On a magic carpet in Varanasi (Published in OPEN)

W eaving Varanasi ’s Political Carpet

image 1 (Sreedeep). An election hoarding as you approach the city

Text - D i p a n k a r G u p t a (Distinguished Professor SNU, Director C-PACT)

Images - S r e e d e e p (Independent Photographer and Fellow C-PACT)

One  long  look      I  have  been  to  Varanasi  several  times  earlier;  often  as  many  as  three  times  a  year.  This  is  not  because  I  was  drawn  to  the  place,  or  was  attracted  by  the  self-­‐indulgent  filth  of  the  city  and  the  ghats,  but  because  this  area   is  also   India’s  carpet  belt.  You  will  not   find  exquisite  stuff  here,   but   in   villages   adjoining  Varanasi,   simple,   rude,   colorful   carpets   are  woven   that   find  international  buyers  in  Europe  and  America.      One  look  at  the  depressing  dugout  looms  where  these  weavers  spend  hours  making  a  carpet  and   it   is   hard   to   imagine   that   these   lowly   hovels   are   indeed   linked   to   the   international  market.   In   fact,   till   about   2009,   Varanasi,   Bhadohi,   Jaunpur  and   Mirzapur   supplied   11  percent  of  the  world’s  trade  in  carpets.    

 image  2  (Sreedeep). Muslim weaver in Bajardihan  

   So  Varanasi  city  for  me  was  a  stop  over  to  get  to  the  villages  around  where  carpet  weavers  slogged,   raised   angry   kids   and   died,   often   painfully.   They   slogged   because  weaving  was   a  boring   job   and   done   mainly   in   poor   light   in   dark,   dank   mud   huts.   Their   children   were  unhappy  because  none  of  them  wanted  to  be  carpet  makers  and  serve  carpetbaggers  who  calmly   exploited   them   and   made   a   killing   in   the   big,   wide   world.   These   young   people  

resented  their  parents  for  they  saw  them  as  losers.  Being  stuck  to  a  loom  in  the  village  is  the  next  worst  thing  to  being  stuck  to  a  plough.      That  was  then,  this  is  now.    

 image  3  (Sreedeep). Walk the ghats  

   Several   years   had   passed   since   those   sojourns.   This  was   a   different   kind   of   Varanasi   visit,  where   I   would   spend   time   in   the   city,   walk   the  ghats,   visit   a   few   temples   and   inhale   the  strong   air   of   its   narrow   alleys.   I   thought   this   trip   might   prove   that   my   initial   negativities  towards  Varanasi  were  ill  founded.  I  knew  it  would  never  be  love  at  first  sight;  that  moment  was  long  gone,  but  perhaps  one  long  look  would  change  matters.    

Gujarat  in  the  skies      

 image  4  (Sreedeep). Campaign material  

 The  first  surprise  was  waiting  on  the  flight  from  Delhi  to  Varanasi.  Almost  half  the  seats  were  taken  by  Gujratis,  who  had  no  problems  at  all  in  announcing  themselves  as  Modi  partisans.  Actually,   they   did   not   have   to   do   much   to   make   this   known;   their   very   numbers   in   a  concentrated  place,  30,000  feet  in  the  skies,  said  it  all.  My  neighbor  was  a  legislator  who  in  fact  was   representing   the   very   area   in   Surat  where   I   had   lived   for   over   a   year   in   the   late  1970s.   I   told   him   how   Surat   had   transformed   quite   magically   since   those   days   and   is   no  longer  the  dirty,  mosquito-­‐ridden  place  I  had  known.  He  agreed  and  took  most  of  the  credit  for   this   turnaround,   though   it   looked   like  he  would  have  been  about   two  years  old   in   the  1980s  when  all  of  this  had  happened.      This   plane-­‐load   of   Gujarati   Modi   partisans   should   have   prepared   me   for   the   fact   that  Varanasi  had  been   taken  over  by  outsiders  peddling   their  political  ware.  Modi   supporters,  AAP   activists,   even   Congress  workers,  were   nearly   always   from   some  other   city   and   from  states  far  away  from  Uttar  Pradesh.  While  Varanasi  residents  stayed  put  at  home,  or  went  about   minding   their   business,   it   is   people   like   me   who   roamed   the   streets   generating  political  gossip  or  hoping  to  cook  some  up;  perhaps,  dress  some  up  as  well,  mannequin  style.    

