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Journalism of Courage
I was sifting through the morning newspapers when a box item made me sit up. The last few days of the outgoing year, it said, had seen the booking of the highest number of BMW and Mercedes cars in the country in Chandigarh. Wow, said a wicked part of my mind, this is truly the icing on the cake. Congratulations, my beloved city, here is the ultimate certificate 8212; if you ever needed one 8212; of your having arrived in style. Also, this could be the ultimate certificate 8212; in case you don8217;t realise it 8212; of your descent into complete decadence.
No, I have nothing against BMWs and Mercedes, per se. I am told they are very good cars. They are powerful, sophisticated machines and very, very comfortable to ride in. But that is not the point. The real point is that they are exorbitantly and obscenely expensive, and that is almost certainly the reason they had been bought. They were meant to be flaunted. They were their owners8217; pride, but much more than that, they had to be the objects of neighbours8217; envy.
Really, I told myself a little later, I should not be surprised by the sudden influx of BMWs and Mercedes. After all, Chandigarh has been the richest city in the country for years. And even though it is also the most expensive city in the country, the city continues to attract those who have loads of money. It therefore continues to have the highest per capita income. And it shows. Chandigarh has the highest per capita ownership of cars. It has the highest per capita ownership of mobiles. Property prices have shot through the roof, so much so that no middle class person with honourable sources of income can afford to buy a decent house here. Yet there are buyers. Chandigarh is fast turning into an exclusive haven for NRIs and real estate speculators.
So whichever way you look at it, Chandigarh is booming. In fact, it is booming so much that its wide roads, once so open and inviting, are now clogged with bumper to bumper traffic that often slows to a halt. The parking lots are brimming regardless of where they are located: markets, offices, restaurants, cinema houses, clubs, and even academic campuses. The pedestrian paths in the residential areas can no longer be used by pedestrians, so full are they with parked cars.
Now that creates a problem, doesn8217;t it? The Chandigarh administration is worried sick. It holds meetings of experts every other week, asking them what could be done. Some suggest introduction of a mass rapid transport system: metro, monorail, air-conditioned mini buses and taxis. Others say the richie-rich residents of Chandigarh will never give up their love of private cars, so they suggest banning of cycle rickshaws instead. Rickshaws are slow and unseemly. With them on the road, you will never have smoothly rolling traffic. I called up another expert who came up with an even bolder suggestion. Ban rickshaws alright, he said, but at the same time ban Maruti 800s and other unseemly small cars as well. Let only BMWs and Mercedes ply. Only they behove the City Beautiful.
I thought this was a ridiculous suggestion, and said so. He said he was only joking, trying to lift up my sagging spirits. More seriously, he asked me what my problem was. We live in a modern city in modern times, he said, and these are signs of modernity.
I too believe in modernity, but modernity of a different kind. When I came to Chandigarh some 35 years ago, I was constantly reminded of its modern character. The city had been commissioned by Nehru to reflect the modern, progressive outlook of the new nation. Nehru famously proclaimed Chandigarh to be 8220;unfettered by the traditions of the past, a symbol of the nation8217;s faith in the future.8221;
I saw that future reflected in its well-planned, organised layout, its unique architectural style, its large green belts, its sparklingly clean environment and its orderly life. I saw that future in the fact that the city had the highest per capita number of schools, professional colleges, research institutions, hospitals, health centres, museums and libraries. And it had the highest literacy rate.
More institutions have been added over the years. The literacy rate has not fallen either. But I see some other telltale signs. The largest bookshop on the university campus has just been shut down. Other bookshops around the city are turning into gift shops. I see public libraries wearing a desolate look. I see the coffee house culture of endless debates on public issues being taken over by the fashionable Baristas and lounges.
Chandigarh was meant to be a symbol. It still is a symbol. Only what it sybolises has changed beyond recognition. Chandigarh no longer reflects the resolute faith of a country wanting to leap into a future of its own intent. Instead, it reflects the excesses of mindless consumerism fanned by the winds of globalisation.
The writer is professor of political science, Panjab University, Chandigarh bb21852rediffmail.com
