Tommorow Never Comes

I should have taken the hint, but it probably was masked so transparently, so obviously that it didn’t even register.

The night had been short and warning tales of crime had rendered me much more weary than usual, as we rode along in the dark of the 5 a.m. sun.

Summer showers had washed away the varnish on this town, and the ugliness of urban living flowed down the roads that tired souls called home.

Soon the cracked tar paths gave way to a flat, cemented lane; across it lay VIP Road.

It’s a world in itself; a land that connects to the others upon its utility and convenience. Still, I missed the cue.

Hours later, I found myself traversing the narrow lanes in the heart of the town. In the soothing evening light, the cacophony of the massive wholesale bazaar was a revelation regarding private enterprise in this country.

The sloppy, lazing cattle and bustling traders were nestled in the bosom of crumbling ancient architecture that was decorated with political colours fluttering atop unceremoniously.

A century ago is what it tastes like. It was a time that this town had earned its reputation as Manchester of Asia – a textile and industrial powerhouse that had played its part in the Indian freedom movement.

But there’s little that self-rule, at least in principle, has yielded.

Electricity and water continue to be a major concern and the roads betray the sense of it being the state’s largest city; in fact, murmurs are abound that since Kanpur hasn’t fancied the queen, she has been poetic in returning the favour.

The flags along the dark roads, flanked with stores that kept lamps and lanterns handy, echoed the absence of the blue elephant.

But it’s not the trampling giant alone that has pushed this industrious land to its deathbed; rather, it’s a product of a broader malaise that infects the entire state – a few steps across the pristine temple that juts out from a brick walk along the corner and this demon comes alive like a mythological character.

The narrow street, divided by broken stones, is hidden underneath the mass of humanity that resides there. Shredded old houses and wasted brick walls lie above stalls where laborious workers strive to earn their meals.

Experts putting together aluminum cages, craftsmen carving dull wood into floral textures and artisans adding glitter to designer cloth amid a squalor that is akin to images of wasted young lives in the warzones of Afghanistan and Gaza.

Yet it’s identity politics along with some last minute back scratching that moves voters; no matter how the hard is the pinch of the lack of basic facilities cutting across all differences.

And the 2009 contest thus far – dominated by caste, religion and fear rather than positive debates around development and the future – merely resonates this.

The Congress’ Sri Prakash Jaiswal – the first face one saw parroting the UPA’s scripted lines after the numerous terror attacks in the country over the last few years – is the incumbent MP. It’s clearly not even worth it to waste print on his efforts – either at the local level or in Delhi.

The BJP has fielded five-time Kanpur Cantt MLA Satish Mahana; obviously, he’s considered to be a solid choice. But stroll around the city and soon you will begin to wonder what he has to show for performance over the years – apart from a boost in personal assets. (Click here for more) 

The Samajwadi Party’s choice of Surendra Mohan Agarwal – who ridiculously finds his moment of glory in finishing second in the 1998 MP race – is widely seen as a strategic pick that would hurt Jaiswal. The buzz around him was about the Muslim and Vaishya votes, nothing to do with growth or development whatsoever. (Click here to know more)

Finally, the BSP’s Sukhada Mishra, an ailing Brahmin candidate who was a sudden surprise as the party dumped Mohammad Salim, has remained unheard of during the campaign.

Wonder if these moves by the Mayawati and Mulayam Singh can be viewed as signals of future action post May 16?

As I pondered whether to delve into number crunching and the mythical science of predicting alliances and elections, a huge glass door greeted me.

It was the newest mall in Kanpur, located across a garbage-strewn railway crossing.

Pushing the door open, I paused. The sign above read “Entry” at the other end was “Exit” and mammoth central section was untouched – it was restricted for VIPs.

This time I took the hint…