 image  5  (Sreedeep). Mask on mannequin  

The  professorial  mahant    

 image  6  (Sreedeep). Street theater in Assi ghat  

   After  sunset  the  ghats  were  full  of  activists  from  outside;  this  time  combining  business  with  a   spot   of   pleasure.   Though   the   riverside   is   not   a   pleasant   sight,   all   the   propaganda   by  Varanasi  worshippers  in  Harvard  notwithstanding,  at  least  the  sun  was  now  down  and  there  was  water   flowing  out   there.   It   helped  a   great  deal   that   the   light  was   low,   except   for   the  bulbs   around   push-­‐carts   and   restaurants   in   the   area.   In   this   fading   dusk   penumbra,   the  contents  of  the  murky  river  were  not  easily  visible  to  the  naked  eye.    

   image  7  (Sreedeep). Fading  dusk  penumbra  

 Obviously,  Ganga  Mai  needed  a  clean-­‐up  job  urgently  but  surprisingly  it  was  not  tops  in  the  agenda  of  most  people  who  lived  in  and  around  the  river.  Men  and  women  were  still  taking  their   dips,   gargling   the  water,   putting   their   fingers   down   their   throats   so   that   they   could  expectorate  generously  into  the  river.  The  one  person  who  was  really  worried  about  Ganga  

Mai’s  cleanliness  was   the  mahant  of  Varanasi’s   famous,  and  highly   revered,  Sankatmochan  temple.  

   image  8  (downloaded)  Vir  Bhadra  Mishra  with  his  son  

Now   comes   the   real   surprise.   The  mahant  is   not   your   everyday   mumbo-­‐jumbo   rattler   in  chief;   he   is,   in   fact   (are   you   sitting?)   a   professor   of   engineering   in  Varanasi’s   reputed   and  well-­‐established   IIT.   His   brother   is   a   professor   of   neurology   in   Banaras   Hindu   University’s  Medical  College,  the  best  hospital  in  town.      The  mahant,  Professor  Mishra,  offered  us  prashad,  tea  with  a  touching  mix  of  formality  and  affection.  He  told  us  at  length  what  his  proposals  were  regarding  the  river  and  how  hard  his  late  father  fought  for  this  cause,  and  in  vain.  But  he  had  not  given  up  hope,  not  yet.  He  said,  with   some   sense   of   accomplishment,   that   he  managed   to   get   a   formal   acceptance   of   his  clean-­‐up  proposal  from  all  the  three  major  political  players  in  this  election.      I   asked   him   about  Arvind   Kejriwal  while   trying   to   quickly   remedy  my   stereotyped   view  of  a  mahant.  I  was  already  beginning  to  feel  foolish  inside  my  skin  for  once  loudly  complaining  in  Delhi  that  Kejriwal  had  no  business  to  plonk  himself  in  a  temple,  and  the  Sankat  Mochan  at   that.   I   had   no   idea   then   of  who   the  mahantwas   nor   that   he   and   Kejriwal  were   friends  because  of  their  common  technical  background  and  training.      “Arvind   Kejriwal   was   my   personal   guest,   like   many   other   personal   guests,”   said  the  mahant.  “Why  did  people  complain  about  this,  I  cannot  understand?  Just  because  he  is  now  a  politician  does  not  mean  I  must  withdraw  my  friendship.”  That  made  a  lot  of  sense  to  me   and   I   was   secretly   happy   that   he   would   never   get   to   know   of   my   outburst   against  Kejriwal   taking   residence   in   Sankat   Mochan.   Could   I   be   held   entirely   responsible?   Ask  yourself,   can   there   be   another   Mahant   of   a   major   Hindu   temple   who   is   a   Professor   of  Engineering?  

Image 9 (Sreedeep). Morning arti at Tulsi Ghat near Sankat Mochan temple

     Muslims  and  "the  chaiwala"        

 Image 10 (Sreedeep). Children  between  6-­‐10  years  of  age  carrying  out  processions  

 The   Bangali   Tola   is   by   the   Daswahamedh ghat  and   full   of   RSS   sympathizers   and   Modi  supporters;  but  here  too,  outsiders  were  in  even  numbers  with  the  locals.  Children  between  6-­‐10  years  of  age  were  wearing  Modi  masks  and  carrying  out  processions  that  were  about  20  kids  strong.  From  their  full  bloodied  sloganeering  to  the  veins  sticking  out  on  their  tender  throats,  they  were  doing  their  best  to  imitate  their  elders,  so  what  if  a  whole  bunch  of  them  had   come   from   outside.   I   asked   a   young   fellow,   pushing   12:   “Why  Modi?”   Promptly,   he  replied:  “We  want  jobs.”  Taken  aback  I  asked,  “But  you  must  be  in  school.”    .”Yes,  but  I  need  a  job  one  day.”  The  trickle-­‐down  theory  clearly  worked  in  this  case.  Most  adults  in  Varanasi  were  overwhelmingly  plugged  into  Modi,  the  job  giver.      

