would not contest a direct election again in 24 years. As an adolescent in a highly political Calcutta in the 1980s, I remember the grown-ups dismissing Mukherjee as a loser who preferred the back door (Rajya Sabha ) to facing the voter.
The popular disdain only grew when Rajiv Gandhi's indifference made him leave the Congress to form a one-man party. 'Without Indira, no Pranab' went the refrain. In the last two decades, Mukherjee has reinvented himself as the mostuseful politician in the Congress ranks by working the policies, the coalition and the media. Out of power in the late 1990s, he would agree to exclusive interviews post-midnight after returning home from lengthy CWC meetings. Since 2004, he has won two Lok Sabha polls, comfortably.
More importantly, he never repeated the mistake of 1984, when he offered to lead the government after Indira Gandhi's assassination. The Congress has depended on his skill for political survival time and again, but made sure he remained the number two, albeit the most important number two ever, in the Cabinet.
DIFFERENT FOLKS
If Basu's (or his party's ) historical blunder in 1996 was to refuse, Mukherjee's in 1984 was to claim prime ministership. The two choices have set the two politicians apart and, at least in Bengal, still help the Basu myth while portraying Mukherjee's presidency as a consolation, if not a demotion. Basu remained the one who could have been the prime minister; Mukherjee, the one who would never be.
Little wonder then that celebrations for Mukherjee's candidature were restricted mostly to his ancestral village and sundry party offices in Bengal. Though the voices on Kolkata's streets are positive about one of their own heading for Raisina Hill, the hysteria witnessed during the 1996 Basu fiasco, or the recent IPL triumph of the Knight Riders, is missing.
There is anyway little room for debate because the outcome of the presidential contest is now a foregone conclusion. The Trinamool Congress might still have drawn some sentimental flak at home had it succeeded in scuttling the chances of a Bengali president . But Mukherjee's wide acceptance in national politics ensured it did not. Now, whichever way didi votes in Delhi, Kolkata is not holding its breath.
The Economic Times, 9 July, 2012
Zail Singh was handpicked by Indira Gandhi to be president. The Shiromani Akali Dal voted for him.Pratibha Patil was Sonia Gandhi's choice. The Shiv Sena supported the Marathi manoos. The Bengal CPI-M has forced its central leadership to backPranab Mukherjee. So how come the Trinamool Congress initially opposed, and is now silent on, Mukherjee's candidature? Does not the party risk hurting the Bengali sentiment? Indians love icons and Bengalis are starved of them. Even the long shadow of Ray's towering genius struggles to cover half a century between Tagore and Ganguly. Few remembered Bose before one boson recently gained mass appeal. Others forced Mukhopadhyay to commit suicide after the good doctor created India's first test tube baby. So Bengalis have had to turn to what they do best, or, at any rate, most: politics. India's longest-serving chief minister easily became Bengal's biggest political icon.
Mukherjee is not Basu. He excelled in Delhi. Whatever politics Mukherjee tried in Bengal only prolonged Basu's record stint at the Writers' Buildings . Probably that was his high command's mandate in the coalition era. But the success of his Bengal mission finally backfired, splintering the state Congress and unleashing a certain Banerjee on the decadent Left and, eventually, himself. But let's stick to the story.
STATE'S ICONS
Mukherjee has not been the only Bengali politician in Delhi. There was Gupta, who, with a family and political background more formidable than even Basu's , remained merely a giant of a parliamentarian. His only brush with power triggered tragiccomic moments such as when a nubile TV reporter, having secured a bite amid a mini stampede on the staircase of the CPI-M party office as Left leaders descended after a "Front meeting" , asked the country's home minister for his name and designation .
The capital also saw Chatterjee, whose nickname of MoU-da (thanks to numerous futile forays to capitalist shores to fetch investment for Basu) stuck despite his gallant, non-partisan parting shot as the Speaker. Among his Bengali compatriots, Mukherjee has certainly been the most influential politician in Delhi. Like Basu, his charm and authority cut across party lines and ideologies. If Basu pioneered the art of coalition management in Calcutta , Mukherjee later perfected it in Delhi .
Though the head of a Left government , Basu enjoyed an unrivalled fan following in the chambers and industry. The slowdown during his second stint as finance minister notwithstanding, Mukherjee remained the business' choicest go-to man before and after liberalisation . But Basu's national appeal far surpassed Mukherjee's aura in Bengal. During the volatile Third Front era in the late 1990s, Basu's rare monosyllables tested the patience of the Delhi Press.
On one occasion, a couple of desperate reporters got into the service lift that was ferrying the chief minister's dinner to the fourth floor of Banga Bhavan, the Bengal state house in the Capital, to "hunt for a scoop" . Quizzed about the giant portions of fish in a runny curry, an attendant nonchalantly replied: "What with the fish, he will also digest you." The reporters dared not step out.
ALWAYS NUMBER 2
Mukherjee's entry into big-time politics was through the Rajya Sabha in 1969. The first time he went to the people in 1980, against the advice of Indira Gandhi, he badly lost from Bolpur in Bengal. Lesson learnt, Mukherjee would not contest a direct election again in 24 years. As an adolescent in a highly political Calcutta in the 1980s, I remember the grown-ups dismissing Mukherjee as a loser who preferred the back door (Rajya Sabha ) to facing the voter.
The popular disdain only grew when Rajiv Gandhi's indifference made him leave the Congress to form a one-man party. 'Without Indira, no Pranab' went the refrain. In the last two decades, Mukherjee has reinvented himself as the mostuseful politician in the Congress ranks by working the policies, the coalition and the media. Out of power in the late 1990s, he would agree to exclusive interviews post-midnight after returning home from lengthy CWC meetings. Since 2004, he has won two Lok Sabha polls, comfortably.
More importantly, he never repeated the mistake of 1984, when he offered to lead the government after Indira Gandhi's assassination. The Congress has depended on his skill for political survival time and again, but made sure he remained the number two, albeit the most important number two ever, in the Cabinet.
DIFFERENT FOLKS
If Basu's (or his party's ) historical blunder in 1996 was to refuse, Mukherjee's in 1984 was to claim prime ministership. The two choices have set the two politicians apart and, at least in Bengal, still help the Basu myth while portraying Mukherjee's presidency as a consolation, if not a demotion. Basu remained the one who could have been the prime minister; Mukherjee, the one who would never be.
Little wonder then that celebrations for Mukherjee's candidature were restricted mostly to his ancestral village and sundry party offices in Bengal. Though the voices on Kolkata's streets are positive about one of their own heading for Raisina Hill, the hysteria witnessed during the 1996 Basu fiasco, or the recent IPL triumph of the Knight Riders, is missing.
There is anyway little room for debate because the outcome of the presidential contest is now a foregone conclusion. The Trinamool Congress might still have drawn some sentimental flak at home had it succeeded in scuttling the chances of a Bengali president . But Mukherjee's wide acceptance in national politics ensured it did not. Now, whichever way didi votes in Delhi, Kolkata is not holding its breath.
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