By Coomi Kapoor
Natwar Singh does not believe that the mention of his name in the Volcker report is sufficient reason for him to go gently into the night. “Why should I resign?” he queries belligerently. He has dug in his heels. Talked about a conspiracy against him, rubbished the UN report and sent out veiled threats to his party-the sacrifice would not stop with him. In a bid to woo UPA allies, he even took a potshot at the country’s foreign policy, framed by his very own ministry.
Now we have Act Two of the drama, after the revelations of his former factotum, Aneil Matherani. Singh is still adamant that he will continue regardless. He is not swayed by the near unanimous media criticism, questioning the propriety of remaining in government while there is a probe against him. Not concerned about the enormous embarrassment to his party in Parliament.
Not moved by the fact that Congress President Sonia Gandhi, by her own admission, is “very, very angry” and that the Congress keeps throwing broad hints by dropping him from a series of high-powered committees. For reasons best known to himself, Prime Minister Manmohan Singh does not insist on Natwar Singh’s resignation. After all there are other chargesheeted ministers well entrenched in his Cabinet, from Laloo Prasad Yadav to Mohammed Taslimuddin.
Whatever happened to the good old tradition of ministers gracefully putting in their papers when caught on the wrong foot, and thereby setting an example for propriety and accountability? The concept of the individual sacrificing himself for the larger good? After all, those in public life are expected to be above suspicion, not take refuge in hair splitting about what legally constitutes right and wrong.
Consider some examples from the mother of all parliaments. British politician David Blunkett resigned as home secretary simply because he had suggested fast forwarding his lover’s nanny’s visa. No crime, no misdemeanor, at most it was termed “a serious error of judgement”. Michael Howard stepped down as leader of the Conservative Party, although his party had substantially improved its electoral performance under his leadership. Howard explained he was already 63 and at 67 would be simply too old to lead his party in the next general election.
In India, our tradition is a bit different. Most of our politicians have to be led away kicking and screaming. Uma Bharati, for instance, has been fighting a rearguard battle for over a year to reclaim her old job in Bhopal. But Uma after all is only 45, and can rightfully feel that it is worth fighting for her political future. But one would have supposed that Natwar Singh, at 74, with a successful innings behind him as minister, diplomat and author, would not like to be best remembered for the graceless way he insists on clinging to power.
Singh, like many others before him, refuses to accept that he has lost his relevance. Madan Lal Khurana, the one time strongman of the Delhi BJP, reacted peevishly to attempts to turf him out of city politics. He cut a sorry figure in his attempts to demonstrate his anger with his party. Kapila Vatsayan, 78, may be a respected name in the arts world, but why does she assume that without her the Indira Gandhi National Centre of the Arts would fall apart and that she is entitled to be its permanent czarina (apart from hankering for a Rajya Sabha seat in the bargain)?
The 83-year-old and much respected father of the white revolution in India, Verghese Kurien, flatly refused to surrender his post as lifetime chairperson of the Institute of Rural Management, after the charity commissioner questioned his right to continue indefinitely. We were witness to the unhappy spectacle of an icon indulging in public tantrums and humiliating himself. His indecorous spat with his successor at the National Dairy Development Board, who was in fact once his protege, merely diminished his stature.
Kurien justified his unbecoming behaviour with the remark, “The time for retirement has to be sooner rather than later. But I will decide on my own time.” Most of us unfortunately fail to sense when it is time to walk away into the sunset. When the elderly RSS chief, K.S. Sudarshan, who is himself rather ironically installed for life in his post, suggested that it was time for the two grand old men of the BJP, Vajpayee and Advani, to make way for a younger leadership, Advani-at 78-refused to fall in line.
He has tried to avert the dreaded moment for as long as possible. It is no coincidence that most presidents of political parties, whether it is the RJD, the SP, the DMK, the AIADMK, the SSP, or the RLD, are there for their lifetime.
The presumption of men in power of their indispensability is fostered by their families and the sycophants clustering around them. There is usually a large and demanding family, which is even more concerned about enjoying the fruits of power than the person holding the post. Would Natwar Singh have been quite so adamant if there was not a pugnacious Jagat Singh to egg him on? Positions of power in Delhi come with enormously comfortable cushions.
For instance, Natwar Singh-as minister of external affairs-had 10 cars and a personal staff of 43. As minister without portfolio, he still retains two cars and 15 staff members. The sprawling government bungalows in Lutyens Delhi are a major incentive for many a retired bureaucrat or judge to swallow pride and, at times, principles, for a post-retirement sinecure.
Take the case of a very senior retired bureaucrats who was appointed governor of a state. It was a public scandal that he was in his cups after sunset but his family nevertheless egged him on to continue. Which president of India did not hope for a second term in office?
The failure to read the writing on the wall is not restricted to aging politicians and statesmen. Sourav Ganguly was reminded of his poor batting record and slipping form and urged to step down as captain in the interest of team morale. His more egocentric solution was that the team coach should go instead. No one wants to retire voluntarily, they have to be cast aside.
