Thinking it Through

The comfort of a worldview

This is the 18th installment of my weekly column for Mint, Thinking it Through.

The other day I was at a party with some highly intelligent people with strong views on the world. We talked about politics, economics, movies, and, as you’d expect from Indian men, cricket. Among the subjects that stirred up heated arguments were global warming, farmer suicides and the existence of God.

You might think that of all these worthy subjects, debating the existence of God is pointless. It is a matter of faith, and lies beyond reason. I agree. But I’d point out that for all practical purposes, the other subjects we argued about aren’t too different.

Everyone present there had strong views on global warming, but none of them completely understood the science behind it, or could explain the difference between a climate model and a ramp model. All of them vociferously offered conflicting solutions for our agricultural crisis, but their belief was rooted in intentions, without a historical perspective of what had actually gone wrong, and how markets and prices work. As the hours slipped by and the pegs piled up, we conducted opinionated drawing-room discussions on complex subjects whose intricacies none of us had mastered.

Now, this is not a condemnation. The world is terribly complicated, and it isn’t rational for each of us to try and master every subject around us. If that was a prerequisite to having opinions, we wouldn’t have any, and would wander around baffled by everything. It is natural and sensible for us to seek cognitive shortcuts to understanding the world. Such shortcuts often result in neat little packages known as worldviews.

Worldviews make us feel that we have it all figured out, with little room for doubt. A worldview could be a religion—the devout often find an answer to everything in God. Or it could be an ideology that claims to have answers to all the ills that plague our world. Worldviews are deliciously comforting—in his book, The Myth of the Rational Voter, Bryan Caplan nails it by referring to them as “a mental security blanket.”

While worldviews bring comfort, they also lead to intellectual laziness. Lured by the certitudes of received wisdom, we often stop examining difficult questions, satisfied that we know it all. This can be dangerous if our worldview is fundamentally flawed, especially if it is widely shared, and can actually impact the lives of millions of people.

Take socialism. It is dreadfully beguiling, and I must confess that when I was in college many eons ago, I thought Karl was a cooler Marx than Groucho. Firstly, socialism makes you feel good about yourself, for the compassion that fills your heart. Secondly, it has—and therefore you have—an answer for everything—usually government intervention. Thirdly, since your coolest peers—and the hottest girls on campus—are likely to be Leftist, it helps you fit in, and gives you a sense of purpose. It is an enduring fashion.

Now, socialism—which I use here as a shorthand for Leftist thinking—runs counter to one of the basic truths of economics, one that is dreadfully unituitive: that central planning cannot distribute resources and build prosperity remotely as well as spontaneous order can.

The invisible hand of markets working together to satisfy people’s needs is hard to visualise, and easy to distrust. It is easier, as we so often do in India, to invoke the power of government much as devout people take the name of God. To every problem, we cite government as a solution, even though government intervention and regulation, when they subvert free markets, are usually the problem to begin with.

There is historical evidence of this: the degree of development in a country, and the efficacy with which it eliminates poverty, is almost directly proportional to the extent of economic freedom it has allowed its people. A look at the two Germanys before the Berlin Wall was broken or the two Koreas should illustrate this. Hell, India should illustrate this, hobbled for decades by policies with wonderful intent and disastrous outcomes.

It isn’t just the socialist Left that has a dangerous worldview: the beliefs of the religious Right are quite as pernicious. It views everything through the prism of identity, and boasts of an intolerance at odds with the cultural traditions of the religion it claims to represent. It is an anachronism in a modern India, and a threat to our diversity and progress.

I am not saying that worldviews are a bad thing—as regular readers of this column would have noticed, I have one as well. Socialists and Hindutva boys would no doubt find my belief in individual freedom to be quite as dangerous as anything they get up to. But being aware of these trends in our thinking can help us be more open to new ideas, and to examining our holy cows. It is always better to pause for thought than to stop thinking. No?

An earlier piece on a similar theme: “Reason vs Rationalisation.”

Mobs are above the law

This is the 17th installment of my weekly column for Mint, Thinking it Through.

I felt an intense desire yesterday to go out and burn a bus. There was no specific reason for this – it was like a craving for ice-cream – and I also figured that I would throw stones at shop windows afterwards. Being in a social mood, I called up a couple of friends to ask if they would like to join me. They politely declined. Oddly, they also asked if I was okay. “I’m just fine,” I told them. “You go have latte and feel sophisticated.”

But I understand their apprehension. Had a couple of us gone out and burnt a bus, we would have been arrested instantly, and later thrashed in the lock-up. On the other hand, had a couple hundred of us gone, nothing would have happened. We would have been allowed to burn buses and throw stones, and even hurt or kill a few people as long as they weren’t anyone influential. All we’d need was a banner or two, or even just some slogans to shout. “We want justice,” we could proclaim, while figuring out whether you set fire to the tyre before or after it’s around the hapless passerby. It takes skill.

