Gujarat is “officially” a dry state. Bootlegging is rampant, as is availability of spurious alcoholic drinks, with an entire parallel industry engaged in ensuring that the tipplers have their supply lines open. The seamy underbelly of society works overtime to ensure the maintenance of the exacting moral standards as postulated by the Mahatma with successive Governments choosing socio-economic hara-kiri over practicality. It is indeed another case of spending millions to keep Gandhi poor – for the revenue loss to the state, not to mention the default patronage of the bootleggers, or the social cost of incognito inebriation is reason enough to take the blinders off and be pragmatic for the Government.
Remember the time when gold imports were banned? When the staple of Bollywood flicks was gold smuggling? Remember the names that this noble activity spawned? Now that gold has gone legit, it is sheer economics that has banished the smugglers to oblivion. Neither has gold lost its sheen, nor has the Indian obsession with the yellow metal ebbed, yet, the smugglers have done a vanishing act– what regulations could not enforce has been consigned to oblivion by sheer economics.
We choose to turn a blind eye to the world’s oldest profession. The thriving, bustling “Red Light” areas in every city, is a slap on our misplaced morality. Yet we cling on to our anachronistic reactions and archaic laws to continue oblivious on our journey of denial. Forget about the facts that these areas are a breeding ground for anti-socials, witness extortion and excesses from both sides of the law on a daily basis and are a magnet for rampant exploitation of women apart from being a spawning ground of diseases. Just considering the pain, apathy and abject hardships that the children of these sex workers have to go through – for no fault of theirs – is enough to warrant immediate action. Let us not go into the legalities – sermonizing, or moral posturing too is not in my agenda. The moot point that I want to raise is simple: by forcing a part of our society, an important service sector at that, out of bounds from the mainstream, who are we fooling but ourselves? We cannot terminate the scourge, but what is stopping us from regulating and breaking its fangs, to make a part of a greater inclusive design? And going forward, in domesticating the wild, untamed beast?
Look at the Ponzi Schemes that has pushed Bengal to the brink. The figure of the scam that is floating about is INR 21,000 crores – not exactly loose change by any stretches of wild imagination. But whose guilt was it? Was it the illiterate poor who comprised the bulk of the investors? Was it the army of agents – unemployed young men and women – who glib talked to the purses of the poor? Was it the group, who moved by sheer greed parted with their savings well aware that the promised returns were literally undeliverable? Was it the smooth operating owners who had moved in to swindle the gullible? Was it the administration that looked the other way? Was it the politicians who moved in to line their own pockets? Was it the banking system that had failed in its duty as the primary provider and mobiliser of scattered funds?
Naturally, there is no one answer. However, the fact is clear – we allowed INR 21,000 that was otherwise readily available in the economy for gainful deployment to be squandered – thanks to our callous indifference and our inability to call a spade a spade.
These facts come crowding in as I watch the sordid saga of match fixing unfold before the incredulous Nation. But first the rider – those lamenting the “death of the gentleman’s game” are living in a fool’s paradise. The game had died way back when the “big boys” started “playing at night.” As a matter of fact, I am surprised that what is hogging the newsbytes now had not broken earlier. You cannot have performers dressed in franchisee finery and expect them to follow the rules of your circus without them taking a swig at the lager of your dirty lucre. With the kind of money that is doing the rounds – and my friend, not all of that is of the clean, hard earned type – betting is inevitable, whatever may your politically correct, morally sanitized argument be. If you want the Nation to be doped by your daredevils, you will have to allow the logical extension – let in the bookies and the pencilers and their tribe. You can certainly lay down the rules, define the domain and allow economics to do the rest. If you continue to live in the past, matching your Armani jeans with your Gandhi topi, Dawood and his minor Djins will only be too happy to move in to fill the void, with their honey traps and their money-bunnies whether you like it or not.
In the land of Bharat, Cricket is the new game of dice that even turn men of impeccable character like Yudishtira into compulsive gamblers who put their “everything” on stake. And, just like the past, the game itself is fixed, rigged by character players in the epic that unfolds with monotonous regularity. Kingdoms are lost, brothers are wagered, honour and wives squandered – by the rich and the mighty who feed on the blood, sweat and tears of us, Roger Rabbits.
If you put Bolywood glamour, cricketing mercenaries, prime time coverage, money wielding industrialists and package the heady mix with imported cheer girls and rave parties, can the rookies be far behind? It’s a debauch, carnal world out there where honesty and honour are sacrificed on the altar of easy money and tinsel fame. Naturally, when things lead to the inevitable “Vastra Haran”, the assembled elders, themselves self righteous, senile old men on steroids of greed, can do little but shed crocodile tears.
Last time around, Lord Krishna had to intervene which too could not stop the ultimate war. Only, this time around, there is no Lord and it is up to us to ensure that we stop the D-Company (be it Dussashan or Dawood) from stripping our sentiments in public, that too in prime time. That’s not cricket? Go to hell!