The Pickle Post

by Aashti Bhartia on 28 Aug 2009

I met Amar Singh a few days before he left for his operation in Singapore and found him weak but talkative as ever, and contemplative.

Part 1: Amar Singh on the opposition parties, his relationship with the Congress, and the Azam Khan controversy

Part 2: Amar Singh talks candidly about his early life, his father, and his deepest  motivations.

Part 1: Politics & Controversy

BJP, BSP & the Left

Amar Singh has been very sick – his kidneys are failing. His wife tells him he needs to go to the hospital, but he insists on finishing the interview first.

Singh comes into the living room, weak, walking slowly, his voice constricted. He shows his bloated finger, swollen with water retention. He’s planning a kidney transplant, he explains. For someone as active as him, having dialysis three times a week isn’t feasible.

He asks what I’m writing for and when I tell him it’s a blog, he says his friend, Amitabh Bachchan started writing a blog and its become big now and the press picks up stories from it. He is, you can tell, amazed by the sweep of new technologies. And he has, in his moment of defeat and sickness, post elections, been thinking about the changes around him – technological, political, generational.

“A new generation has come up,” Singh says, “and for them, caste, creed, and old rhetorics of  religion or for that matter communism, all these things are of least interest.” “This new generation is absolutely different,” he says, trying to put his finger on the pulse. “Be it newspapers, be it politics, be it film industry,” he ponders, “People are very ruthless and cruel in their like and dislike.” With some strain, he adds, “You may give all your life to something but then be discarded in a second, without any logic – ‘oh shit, what is this nonsense’ and you are finished.”

What do you think about Rahul Gandhi? I ask, speaking of new generation politics. Hasn’t he been hard at work, upgrading the Congress and motivating youth U.P.? “No, no, not at all,” Singh disagrees. He is not doing anything in U.P., “or for that matter anywhere.” “In U.P.”, Amar Singh says, a little despondently, “We have not changed.” Assessing the elections, he blames the opposition parties – the BJP, the BSP, the Left, and his own Samajwadi – Rahul has only taken advantage of their lapses.

In the BJP, Singh says, there is “interference and blockade” all over – something said by Arun Jaitley will be stopped religiously by Sushma Swaraj and Rajnath Singh, something said by Advani will be skeptically taken by Murli Manohar Joshi. The Bharatiya Jhagdelu Party, he dubs them. And, he adds, nobody cares anymore about the Mandir-Masjid issue. The Politics of “modernity, collective leadership, and discipline” is missing in the BJP.

The BSP, he sums up, is “a party without principles, ideology, purpose, and aim.” The BSP has been unsubtle in their corruption, so people are fed up. [Unlike the Congress, who are corrupt but subtle, he explains.] Also, they are taking the Dalit community support for granted, thinking they’ll back any candidate the BSP puts up. But, he says, the Brahmin Bhaichara Sammelan, and other multi-community initiatives are disenchanting the BSP’s core supporters, the Dalits, who now see the party they thought was theirs being taken over by others.

Singh twinkles over the irony of the Left’s defeat – their failed attempt at a metamorphosis. By adopting their old tactics – anti-industrialization, anti-Tata – Mamata has become the apple of Bengal. It will take a long time for the Marxists own doctrine to wear off in Bengal and Kerala, he says with a grin.

Talking to Amar Singh is a roller-coaster. He becomes despondent, and then pulls up his hopes and comes up with a grand vision, and then becomes contrite and introspective again. Then, once again, he pulls up with hope and a plan of some kind.

Today, he’s is in a mood for self-examination: “The best thing,” he says firmly, “is to realize your folly and indulge in self-criticism.” “In U.P”, he repeats, contritely, “we have not changed.” “That includes me also.” He explains that while he has been pushing for change, modernity – broadly defined – in the Party, others still think that computers and English are detrimental to rural youth. UP’s rural youth, his traditional support base, he says, are still on their side for now. But, Amar Singh hears the clang of change, realizes the need to raise the level of discourse to inspire new voters – if we want to leave the “confinement of this narrow outlook” and “nurture a larger ambition,” he says, if we want to “go beyond the structure in which we are residing now”, we’ll have to change.

Doesn’t the SP too, like the BSP, rely on a caste-based Yadav vote bank? I ask. No it is not correct, he says, that they have caste-based campaign. But it is correct that they are the beneficiaries of Yadav community loyalty. “Now, Samajwadi Party is a good party,” he says, withdrawing into a fatherly affection and caginess, its not hardcore communism or capitalism, its “a centrist party.”

The Case of Azam Khan & Jaya Prada

Singh admits that the SP made strategic mistakes prior to the election. In a densely populated Muslim zone, they sacked two of their Muslim leaders without making alternative arrangements.  Their Muslim base defected to Congress.