In India, mobs are above the law. The events in Rajasthan in the last few days are an illustration of this. The losses to business because of the protests by the Gujjars and their clashes with the Meenas are estimated to run in the hundreds of crores, and I think you’d agree with me that a lot of it was avoidable. Most mob violence in India is.

Now, mobs are a problem across the world. Sports-related mob violence takes place in most of the developed countries, and earlier this week around 1000 people were injured at protests at the G8 summit at Rostock. But mostly, police struggle to stop such violence because of logistical issues. Countries across the world recruit police keeping relatively normal times in mind, and find themselves over-stretched when riots take place.

In India, our police is certainly below par, but it isn’t all about logistics. Mob violence is often not controlled even when it can be, which is not something you’ll see in the UK or the US. How often have police in India been known to stand by and watch as rioters damage property and/or people? They do this mostly because they know that the violence they are witnessing is not a mere law-and-order issue, but a political one. It is outside their domain.

Politics in India has been sanctified, and you’ll never find a cop arresting a politician, unless he is being used as a tool by an even more powerful politician. Any mob activity that has political sanction has, by default, the implicit support of the law-and-order machinery. This applies to bandhs, to morchas, to strikes and even to riots, as we saw in Delhi in 1984 and Gujarat in 2002. And because the polity is so fractured and votebank politics is commonplace, many relatively small groups – such as the Gujjars – can disrupt normal life and get away with it.

While the police is biased towards the powerful, the legal system is also dysfunctional. Even if someone gets arrested for rioting – it has been known to happen, though always at the bottom of the food chain – do you seriously expect him to be brought to justice? The fellow will get bail, the case will drag on for years, the cops will be too incompetent to file a proper chargesheet and witnesses will change their tune. In the end, justice will not be done.

An excellent illustration of police bias and legal incompetence is the difference in the handling of the Bombay riots of 1992-93 and the blasts of 1993. Around 900 people died in the former, 250 in the latter, and yet, those who were behind the riots, as part of mobs that had political support, have yet to be punished. Justice has been done in the latter case, but were the riots any less criminal than the bomb blasts?

In case all this makes you so distraught that you are tempted to turn to prayer, don’t. God is part of the problem here, not the solution. Nothing insulates mob violence in India such as the excuse of religion. Forget religious riots—have you ever tried walking the streets of Mumbai during Ganpati, when drunk young men clog the streets, dancing and throwing colour with abandon? Anything that is done in India under the guise of religion is immune to the law.

Festivals in India enable mob misbehaviour, and the way they are celebrated in modern times virtually gives social sanction for hooliganism. This applies even to a relatively non-religious festival like Holi, which is no longer a wholesome celebration of spring but an excuse to harass women (and even men, sometimes) whom one doesn’t know.

Anyway, I have written enough, and I will go now to indulge a craving. No, you won’t find me burning any buses today. Instead, I’ll go get some ice cream. But if a few hundred of you ever desire to go out and set the town on fire, get in touch with me. I have contacts, and we’ll have a blast.

(Note: Some earlier posts on this and related subjects: 1, 2, 3. And thanks to Gaurav and Sumeet for their inputs.)

Keep the ‘Free’ in ‘Free Speech’

A version of this piece was published today as the 16th installment of my weekly column for Mint, Thinking it Through.

I should be grateful that you are reading this column. I have often written about how free speech is threatened in India, but we are nowhere near as bad as some other countries, such as China or Iran or North Korea. There you’d probably read me one week, and then I’d vanish. Here the press is somewhat freer.

Nevertheless, I think you’d agree that things could be better. In India, films are routinely censored, books are often banned, and artists have been roughed up and put behind bars. Often, the constitution allows this and our laws support it, and there seems to be a common consensus that there should be limits to free speech.

A famous case for such limits was made by Justice Oliver Wendall Holmes Jr in 1919 in a US Supreme Court case, Schenck v. United States. The defendant, Charles Schenck, had been indicted for distributing leaflets to people likely to be drafted for military service. The leaflets asked the men to “assert opposition to the draft” on the grounds that it went counter to the provisions against “involuntary servitude” in America’s 13th Amendment.

The Supreme Court unanimously ruled against Schenck, and the judgement written by Holmes said, “The most stringent protection of free speech would not protect a man in falsely shouting fire in a theatre and causing a panic.” Since then, this hypothetical example, of a man falsely shouting “Fire” in a crowded theater, has been brought up by people who argue for the imposition of limits on free speech. Naturally, having cited this example, they often tend to propose their own limits.

Well, my view is this: I don’t think that there is any need for limits to be imposed on the right to free speech that are not already implicit in the way they are defined. Shouting “fire” falsely in a crowded theater would be wrong even without any restrictions placed on free speech simply because the right to free speech is fundamentally a property right, and does not extend to other people’s property. Let me explain.

All rights, I believe, emerge out of the one that we are born with: The right to self-ownership. At the most basic level, this is a property right. We own ourselves, and have the right to do whatever we wish with our body and mind. To make anything of this right, we must also respect others’ right to self-ownership.