   Image 11 (Sreedeep). Children  between  6-­‐10  years  of  age  were  wearing  Modi  masks  

       Bangali   Tola   has   more   Bengalis   per   square   feet   than   you   would   find   in   Kolkata’s  Chowringhee,  but   it  was  not  Mamata  Banerjee  who  was   the   reigning  deity  here.  A  middle  aged  Muslim  man  who   happened   to   be   passing   by  was   immediately   apprehended   by   the  youth  and  a  BJP  scarf  was  draped  around  his  neck.  He  did  not  dare  to  take  it  off,  but  he  was  not  happy  at  all.  

 Image 12 (Dipankar Gupta). He  did  not  dare  to  take  it  off,  but  he  was  not  happy  at  all.  

 But   before  we   go   further   down   this   road,   let  me   also   add   that   amongst   the  people   I   saw  bathing  and  splashing   in  the  ghat  was  a  Muslim  person,  wearing  a  very  distinctive  beard.   I  saw  this  as  a  contradiction  till  I  was  told  that  in  Varanasi,  Ganga  belongs  to  all.  That  may  well  be  true,  but  if   it   is  then  this  would  be  a  star  example  of  syncretic  culture;  not  all  romantic,  but  basically,  good  common  sense  and  good  common  convenience.    

 Image 13 (Dipankar Gupta). Bathing  and  splashing  in  the  ghat  was  a  Muslim  person  

   The  famous  Pappu  Tea  Shop  where  we  were  told  political  views  were  constantly  being  made  and   re-­‐made,   was   a   first   class   disappointment.   Nothing   very   grand  was   happening   there,  nobody   was   discussing   politics   in   any   depth;   in   fact,   the   customers   at   the   stall   only  occasionally  talked  about  the  elections;  most  often,  they  were  just  plain  wisecracking.  It  was  in  another  lesser  known  place  that  we  were  able  to  get  a  glimpse  of  syncretic  living  again.      

 Image 14 (sreedeep). Discussions  in  tea  joints  

 A   clearly   religious   Hindu   with   forehead   markings,   a   lower   middle   class   pen   pusher,  somebody  who  was  a  small  time  shop-­‐keeper  and  a  Muslim  were  exchanging  views  in  a  tea  shop.  They  addressed  the  Muslim  in  very  matter  of  fact  terms  and  so  did  he;  there  was  no  guardedness   in   their   interaction.   I   could   also   tell   that   they   were   not   old   buddies,   but  acquaintances   catching   up   over   tea.   The   forehead   resplendent  Hindu  was   not   a   clear   BJP  supporter:  in  fact,  he  was  the  most  cynical  of  the  four.  And  yet,  this  was  not  Pappu  Tea  Stall  that  every  visitor  to  Varanasi  is  fed  upto  the  gills  with.    

   Image 15 (sreedeep). Discussions  in  tea  joints  

 Image 16 (sreedeep). Amit Shah addressing a group of business community in Shubham lawns  

 Apart  from  Modi,  the  BJP  has  no  other  star  attraction.  Amit  Shah  was  addressing  a  crowd  of  business  people,  some  from  Varanasi,  but  many  from  other  states,  including  Tamil  Nadu,  but  the   venue   was   about   half   full.   Perhaps   to   save   themselves   the   embarrassment   the  organizers   instructed   the   tent   providers   to   quietly   take   the   chairs   back   without   drawing  attention.  Amit  Shah  gave  a  thundering  speech  to  an  inattentive  and  sparse  attendance  and  repeatedly  raised  his  arms  and  bellowed  out,  “Har,Har,  Modi!”  I  have  not  seen  Modi  do  that  yet,  nor  I  believe,  has  Arun  Jaitley,  but  here  was  Amit  Shah  in  full  flow.    

 Image 17 (sreedeep). Har,Har,  Modi-­‐slogan  

Brooms  in  the  looms      

 Image 18 (sreedeep). Torn AAP posters  

 Now,  how  does  one  find  Arvind  Kejriwal?  We  got  wind  that  he  was  on  a  road  show  about  12  kilometres  from  Varanasi,  so  off  we  went.  We  came  across  a  makeshift  AAP  office  en  route  only   to   satisfy   ourselves   that   we   were   on   the   right   track.   As   we   kept   driving   down   we  suddenly  saw  in  the  distances  a  dense  column  of  raised  broom  (the  jhadu)  and  knew  at  once  that  we  had  not  erred  in  finding  our  way.      

