Nitish Kumar and his incredible calisthenics, a face-off fiesta between Ghālib and Shakespeare

During Nitish Kumar's tenure as Minister of Railways in the early 2000s, I had the privilege of serving as Master of Ceremonies at numerous official and semi-official events where he graced the occasion as chief guest. I was then a middle-level railway executive, and I distinctly recall how he not only remembered my name but consistently made the effort to greet me personally with a warm smile. His thoughtful gestures left me genuinely gratified, and I held him in high esteem as a man of admirable character, even though I differed in my assessment of his policies for the Indian Railways, which I did not consider progressive enough.

However, regrettably, I now find myself compelled to view him as the epitome of political inconsistency, the ultimate Aaya Ram Gaya Ram (Ram cometh, Ram goeth) player. The phrase, literally meaning Ram has come, Ram has gone, refers in Indian politics to the frequent floor crossing, turncoating, party switching and legislative horse trading practised by elected representatives.

In the latest episode of the Nitish Kumar Flip Flop Extravaganza, our favourite political acrobat has once again executed a perfectly timed somersault. After days of suspense that had the nation on the edge of its seat, or at least on the edge of its political fatigue, Nitish Kumar added yet another resignation followed by a fresh swearing-in to his expanding repertoire. In a move that surprised absolutely no one, except perhaps Nitish himself, who may have had to consult his own Wikipedia entry to confirm his current affiliation, Kumar met the Governor of Bihar on 28 January. With the solemnity of a man returning a borrowed umbrella, he tendered his resignation, and the Governor, with the practised calm of a veteran referee in a never-ending match, invited him to continue as caretaker Chief Minister.

Ladies and gentlemen, fasten your seatbelts and reach for the popcorn for the next instalment of As the Political Pendulum Swings, starring Nitish Kumar in the recurring role of Chief Minister. This marks his ninth term in less than two decades, achieved in less time than it takes most of us to locate a matching pair of socks in the morning. Step aside, soap operas. Politics has claimed the prime-time slot.

In some alternate celestial balcony, Shakespeare and Ghālib, perhaps weary of the intrigues of their own centuries, now sit as amused spectators of Bihar’s revolving stage. Imagine the cosmic prism tuned firmly to Patna, with the Bard of Avon and the master of Delhi engaged in a knowing, tongue-in-cheek conversation. Their voices weave through the political tumult, quoting, misquoting and embellishing one another with theatrical delight. As I happened upon this imagined exchange, I felt like an accidental eavesdropper at a gathering of immortals. What follows is their conversation, faithfully reproduced, capturing the sparkle and sting of their celestial commentary.

Shakespeare: Oh, my dear chappie Gaulib, much beyond my Hamlet, "To resign or not to resign, was that the question” for this extraordinary human chameleon, your Nettish Koomaar, or what? His pendulum swings with a rhythm that a dignified Englishman like me cannot comprehend. Alliances come and go but unlike the King in Henry IV, Part 2, “Unchanged lies the head that wears the crown.” Brutus mulled over the rise of power of Julius Caesar, but here this Koomaar guy redefines and perfects it as “Th’ abuse of greatness is when it disjoins remorse from power.” Sorry state of affairs in the politics of your country, Forsooth!

Ghālib: Do not try to be this pretentious dandy angrez (Englishman). Are you an ignoramus when it comes to realpolitik? The fellow is simply a thinker, forever in quest of a meaningful path to tread. I have written quite pointedly about such indecisive underlings, who are forever looking for fresh guidance and leadership and today it is all about the supreme leader, the Moody.

Chaltā huuñ thoḌī duur har ik tez-rau ke saath

pahchāntā  nahīñ  huuñ  abhī  rāhbar  ko maiñ

(tez-rau: fast speed, rāhbar: guide, leader. For short distances I walk with everyone who moves rapidly; I know not yet who the guide is.)

Shakespeare: Oh you simpleton dervish, nonsense, do not look for virtue in necessity! As I said, he has artfully reinterpreted the Hamlet soliloquy “... Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And, by opposing, end them?...”. The Pepoo’s failure to make him the convenor of Indi alliance pierced his heart like an arrow and so he decided to jettison his bag of misfortune and jump to another boat in his sea of troubles: the unstoppable Endi ship captained by the Moody. In any case, it is good drama and quoting you with a twist:

Ham ko ma.alūm hai siyaasat kī haqīqat lekin

dil ke ḳhush rakhne ko Nettish hī achchhā hai

(siyaasat: politics, ma.alūm: aware, Jannat: heaven, paradise, haqiqat: reality, ḳhayāl: thought. We are well aware of the truth about politics, but this Nettish is good for keeping our hearts entertained.)