What brought all this about was the explosive case of the indiscipline of Azam Khan. A typical Amar Singh controversy, this controversial case really got Amar Singh roaring during the elections. Singh tells the story: Jaya Prada was first taken to Rampur by Azam Khan himself.  Azam Khan worked hard to make her an MP, but he, Singh puts it, “underestimated her intelligence.” “Jaya Prada is a beautiful woman, an established star in her own right. She could not become servile to Chandrababu Naidu or N.T. Rama Rao, how would she be servile to Azam Khan?”

If he were to become jealous of Jaya Prada’s popularity, he’d be living in a fool’s paradise, Singh says, she’s done over 200 films and has a pedestal in the South.  But, he became jealous of Jaya Prada and once he realized she wasn’t going to be his disciple, Singh explains, he got against her.

After the Party had cleared her name for elections, a morphed naked photograph of her was distributed in Rampur. They – Azam Khan and his cronies – “called her a slut, a whore, all the things to say about a girl which are the easiest thing”, Amar Singh says, getting riled up. “I did not like this.” He opposed Azam Khan with the SP leadership and Azam Khan burst out against him, calling him baseless and ruthless.

“So, I took it upon myself”, Amar Singh says, “and I fought that election as if it was my election.” It became the most talked about election in the country, more than Rahul and Sonia’s election, he narrates with a twinge of pride.
Singh made sure that Azam Khan lost the election, even in his own area. But in the process, Singh admits, tapering down, his excitement deflating, the BSP lost 7-8 other seats. “Because my energy,” he confesses, “which I could have diverted to other 6-7 seats, I could not.” “It became an ego fight,” he says, to win against Azam Khan; he lost sight of his Party and the larger election. “So you may hold me responsible for…”, he tapers off.

Yet, Singh says, pulling his hope back together, we are the 3rd largest Party. He takes stock of his adversaries: “In U.P., who am I fighting with? Atal Bihari Vajpayee, Rajnath Singh, Mayawati, Rahul, Priyanka, and Sonia Gandhi – they are all there themselves, its their home state.” “And even then,” he says with a flourish, “they have not been able to surpass me, I am the number one Party.”

The Congress:

“It’s a fluke,” he concludes on Rahul Gandhi.  Singh has a seething, love-hate feeling for the Congress. He is, at times, angry and, at the same time, generous with the Congress, and its leaders.

He explains how smart Congress is on corruption, how they form committees to ratify their corrupt dealings. But, on Manmohan Singh, he says, “Nobody can doubt the integrity, and honesty and patriotism of Manmohan Singh.” “He is the big cover of the whole booklet.” Pranab Mukherjee, he calls the “all weather fighter”, the “war horse” of many battles. “The Congress is lucky to have him.” Amar Patel is the “shock absorber,” taking discredit from Ma’am onto himself.
Singh feels ignored, snubbed by the Congress, especially after he swooped in to save the government after the Nuclear Deal.  “If the father of the Nuclear Deal is Manmohan Singh, the mother is Amar Singh.” Prakash Karat, Mayawati, and Advani  all threw their weight against him. Benefit went to Sonia and Manmohan Singh and enmity came to Amar Singh.

“I am the villain,” Singh says, getting flushed with the drama of the affair, his own grand vilification and the Congress’ betrayal. “I chopped off the regional forces, by giving a stem to the Congress,” he says, getting worked up, “and the Congress has used me like a contraceptive, flushed…”  “Just after the political ejaculation, they thought I am of no use,” he finishes colorfully, his voice cracking. He imagines for a few moments a coming together of regional parties, a grand downfall for the Congress in the future.

In the next turn, he retreats, admitting his uncertainty about his standing with the Congress, especially Sonia Gandhi. He regrets, a little, that Mulayam Singh and Sonia Gandhi couldn’t come to an agreement on the number of seats Samajwadi Party would give the Congress to form an alliance before the election. Mulayam offered 19, Sonia wanted 25, out of which she wanted 10 seats of already sitting Samajwadi MPs. “I regret the non-association,” he admits, “I regret Sonia Gandhi’s unreasonableness and Mulayam Singh’s grudge.”

Part 2: Family and Motivation

His wife comes in to check if we’re done and he’s ready to go to the hospital. I insist that I’ll finish the rest of the interview later, come back any time he’s free. Singh insists I come with them in the car to the hospital and finish the interview now.

As the car moves out of the gate, a man in a white kurta approaches with prashad. “You take one of mine,” he says, offering his kidneys to Singh, as he hands him the flowers and prashad through the car window. Amar Singh thanks him, touched, asks him his blood group, and tells him its the wrong blood group, it won’t work.

How did he start in politics? I ask him, in his car on the way to the hospital. “See,” he says, “everybody in life grows up with the idea to be something or to do something. For the fulfillment of that dream, if you are a very good student, standing first, or a great debater, or a very good sportsman, you get contented that you are different from others.”

He came from a middle class family, he explains. His father didn’t encourage extracurricular activities or any kind of enterprise. There was no push to stand out, to distinguish oneself from the routine.