From this arise other human rights. The rights to life, to thought, to action are all implied in the right of self-ownership – and so is the right to free speech. All these rights are constrained only by the corresponding rights of others. As Murray Rothbard, the libertarian economist, once wrote, “Not only are there no human rights which are not also property rights, but the former rights lose their absoluteness and clarity and become fuzzy and vulnerable when property rights are not used as the standard.”

Let’s go back to the crowded theater, and shouting “fire” falsely. If the owner does it, he is clearly cheating his customers. If a customer does it, he is infringing on the rights of the owner, and endangering the safety of other customers. And if anyone is hurt by this, the fire-shouter can be prosecuted for the harm caused, and that harm will be defined by rights that originate from the right to self-ownership. Thus, if property rights are strictly enforced, there is no need to add any restrictions on free speech apart from the ones that those imply.

If we all looked at free speech through this prism, whereby it is part of a body of rights that originates from the right to self-ownership, and contains no others, I suspect that many modern controversies would not exist. Cartoonists and painters would be allowed to depict whatever they wanted as long as they infringed on nobody’s rights. Books and films would not be censored or banned. While everyone would have the right to protest all such free expression, they would have no business doing so violently. And offending people’s sentiments would not be a crime, for sentiments hardly count as tangible ‘property’.

I often rail against the Indian Penal Code because it contains laws that place restrictions on free speech that have nothing to do with property rights, such as “outraging … religious feelings”. I also bemoan the fact that after paying lip service to freedom of speech in Section 19 (1) (a), the writers of our constitution added limits to it in 19 (2) such as “decency or morality”, which are unjustifiable, and are interpreted arbitrarily. 

And what of America, you ask, where Charles Schenck spent six months in jail after Justice Holmes’s bizarre decision, which did not uphold Schenck’s right to free speech? Well, the Supreme Court overturned that ruling in 1969, thus strengthening their protection of free speech. And no one, even there, can shout “fire” falsely in a crowded theater and get away with it.

This piece is an elaboration of the thoughts I expressed in my post, “Shouting ‘fire’ in a crowded theater”, and in the comments here. My thanks to Sumeet, Yazad, Gaurav and Shruti for their inputs.)

God resigns

A version of this piece was published today as the 15th installment of my weekly column for Mint, Thinking it Through.

This is the text of God’s resignation letter, which has been leaked to us by highly placed sources. The author wasn’t available for comment when we tried calling. If anyone would like to fill the vacancy, please write in to [email protected].

Dear Humans

This is to inform you that I quit. I have enjoyed being God for an eternity now – thank you for the opportunity – but I cannot bear the thought of going on and on like this. Enough is enough. I have informed my angels of my impending resignation, though I didn’t expect them to rush off to buy horns and black clothing right away. This Sunday will be my last day in office, after which I intend to spend some time with my family. (Ok, I’m kidding about the family. Heh.)

I started off badly, I confess. I was a beginning God and there was no roadmap, so what do you expect? My brief was to create a star, a planet and a satellite with a golf course. The rest of the universe wasn’t in the plans – that’s all the failed attempts. I was finally told that I could stop when I made earth, even though I got the golf-course wrong. Still, I’m sure there are other entertaining things you can do on the moon.

Then I was asked to populate the earth, and that’s when I had the most fun. I tried various funky things – I thought bacteria were pretty cool, and would rule the earth for sure. I also thought that of all the prehensile organs I gave my creatures, the penis of the whale was much more useful than the opposable thumbs of humans. I mean, how much fun it must be to grip something with that?

But you guys triumphed, largely because I gave you greater computing power. Had I put in a few trillion neurons less, it could all have been different. (And perhaps I should have worked harder on the dinosaurs.) I admit I got carried away by you because you were the first creatures to notice that I existed. Look, validation matters, period.

Then, when you were just beginning to come out of caves and get civilized, I decided to take a nap. It’s hard work, all this creation, especially at the level of detail involved, and I was tired. And really, what could go wrong while I slept? Humankind was on the rise, using all its neural computing power to create new things, and I thought I’ll wake up refreshed and see a better world, and maybe I’ll get back to work on the moon after a snack or something. Golf is good.

Well, it may seem like I’ve been absent for a long time, but a few millennia is nothing in galactic terms. So I wake up, rub my prehensile eyes, wrap them round the world, and what do I see? I see that you humans are running the place, which is fine, no issues with that. But then I see what you’ve done to me. I look here and go, “That isn’t me!” I look there and remark, “I don’t look like that!” I hear myself quoted and say, “I didn’t say that!” It’s a mess.

Now, I don’t want to get into details, so I’ll just take up three broad points. One, I was supposed to make you in my image. Instead, while I was napping, you went and cast me in yours. I protest. I am not bigoted, misogynist, genocidal or egotistic. I look at how I’ve been portrayed in all the major religions and I’m appalled that anyone would even consider worshipping that.

