I am Dawood today, tomorrow, I'll be Mahood, and the day after, Robin Hood.
I cry freedom.
It is customary for smart cookies to blurt uneasy statements, like I've made, and then to say, "I have been misquoted." Let me set this one right. I have not been misquoted.
Misquoting is not the only, or major, mischief that media can play. What is more common, and certainly, most mischievous is to quote correctly in the incorrect context. But then, that is not "quoting correctly" at all. But let that be.
What was the correct context?
I had finished a nearly 3-hour long session with the Delhi Commission for Women on August 19, 2015. Time was close to 6 pm. Even so, I had found the time to address - in fact indulge - the media fraternity. I had been posting for three days continuously on Facebook, specially addressing my media friends on my eagerness to help them with anything they wanted. I had offered, quite seriously, even to be photographed with my face covered, as rapists and murders are, to lend some masala to their reports. This I did, knowing that, going by facts, it could be heartrendingly sterile for them. I did not hear from them on this and so did not carry a suitable towel or black piece of cloth with me. So, if they lost a photo-op, I am not to blame.
I had a civilized session in the conference room of the Commission. I could see that what I said, being factually sober, was a huge disappointment to those who had waited for me for that long.
Men and women in the media have now attained a fair degree of stoic resignation. Most of the reporters present swallowed their disappointment and decided to leave me alone. All, except one. He decided to rush down and lie in wait for me. I was efficiently ambushed at the exit. A volley of questions, beginning precisely with the question that I had said I won't be able to answer in the session just concluded. In my opinion, this is what no self-respecting human being -even a TV reporter- should do. There must be some limit somewhere. The fact that you have a camera with you, gives you no license to be a gadfly to anyone and everyone at will. Heavens are not going to fall if some courtesy, if not manners, is extended.
So, in a flash I decided to play ball with him. These are things one does instinctively, like swatting a fly from one's nose. In other words, not in a premeditated fashion. The only name that came to my mind - as the one that carried maximum opprobrium - was that of Dawood Ibrahim. The name of Lalit Modi would certainly have not done. Given his magic connections spread over many parties, he (or his well-placed friends) would have sued me for damages had I said "I am Lalit Modi". An impecunious college Principal passing off as Lalit Modi? Unthinkable. It is a risk I could not have taken. I could not have said "I am Veerappan". He is no more and, though I look convincingly ghostly, I still retain corporeality. So that was not an option. The only other name that carries - thanks to the media - extreme opprobrium is my own. What is the fun in saying (or, as the malicious mischievousness of
Indian Express puts it with a flourish of terminological inexactitude, "screaming") "I am Valson Thampu... I am Valson Thampu"
So the reader, if not my media magnates, can understand my limited options in the given scenario.
Now what was I doing? Let me put it bluntly... I WAS CLOWNING... A 64-year old man clowning? The Principal of a college clowning? A priest clowning? Yes, clowning. What else can I do? Faced as I am with a situation of elaborately organized, heartlessly pursued, diabolically sustained persecution, with no material, judicial or social capital to defend my dignity and integrity (all that I am left with in the evening of my life) .... attacked for turning left.... vilified for turning right.... condemned for walking straight.... I have only two options.
One... to surrender and live in fear and serfdom. Two... to stand on my right to be free - to be free, especially free from fear, including the fear of the media. Freedom is for me dearer than life... So renouncing my freedom was/is not an option. The question then is... how am I to express my freedom in this Kafkaesque situation?
The only mode of expressing my freedom available to me (and persons like me who, in the words of Gurudev Tagore, do not want to bend their knees before insolent might) is clowning.
In an oppressive context, only a clown is free. Those who have a nodding acquaintance with Shakespeare know that the court fool is freer than the king. All else, except the clown, will freeze into fearful conformity. Clowning is an acted satire. (The point of satire, which you will easily make out, if you see the video, was denouncing the attempt to "politicize" the pursuit of justice. It is so very obvious, but the reporter - true to character- can't see it.) When an entire industry is working over-time to rob me of my integrity and dignity, there is only one way I can express the truth about myself in the face of the avalanche of malice cast at me, and that is to counterpoint this theatre of cruelty with clowning. I must have the freedom at least to do that!
Make no doubt, when a society becomes subhuman, only clowns remain free to express themselves. The other option is to live like conditioned animals, unable or afraid even to distinguish between freedom and slavery. I believe in freedom. For me freedom is a synonym for life itself. I would rather laugh my way to prison than live like a slave of fear outside of it. I urge all those who care for their humanity to cast off fear. Fear shuts up not only your mouths but also the very door of your life. Fear degrades life into a tomb.
One last word about being Dawood Ibrahim... I understand that in martial arts, one of the tactics of self-defense is to move in the direction of the push. At a time when the media as a whole - print and electronic - is straining all its nerves to prove me a felon, it might help me, I thought, to move in the direction in which I am being pushed hard. But now I realize I got this wrong. This has had the effect of the hard-working media mouths feel like lions baulked of their prey. I am sorry about it. So, for your sake, let me say.. I AM NOT DI... I AM NOT DI... I AM VT... I AM VT... Please resume the chase.... Shall I now begin to run? Now? Tomorrow? Any time. You say and it'll be done... I am 64. Never mind. I can still run a good English mile. Care to try it out? It'll be good fun.
(Valson Thampu has written this column only in his personal capacity, and not as the Principal of St. Stephen's College.)Disclaimer: The opinions expressed within this article are the personal opinions of the author. The facts and opinions appearing in the article do not reflect the views of NDTV and NDTV does not assume any responsibility or liability for the same.