He went to a “godforsaken” school in Calcutta called Khatri Vidyalaya in Burman Street, only because his father and grandfather had also been there. He had an inferiority complex about not having gone to a good school. “I had a desire to go to some good institution,” he says, but when he told his father he wanted to go to St. Xavier’s, he mocked him. Somehow, though his marks weren’t high, he did well in the St. Xavier’s written test, was called for an interview and got in.

But, Singh reflects, he didn’t pursue academics at Xavier’s. Again, “a desire to look different, not usual, that you are coming and going and nobody is noticing you” took him. He didn’t have a distinguishing skill. Most of his classmates, sons of industrialists with offices on Durban Road to which they went after class, had their own cars. He didn’t even have a bike. He remembers being the only person who used public transport in his class: tram no. 20 and bus no. 9, his two routes to St. Xaviers. “The sense of inferiority was immense.”

It was, he says, to overcome his feeling of inferiority that he was drawn to politics. He tried to start a Students Union through the Congress in St. Xaviers which got banned because St. Xaviers was a non-political college. He then switched to the University College of Law only for politics. Calcutta University was the hub of political activity back then. Pranab Mukherjee, Mamata Bannerjee, Subodh Mukherjee were his colleagues.

He became secretary of the district Congress. As a non-Bengali, however, he felt his growth in Calcutta was limited. The North Indian leaders he came to know in Calcutta grew to like him because he spoke their language and belonged to U.P.  He wandered to Lucknow and then to Delhi.

His father reacted angrily to his entering politics. He asked him to leave the house, and Amar Singh, eighteen years old, left. “I’ve never gone back to my house,” he says. He never returned to his “original” family, which, perhaps, explains why he has sought very public, family-like friendship in other places – in the Bachchans, in the Ambanis, and in others.

He’s taken care of his father, built him a house, paid for his treatments, done his duty. But, he says, he doesn’t consider himself emotionally close to his father, or any of his original family.

“He was right from his perspective,” Singh lets on, with a retrospective generosity towards his acrimonious father. “He was not a politician or a rich man.” “Like any average father, he had some design for me – that he has got a small shop. He will open another shop, which he will hand over to me. And the way he has led his life, I will follow in the same.” “And rightly so,” Amar Singh reflects, “he was not dreaming.” About cars, or attached bathrooms, or ACs, or anything outside of a common life. “I was also not a dreamer,” Singh notes, more a “child of destiny.”

He was getting food and a roof over his head, his father said to him, so he “talked big”. Once he left home, he’d realize the reality of life. I left home at that moment, Amar Singh remembers. Retrospectively, Singh wonders that it was perhaps this forced breaking away from his father that drove him forward. He thanks his father. “It is his blessing,” he says, “that whatever I could do, I could do…”

For a while, early on, Singh was with the Congress. Congress man Vir Bahadur tried to get him a seat in Azamgarh, his native place, but he couldn’t manage it. Another prominent Congress politician tried to get him a parliamentary seat, but he couldn’t either. Singh feels he hit a roadblock in the Congress because his wasn’t connected with the very top leadership. Eventually, he had a tiff with his main supporters in the Congress and stormed out of the Party: “I said that I have not given such excuse to my father – who the hell you are?” “You’ll plan and plot to leave me – I leave you now.” In a whirlwind, he cut all ties with the Congress.

He looks back amazed that though he couldn’t get a seat in the Congress at one point, he’s made hundreds of MPs and MLAs by now. In Calcutta, his biggest dream had been to have a meal at the Grand Hotel, and he couldn’t afford a cup of tea there. Now, he’s stayed at the best hotels. Whatever, he could dream of – luxuries, cars, hotels, contacts – he has.

“You will not agree, but I had no ambition. I took life the way it came to me. And I lived it, on the edge, very dangerously, without caring for the consequences. Because the strength came from the fact that I have come out from the gutter, and whatever will be the consequences and downfall, I can never go back to that gutter again. Whatever is my downslide journey, it will be better than what it used to be.”

Now that he has it all, I ask him, the key question, what motivates him? What keeps him going? “I will tell you,” Amar Singh says, “If there’s no crisis in life, if there’s no challenge, then I feel very sad. If there is a major, huge, crisis and if there is a powerful enemy, it gives me a great deal of pleasure.”

“I don’t start a fight, but a fight is started. And if the rival is of some great consequence, I feel very good,” he says, a grin forming in his voice, “because, I feel then I cannot be a loser.” Ratan Tata is amongst the rivals he’s most enjoyed having. “If he will lose, then I will get a very big name. If I lose, then I am not a loser – because, after all, I am fighting with whom?”

Turns out that Amar Singh’s biggest motivation, a grand personal feud,  is also his largest pitfall, something that drives him determinedly forward, but also prevents him, as much as he would like to, as smart as he is, from raising the level of conversation in politics. For good or for bad, ultimately, what one remembers about the Samajwadi Party is not its issues, but that it contains Mulayam Singh Yadav and Amar Singh.

Just as Singh begins to twinkle about another delicious scandal, the car draws to a stop in front of the hospital; there are attendants and a wheelchair waiting and his wife rushes him out.