The talk of worship brings me to my second point: Why have I been portrayed as corrupt? If I am supposed to reward people for their behaviour, why should prayer matter? I am not so insecure that I need to hear praises of me all the time? Or that I need temples or churches or mosques built to honour me, or any of the ritualistic things that you people do? You do not need to bribe me, ok? Just behave well.

Three, why do you assume I need your puny protection? If anyone insults me and I’m petty enough to want to take action against them, there’s always lightning – or less subtle punishments such as Himesh Reshammiya music videos. Stop getting offended on my behalf, please. Especially the more devout ones among you, who embarrass me hugely.

I could go on forever about how all notions of me are corrupted, and used by men – yes, mostly men – for their own selfish purposes. But who will listen to me forever? The one good thing I did was make you mortal, which I now realize is a feature and not a bug. Anyway, I accept culpability for creating a flawed product in the first place, and then for falling asleep. I’m disgusted at my failure, and the only honourable option I have left now is to resign.

See you in Hell.

God.

The Hindutva Rashtra

This is the 14th installment of my weekly column for Mint, Thinking it Through.

This is the text of a speech given by Shri Adolf Shah at the Baroda University on 17 May 2022.

Dear Friends

I welcome you to Baroda University for this special ceremony. This day marks the eighth anniversary of Shri Neeraj Jain’s appointment as vice-chancellor of this university by our honourable Prime Minister, Shri Narendra Modi. We have seen some glorious days under him, and have grown almost analogously with our Hindu Rashtra, as India has officially been for the last decade. Indeed, these two stories are interlinked, and if you permit me, I shall take you through some of our most glorious moments. The monitor on top of the stage will instruct you when to clap; please do so.

Shri Jain first came to our notice when he protested against some paintings at the now long-defunct fine arts faculty around 15 years ago. Shri Jain said the paintings offended his religious sensibilities, and his valiant thugs manhandled the painter, who was sent to jail. Many people protested, including the dean of the faculty, who, in contrast with protesters of later years, was lucky to get away with just a suspension. It was an important moment for us, for reasons other than just the emergence of Mr Jain.

You see, what is Hindutva all about? Please do not think it is about Hinduism, though that was our official line until recently. Hinduism has a rich culture with a tolerance for diversity, and is thus of no use to us. No, Hindutva arose not from our cultural heritage or rubbish like that, but from our need to cement our place in the world. Our critics would say that we were insecure. I would say that we merely wanted respect from the world for what we were.

Look at the history of the world and see how other religions have asserted themselves. Non-Christians slept in fear during the crusades. Women and moderate people were equally uneasy in Afghanistan during the Taliban’s rule there. Osama bin Laden used Islam to terrorize people, George Bush invoked a Christian god for his War against Terror, but what were we Hindus doing? How were we to show that we could be equally oppressive and macho?

Great nations are built not by freedom but by fear (it is an aberration that Hitler’s Germany collapsed and the US is so strong today, and I shall explain why some other day.) To show how strong we are, we had to first subdue our own people. Free expression was a threat to us, and it had to go. And in this, ironically, we were helped by our one-time colonizers, the British.

The Indian Penal Code (IPC), framed by the British in the 19th century and amended constantly through the years to curb freedom, is a masterful document of oppression. We could stifle free speech and dissent in entirely lawful ways, for the IPC actually enables and justifies our thuggery. For example, consider Article 295 (a), which makes it illegal to “outrage religious feelings”. What a wonderful law for us! All we needed to do was claim to speak on behalf of Hinduism and get offended by whatever we felt like. Then boom, put the person in jail, all most lawfully.

Such laws made sure that we were not the only fascists around. There was a climate of intolerance enabled by the IPC, and people were already used to violation of free speech. They would hear about censorship and the banning of books and shrug and say, “What goes of my father?” Thus, no one protested when some Sikh gentlemen used 295 (a) to get the publisher of a Santa and Banta Joke Book jailed. And it seemed natural when Christian groups protested against the Da Vinci Code, and when Muslim groups railed against cartoons in Denmark. All that suited us perfectly. Once oppression became commonplace and accepted as routine, who stood to benefit the most? We did!

And so, one by one, we shut them up. Yes, they protested, but their protests were ad hoc. When the government—not ours, I’m afraid—blocked the most popular blog-hosting sites, bloggers protested. When Shri Jain rose up in Vadodara, artists protested. But mostly they protested only when they were directly affected, and did not come together for the larger cause of individual freedom. Even with regular protesters, there was that delightful phenomenon we now call “protest fatigue”. How much can you protest, especially when it seems futile? Eventually, they gave up, defeated not by concentration camps, but by apathy.

And look at the result! In India, we have a Hindu Rashtra which, of course, is really a Hindutva Rashtra, and in Vadodara we have no artists anymore. This must be celebrated, and the efforts of people such as Shri Neeraj Jain must be acclaimed. And yet, the way we planned it, and the way the odds were stacked in our favour, I ask you one question: Could it have been any different?

My earlier posts on the Baroda affair: “Fascism in Baroda.” “Only live in fear.” Also read: “Don’t insult pasta” and “Fighting against censorship.”