 Image 19 (sreedeep). Kejri addressing in Mangalpura  

 Approaching   this   broom   lined,   bustling   and   chaotic   passage   one   could   not   help   but   get   a  goose-­‐bumpy  feeling  of  being  part  of  a  carnival.  Kejriwal  spoke  standing  on  a  jeep  and  spun  out   the   usual   litany   against   big   capitalists   and   rapacious   politicians   who  make   truck   with  them.  He  warned  the  people  that  Modi  meant  crony  capitalism.  I  have  heard  this  spiel  many  times,  so  also  I  suspect  had  many  others,  but  there  was  rapt  attention  and  then  tumultuous  applause  when  he  finished.  His  next  stop  was  a  village  where  a  makeshift  stage  had  been  set  up  for  him.  He  said  about  the  same  things  again  and  again,  people  listened.    

   Image 20 (sreedeep). @ kejri rally  

 I  was  simply  delighted  to  be  there  for  I  saw  in  the  crowd  people  of  different  castes  cheering  enthusiastically.  There  were  no  ritual  separation  between  jatis,  nor  was  it  that  all  members  of  a  caste  were  Kejriwal  supporters.  Some  were  Modi  groupies,  but  some  were  not.  If  only  those   who   peddle   caste   calculations   at   election   time   were   present   there   I   am   sure   they  would  have  gulped,  swallowed  and  said  ”Very  sorry!”    

   Image 21 (sreedeep). @ Kejri rally  

 However,  you  can  never  be  too  sure;  nobody  wants  to  admit  guilt  or  defeat.   If  the  contest  between  Modi  and  Kejriwal  were   to  be  decided   that  hot  and  humid  afternoon  but  only   in  the  villages,  then  the  broom  would  have  vanquished  the  lotus  with  ease.  That  the  contest  is  heavily  weighted  by  Varanasi  city  folks  is  the  reason  that  Modi’s  entourage  has  its  tail  up.      There   is  still  a   fly   in  Modi’s  ointment.  The  Muslim  bunkars,  or  weavers,  are  almost  entirely  for  Kejriwal.  The  colony  of  these  weavers  is  probably  the  most  depressing  and  oppressively  degrading  part  of  the  city.  About  400,000  people  live  in  a  dense  neighbourhood  littered  with  all  kinds  of  garbage,  but  there  is  not  a  single  government  school  in  sight.    

 Image 22 (sreedeep). Bunkars

 There  are  just  two  madrasas,  one  public  and  one  private,  and  the  education  they  offer  is  till  Class   VIII.   No   wonder   the  bunkars  are   mad:   so   many   elections   have   come   and   gone   and  nobody  has  so  far  cared  to  set  up  a  proper  school  or  even  a  proper  medical  centre.  Besides,  this   time   around,  Modi   kind   of   frightens   them.   They   have   heard   about   Gujarat   and   they  know   a   lot   about   the   RSS   and   the   y   find   the   combination   unsettling.  We   found   four   AAP  flags,  one  ragged  SP  flag,  but  no  other  symbol  from  any  other  party.  My  bet  is  that  from  this  part  of  the  city,  Kejriwal  will  probably  get  90  percent  of  the  votes.  I  cannot  imagine  it  being  otherwise.      

 Image 23 (sreedeep). Bunkar village - in Bajardihan  

 Image 24 (sreedeep). To each his own Godfather

In   the   rest   of   the   city,   doubtlessly,  Modi   has   a  much   stronger   presence.   I   am   not   sure   if  Kejriwal   can   outclass   Modi   in   urban   Varanasi,   but   it   must   be   granted,   nevertheless,   that  from  nowhere  the  AAP  has  pulled  off  quite  a  remarkable  feat.  They  were  once  being  beaten  up   and   punched   at   random,   but   a   Varanasi   resident   told  me   that   this   would   not   happen  again.  Why?  I  asked.  “Simple,”  he  said,  “Kejriwal  now  has  local  support.  Touch  him  now  and  you  might  get  beaten  so  bad  that  your  fever  will  leave  you  in  an  instant.”      A  big  fight  out  there.  A  David,  a  Goliath  and  a  crowd  to  see  it  all  from  every  part  of  India.    

 Image 25 (sreedeep). Big  fight