In any case, like Duke Senior said in my play As You Like It, “…Sweet are the uses of adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head...”, this wily fellow can grow medicinal jewels on his forehead like the proverbial poisonous toad and knows when to spray them on ever-credulous dingbats like the Peppooo.

Ghālib: Billee baarad saahab (Billy the Bard sir), it is about being adroit with astuteness and the situation is captured better me better here:

Ahl-e-bīnash ko hai tūfān-e-havādis maktab

lutma-e-mauj kam-az saili-e-ustād nahīñ

(ahl-e-bīnash: people with astute vision, tūfān-e-havādis: typhoon of tragedies, maktab: academy, a circle of intellectual thought leaders, lutma-e-mauj: injury from a strong wave, kam-az saili-e-ustād: slap of a teacher. Wise people with vision take good counsel from a storm of misfortune; they consider the injurious whack from waves to be no less than the slap of a master.)

Do refrain from this nitpicking on everything I say:

Har ek baat pe kahte ho tum ki ye kyā hai

tumhīñ kaho ki ye andāz-e-guftugū kyā hai

(andāz-e-guftugū: style of conversation. On every matter you tell me what it is. Pray, tell me, what is this style of conversation?)

Shakespeare: OK, fine, Mirza Gilboy, suit yourself. Look at the Moody, whose doctrine of political manoeuvre has been captured by your poet Faraz much better than you could ever conjure:

Ranjish hī sahī dil hī dukhāne ke liye aa

aa phir se mujhe chhoḌ ke jaane ke liye aa

(ranjish: unpleasant, strained relationship. If there are bad vibes, so be it, but do show up even if it is to give more pain to my heart, do come even if you would desert me again.)

So strange that in Beehaar (Bihar), only the underling teams change places, the chief minister remains. My heart weeps for its unfortunate climes as I recall the great lines spoken by a citizen in my play Richard III, “Woe to the land that’s governed by a Nettish, I mean, child”.

 

Ghālib: Baarad-e-Aiwān (Bard of Avon), janaab-e-aali marduud-e-azam (respected yet much-rejected elder), do you forget that the other citizen also says, “In him there is a hope of government, Which, in his nonage, council under him, And, in his full and ripened years, himself, No doubt shall then, and till then, govern well.” The man is flitting from one band to another, seeking the ultimate truth, and will soon come of age to govern on his own without crutches. Did your Jaques not say in As You Like It that, “All the world’s a stage... And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages”, whereas our protagonist here plays not merely seven ages but nine, with such finesse. What a thespian in political attire!

Shakespeare: Hark, my desi (Indian) brother, this Nettish doth tread a treacherous path. He will govern well, my left foot. It reminds me of young Hamlet, who, upon spying a gravedigger merrily singing whilst fashioning a grave and unveiling a skull, did ponder, “It might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now o'erreaches, one that would circumvent God, might it not?”. He is a character in the very likeness of Nettish who, I dare say, has rightly given the alias Peltoo Ram (literally Ram who springs back and forth).

Ghālib: ShaKHs-e-peer mere 'bhālā hilaao' dost (Shakespeare, old man my 'shake a spear' friend), go on quibbling but, just as in case of your villain Brutus in Julius Caesar, your narratives “pass by me as the idle wind, Which I respect not”. Like Polonius telling Laertes in your Hamlate (Hamlet), “...This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man...” and that is what our hero is doing, being totally truthful to his own self, with complete consistency. In fact, I wrote for his character:

Mehrbāñ ho ke bulā lo mujhe chāho jis vaqt

maiñ gayā vaqt nahīñ huuñ ki phir aa bhī na sakūñ

(Mehrbāñ: kind, considerate. Be kind to call me again, I am not time which is past that I cannot come back.)

As the cosmic banter rolled on, even the stars seemed to nudge one another and titter, for the heavens themselves could scarce keep a straight face at the acrobatics of this indefatigable turncoat. The constellations flickered like theatre lamps, the moon took notes, and fate, that poor overworked stage manager, kept shuffling the cue cards while our hero rehearsed yet another grand pivot.

So, dear readers, fasten your seatbelts, guard your alliances, and keep the popcorn warm. The circus is in perpetual session, and the ringmaster never quite exits, he simply re-enters from the opposite tent.

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