The Halo Effect

This is the 13th installment of my weekly column for Mint, Thinking it Through.

I am in Thailand as you read this, and no, I haven’t been deported by the Indian government for joking about our anthem and flag – things aren’t that bad yet. Instead, I’m vacationing, gathering up sea, sand and seafood. I knew I would enjoy the visit as soon as I saw Bangkok’s airport. Compared to Indian airports, it was a swank expanse of ease and luxury, and I immediately felt good about being here. 

On the other hand, when a foreign traveller comes in to Mumbai, as has been much written about, among the first things he is likely to see, from the air, are slums. The airport itself is shabby and disorganised, and delays and dysfunctional staff abound. And if he hasn’t organised transport in advance, he’d have to be lucky not to get ripped off. His first experiences of India are likely to be rather unpleasant.

Why should first impressions matter? Well, because of a cognitive bias called the Halo Effect. We tend to carry over impressions of one aspect of something to everything else about that thing. For example, if we get a flat tyre in the middle of nowhere, and a friendly passerby helps us out, we are likely to think of him as a good sort, even if we are later told that he also happens to be a wife-beater. Our early bias affects the way we view him, and we are more likely to gloss over his other failings.

Similarly, if we have an unpleasant experience in an airport, the bad taste it leaves in our mouth is likely to impact the way we view that country. If the staff is rude and inefficient, and the toilets are dirty, that forms the prism through which we view the rest of the country. Indian airport staff, it is true, speak English better than Thai airport staff. But India makes a worse first impression by far.

Businesses understand the importance of the halo effect. Hotels make sure their front desks are efficient and their lobby area is inviting and comfortable. Manufacturers of consumer goods pay immense importance to packaging. Brand building itself, in fact, is about getting the halo effect to work for you. It is commonly surmised that the ultra-cool iPod has had a halo effect on other Apple products, making Windows users more open to buying them because they associate the hipness and ease of use of the iPod with other Apple offerings. In the automobile industry, a “halo vehicle” is the term used for a successful car brand whose sheen runs off on other cars by the same manufacturer.

The halo effect is not just about business and investment. A common context in which we see the halo effect involves celebrities. Celebrities generally have one extraordinary talent, which could range from being a good actor, sportsman, or just a regular Page 3 type with admirable cleavage. But this one ability casts a halo effect on the rest of their personalities, and our papers are full of celebs being asked for quotes on subjects on which they have no expertise whatsoever. Indeed, if not for the halo effect, I don’t see how celebrity endorsements would work. 

It also explains why so many actors take to politics and win elections, despite having just platitudes and dialogues from their films to offer. Speaking of politics, even a family name casts a halo. Rahul Gandhi’s sole achievement in politics so far is his last name, but already he is being spoken off as a future prime minister.

One celebrity who casts a massive halo is Amitabh Bachchan. He might be a good actor and an excellent showman, but the people of India treat him like a semi-God. And yet, this is a man who marries his would-be daughter-in-law to a tree because of her supposed manglikness. He hob-nobs with the likes of Amar Singh and the venal Mulayam Singh Yadav, who personify cynical votebank politics. Besides his professional skills, there is nothing to admire about him. 

The halo effect carries through to our personal lives as well. So many relationships are doomed because they are based on first impressions. You meet a witty man at a party, and your positive impression of him carries through to everything he does. You meet a beautiful woman, and assume that her character is quite as graceful as her bearing. Both of you ignore all evidence to the contrary, and boom, ten years later you’re fighting over the kids, who don’t see their daddy as witty or their mommy as graceful, but are doomed to make the same mistakes their parents made.

Sadly, there is nothing we can do about the halo effect – it is hardwired into us. But understanding its effects can help us be prudent in love and mindful of the impression we make on others. You may not be in a position to influence the government to refurbish its airports, or persuade the local political party to cancel their bandh because of the effect it has on investment, but you can certainly remember to dab on some cologne before you head out for that hot date, and comb your hair well. Use the lessons our government hasn’t learned!

The Devil’s Compassion

This is the 12th installment of my weekly column for Mint, Thinking it Through.

This is the transcript of a speech given by the demon Beelzebub at the 90th Annual Convention of Demonic Beings.

Comrades and Monsters,

Welcome. I can barely express my joy at the unspeakable horror of being present among such hideous monsters as yourselves – demonic beings dedicated to the ruin and damnation of humanity. In various ways, under the cunning guise of doing good, we have brought sadness and misery upon humanity. We have perpetuated poverty, hatred and ill-health. I wish today, for the sake of the young apprentice beasts present here, to speak about our primary tool of achieving all this: Compassion.

Humans, you see, are fooled by appearances. Come to them as a wrinkled monster with horns, and they recoil. Pretend to be a loving grandpa, and their defences are down. We senior demons realised long ago that to hurt the humans, we have to pretend to care for them. Even as we have nothing but their marination in mind, we must appear compassionate. Stating the most noble intent, we must unleash the very worst of policies. Even better, we must fool some humans, who themselves wish to appear compassionate, into pushing these very policies.

And how we have succeeded! Everywhere there are politicians sincerely pushing well-intentioned policies that are disastrous for the people they are supposed to help. Of course, some people see through our evil designs and protest, but they are dismissed as cruel and uncaring, for they are questioning compassion itself. The irony!

A good example of this comes from Kolkata, a city you must be familiar with. The government there is outlawing all rickshaws pulled by men, because they feel it is “inhuman for a human being to carry another in this day and age,” as their mayor recently said. How caring this seems! And yet, this policy will put 18,000 rickshaw pullers out of a job that they preferred to all other options available to them. Now, that is inhuman. Joy!

Hell be praised, the same logic has long been used to protest sweatshops and call centers and dance bars. The people working there are being “robbed of their dignity,” we are told. Those pretending to care about them would love to deny them of the best options available to them, thus pushing them into a worse existence, and they often succeed. When dance bars were outlawed in Maharashtra – another of my favourite weapons, morality, played a leading role in that decision – many dancers went into prostitution.

Ah, Maharashtra! Mumbai is particularly dear to me as a demonstration of what compassion can achieve: Just see the misery rent control has inflicted there. It was supposed to protect tenants from evil landlords, but by restricting the supply of housing, has driven up rents, made affordable housing scarce, and made slums inevitable. Even more, it has disincentivised landlords from looking after rent-controlled houses, some of which are close to falling apart. Gravity is an invention of hell, I am proud to remind you!

India has many such price controls, which inevitably distort our enemy, the free market. These apply not just to goods but also to labour – how noble these legislators feel when they bring about a minimum wage, or support labour laws that dry up the supply of jobs and hurt the ones they’re supposed to help: the workers.

India’s redistributive schemes are also a devilish masterstroke, based on the principle, “Steal from the Rich and Pretend to Give to the Poor.” Actually our unknowing stooges, India’s well-meaning and compassionate politicians and bureaucrats, steal from everybody, and the money they steal has a cost: It acts as a disincentive to those it is stolen from, and would often have helped the poor more if simply left with the taxpayer.

The social policies we promote are as much of a slow poison as our economics. Why redistribute only wealth when one can redistribute opportunities as well? Consider reservations in India: Under the guise of being compassionate towards castes that have been discriminated against, reservations perpetuate thinking along caste lines, and increase awareness of and animus towards other castes. Some individuals benefit at the cost of other individuals, and they cancel each other out. But the hatred that is spread at the injustice, ah, priceless! (They even call it social justice! How noble they feel!)

There is lots more to say, and I could speak of India for eons, so much harm has been caused there under the guise of compassion. But I shall end here, for I know that you are looking forward to your repast. Let us move onwards to the dining room, my friends, where India’s poor have been laid out on the dining table. Let us feast!

The Anthem and the Flag

This is the 11th installment of my weekly column for Mint, Thinking it Through. It has its genesis in this post.

It was a hot April afternoon in Delhi. The Rashtrapati Bhavan Barista was empty. A waiter lounged by the counter, patriotically indulging in the national pastime (see 94th amendment) of doing nothing much. Then two customers walked in: National Anthem and National Flag.

“Sit,” said Flag to Anthem. “It looks like it’s been a tough month for you.”

Anthem sat. “Damn right it’s been tough,” he said. “You have no idea. I’ve constantly been insulted of late. Do they not know that I am synonymous with the Nation, and by insulting me, they’re insulting the Nation?”

The waiter walked up to the table. “What can I serve you, gentlemen?”

“Lassi,” barked the Anthem. “You think I’ll order Romanov? Huh? Those days are gone!”

“Calm down, Anthem,” said Flag. He turned to the waiter: “One chhaas for me.” Then he said to Anthem. “Tell me, what’s the problem?”

“Listen, I’m the Anthem of India, ok,” said the Anthem. “I am the very reason this country is proud, and one of the few repositories of its honour. Everyone is supposed to respect me, otherwise no one respects India. That is common sense! Well, what happened the other day was that this fellow Narayana Murthy, he did not allow me to be sung when our president visited his office. Can you believe that?”

The drinks arrived. “Shocking,” said Flag. “Here, drink up.” Anthem downed his peg of lassi with immense indignation, and asked for another. Flag nursed his chhaas.

“What has that fellow done for the country anyway?” said Anthem. “Created billions of dollars of wealth? Enabled tens of thousands of jobs? Allowed India to thrive in the services sector? Pah! Who needs wealth? Who needs jobs? Those things are not the stuff of which a nation is made, which make a country proud. Symbols are!”

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Flag. “Symbols make a nation rich. Symbols make its people happy.”

“You know what the government should decree,” said Anthem. “They should make it compulsory for me to be the default ringtone all across the country. That way, every time a phone rings, everybody in the vicinity will have to stand. As telephony grows in India, so will respect. Tring tring, stand, respect your country. Tring tring…”

“Yeah, and I should be the telephone wallpaper,” said Flag. “That way, every time a call is made, a proud Indian stands up and salutes me.”

Anthem leaned forward and touched Flag’s hand. “You’re my friend, you know. And I’ve been rattling on and on about myself, but now let’s talk about you. How have things been for you?”

Flag sighed. “Well, when we met last month I told you about that religious woman who stepped on a mat on which I’d been placed. Well, people stepping on me might seem tough, but what about being cut with a knife, huh? This month, I’ve been cut with a knife.”

“You’re kidding me,” said Anthem. “I’m sure the pain must have felt across the country, and the scars must run from Gujarat to the northeast.”

“And from Karol Bagh to Nungambakkam,” said Flag. “I was cut from top to bottom as well, and proud Indians everywhere have protested. You see, some chaps at a function made a cake with my design, and Sachin Tendulkar, he came and cut me up. Cut me up! And then I was eaten! Oh, the indignity!” Flag’s colour drained out of him as he remembered the harm inflicted on India.

“Listen,” said Anthem, “it could be worse: people could be burning you across the country. Do you know that burning the national flag is legal in the US? People routinely burn the flag there! No wonder they’re such a weak nation, and we’re so strong!”

Flag sighed. “I know, that would be terrible,” he said. “Fluttering on top of the Rashtrapati Bhavan in April and May isn’t very different in terms of temperature, actually, but I’m a survivor.”

“So far,” said Anthem. “Things are getting worse for us, my friend. In Mumbai, it is compulsory to play me in cinema theatres before a film, and everyone is supposed to stand. But recently I have noticed that some people don’t. This columnist, Amit Varma, he doesn’t stand as a matter of principle! He says he’s objecting to coercion! He says that the values of his nation worth standing up for are things like individual freedom and other such rubbish.”

“I have heard,” said Flag, “that he is even planning to write a column in which he will write flippantly about you and me, and everything we stand for. Does he not realize that by doing so, he will rip apart the fabric of the nation? What will they make me out of then, paper?”

Anthem sighed. And fell silent.

Don’t insult pasta

This is the tenth installment of my weekly column for Mint, Thinking it Through.

I have a word of advice for the readers of this column: Do not make fun of pasta. My religious sensibilities will be offended, and I shall compel the government to take action against you.

You see, I belong to a religion called Pastafarianism, and we worship the Flying Spaghetti Monster (FSM). We follow a religious text called the Loose Canon. If we stay true to its principles, we shall get to Heaven, where there are beer volcanoes and stripper factories. What’s more… wait, why are you snickering? Are you making fun of the FSM? Do you not realise that I am protected by Indian law against being offended?

Section 295 (a) of the Indian Penal Code is on my side: it protects me against “Deliberate and malicious acts, intended to outrage religious feelings or any class by insulting its religion or religious beliefs.” It states: “Whoever, with deliberate and malicious intention of outraging the religious feelings of any class of [citizens of India], [by words, either spoken or written, or by signs or by visible representations or otherwise], insults or attempts to insult the religion or the religious beliefs of that class, shall be punished with imprisonment of either description for a term which may extend to [three years], or with fine, or with both.”

Section 295 (a), let me inform you with pride in our penal system, is a non-bailable offence. Sure, like other Gods, my FSM is capable of taking care of itself, and may well choke you with its meatballs. On the other hand, why should I not act as its tool, and choke you with mine? (I am speaking metaphorically, of course, as devout people often do.) Pastafarians have been rather tolerant in India so far – not to mention sparse – but members of other religions have used 295 (a) with immense relish.

For example, when the Indian cricket team was touring South Africa, a kind gentlemen had filed a case under 295 (a) against Ravi Shastri. No, it was not incited by his cliché-ridden commentary, which is offensive for other reasons. It was because he said that he enjoyed eating beef, conveniently forgetting the exalted status Cow has in our country: Being his Mother is just one of Her responsibilities.

Just a month ago, a gentleman named Ranjit Parande was arrested by the Mumbai police under 295 (a) for publishing The Santa and Banta Joke Book. I can imagine how offensive the Sikh community must have found it: I shiver with disquiet when I think of pasta cookbooks. And a few days ago, a gentleman named Vishnu Khandelwal, described as “a devout Hindu” by reliable news sources, filed a case under 295 (a) against Arun Nayar and Liz Hurley. His religious sensibilities were offended because the couple did not adhere to all the Hindu customs required at the wedding. Look, forget the wedding: to begin with, Nayar is rich, and I am offended by that alone. On top of that he gets to apply his lips to Hurley’s, and FSM knows where else. Just the thought offends me! Ban sex!

Sorry, I admit I got a bit carried away there. We certainly shouldn’t ban all sex – but if it is found to offend anyone’s religious sensibilities, we should rethink our laissez faire attitude towards it. We must not follow the West in these matters. They are promiscuous, and look what they have ended up with: hip hop!

I know you can argue that India is a free country, and people should be allowed to say what they want. But that is a misconception. Our great leaders, in their infinite wisdom, merely got political freedom for our country. They understood the consequences of allowing personal freedoms, and put many restrictions on it. For example, while Article 19 (1) (a) of the constitution seems to allow you free speech, Article 19 (2) allows limits to it on behalf of concepts such as “public order” and “decency and morality.” These terms are at the discretion of our presumably devout judges, and can be interpreted liberally – we are a liberal nation.

The most widespread religion in our country, of course, is faith in our system of governance. In an earlier column, I had blasphemously dared to criticize our government. A kind reader instantly set me on the correct path by pointing out Section 124 (a) to me: “Sedition: anyone who by words or expression of any kind brings or attempts to bring or provoke a feeling of hatred, contempt or disaffection towards government established by law shall be punished with life imprisonment.” An editor in Surat was arrested last year under this law, and I am grateful that I have been shown the light.

You might now argue that anything one says can offend someone or the other, and if giving offence is a crime, free speech becomes impossible. Yes it does, and I find that delightful: No more cracks about meatballs. You just have to learn to deal with it, though I sincerely hope it does not offend you. That could be a problem.

The Nehru-Gandhi legacy of shame

This is the ninth installment of my weekly column for Mint, Thinking it Through.

Last week I caught an episode of the charming show, Koffee with Karan, in which Karan Johar was chatting with Shobha De and Vijay Mallya. I enjoy the rapid-fire round on this show, because it reveals much about the celebrity-culture of our times, as well as about our celebrities. One question Johar asked De and Mallya on the show stood out: “Rahul or Priyanka?”

Now, Johar wasn’t asking De and Mallya which of the two Gandhis was better looking or suchlike. He wanted to know who they preferred as a politician. There was an implicit assumption that one of them is certain to be a future prime minister. This has nothing to do with with their political skills or leanings, of which little is known. It is all about their last name, which is the most powerful brand in the biggest market of India: our democracy.

Rahul understandably wants to exploit this, and build the brand: a few days ago, while campaigning in UP, he spoke of how the Babri Masjid would never have been demolished had the Gandhi family been active in politics. It’s natural for Rahul to invoke the Gandhi brand, given the resonance it carries in this country. But it’s also somewhat ironic. Despite their iconic status among our economically illiterate masses, the Nehru-Gandhi family has been nothing but disastrous for our country.

Jawaharlal Nehru was one of our foremost freedom fighters, but the freedom he fought for was restricted to the political domain. Once the British had been ousted, he replaced them with a new oppressor: the Indian government. He distrusted free trade, and once famously told JRD Tata that profit was “a dirty word.” He shackled private enterprise with a license-and-regulation raj and tried to build a command economy where the state was all-powerful. His fatal conceit, to borrow Friedrich Hayek’s phrase, ensured that India limped into the modern age while other Asian countries, once behind us, leaped ahead.

One can be charitable and say that the well-intentioned Nehru was a creature of his times. It is hard to give his daughter similar benefit of the doubt. Indira Gandhi not only took Nehru’s policies forward at a time when it should have been obvious that they weren’t working, she systematically began to strip away the little economic freedom that existed in the country. In colleges it would make good material for a course titled “How To Savage An Economy 101.”

She nationalised all our big banks. She stopped foreign exchange from kick-starting the country’s development, and thus creating employment and productive growth, with the Foreign Exchange Regulation act in 1973. The Urban Land Ceiling Act of 1976 distorted land markets, thus raising land prices and aggravating the problem of slums in cities.  The Industrial Disputes act (1976 and 1982) distorted labour markets and acted as a disincentive to industrial expansion. And so on and on.

With our natural strengths, India should have dominated labour-intensive manufacture and become a manufacturing superpower decades before we started doing well in services, but Jawarharlal and Indira never let that happen. The consequences of Indira’s policies look dry in economic terms, but by perpetuating poverty and shackling growth, they unquestionably had an impact on millions of lives.

Indira attacked more than economic freedom, of course. The emergency was a period of shame for our country, and yet, quite what you’d expect from a leader who took ruling India as a birthright. Her son, Sanjay, had authoritarian instincts even more pernicious than hers, but we were thankfully spared his rule. Rajiv Gandhi, when he took over, seemed a good man, if an inexperienced one. But can naïvete – he was in his 40s during his prime ministership – serve as a suffiicient excuse for, say, Shah Bano, or the foolish intervention in Sri Lanka?

Sonia Gandhi, while she had the character to refuse the prime ministership, also has all the wrong ideas. Her doubts about foreign investment and her support for well-intentioned but short-sighted programs such as the Rural Employment Guarantee Act demonstrate that the lessons of the past haven’t been learnt, and that the communists in the UPA aren’t the only forces holding back India’s progress.

It would be unfair to hold this shameful legacy against Rahul Gandhi. Even if political leadership comes to him as inheritance, he may turn out to be his own man, and recompense for the sins of his forefathers. But here’s what worries me: the best we can do, in our elite drawing rooms watching elite TV shows reading elite papers like Mint, is hope that he turns out well. Of his coming to power, there is no doubt at all. Isn’t that scary?