From Tana To Tharoor

I just came back from a week-long trip to Madagascar. Surprisingly, though most of my friends and colleagues have heard about the place, mainly thanks to the Spielberg's movie of the same name, few could place the country geographically.

A friend of mine, a CEO of a Technopark company, called me back and asked: “Hi Sabin, I'm a bit confused. Is it a South American country or a Southern African country?”

Before I give you some highlights about the trip, let me place the country. Madagascar is part of Africa but not on the main land. It is the world's fourth largest island near Mauritius in the Indian Ocean.

I flew out from Mumbai to Nairobi from where I flew down south to the capital city of Madagascar, Anantananarivo, or Tana. In my last column for Yentha I'd written about 'identity crisis' and a couple of my experiences at airports.

The immigration officer at the Mumbai international airport took a good look at my passport, and pronounced “Sabeen Mohammed Iqbal” with a stress on the middle name. He took a few minutes more, checking if the photograph was doctored. And, he just flicked the passport towards me in a way that could be interpreted as 'throwing'. I picked up the passport, feeling insulted. When we travel overseas this little blue book is our identity and our cultural anchor. Any dig at it is a stab at our whole identity. My friend and colleague felt more insulted than me. Prodded by him, I went back to the officer and told him that I could take this attitude in a foreign country. But sir, I said, I am an Indian citizen and if you don't respect an Indian passport, who would? He gazed at me for some time, and said he didn't mean it that way. I walked off after giving him my business card. As I was turning towards the security check area, I looked back and saw him still looking at my card.

Tana was a surprise package. I felt as if I was in a quaint little French town inhabited by Asians. Madagascar bears a French look, thanks to its French reign, and the people are mostly inter-racial and are descendants of Indonesians.

Though it is rich in untapped natural resources, the country is still poor, and receives a UN fund. It is kind of a free country with over 50 per cent of population under 20 years of age. So if you walk around the Tana town, you'd see mainly youth hanging out and fiddling with their many mobile phones. Their baby-faced president, Andrey Rejoelina, is younger than me, which means he is bubbling under the 40-mark.

Once again I took a firm decision to learn French, lest I miss out many opportunities for some interesting conversations. Tana was the fifth French-speaking city I'd been to and left wondering why I never paid a visit to the Alliance Francaise back in our city.

Never too late, I'm pretty bent on turning a Francophile.

Being in a French world means you forget about cricket. With the IPL nearing knockout stage, I had to be online to keep myself updated about cricket and non-cricket hot news emerging out of India.

Hmm, some hot news we have been having these days. The biggest wicket of this IPL is that of Mr Tharoor. And, the bowler is Modi.

It is a heady and ugly mix of politics and business, cricket being just a vehicle for their Machiavellian ways. It is good for media, and reporters chomping at the bit to take a peek at the underbelly of the business of cricket.

But then I have decided to get away from all these. Over the years, many idols have fallen. It is the tragedy of the common fan. The heroes keep falling from the pedestal. But it is, I reckon, human nature that we keep replacing them. It seems we need some figure to hero-worship.

On the way back, while checking in at the Tana airport, I overheard a security staff asking my friend for 'some gift', and I saw him tucking a 10,000 ariyari (local currency) note into his jacket which was being scanned. I moved on. I turned back only when a hand fell on my shoulders. It was security staff. He was all seriousness as he went ahead frisking me. He then asked me to follow him. He took me to a small curtained enclosure. He began checking me, and then in a minute, asked me, in a tone of request: “Please give me some gift.” I looked at him. He was sheepish, and I couldn't help smiling at him. “What do you want?” I asked. “Some gift.” I walked out giving him a crisp 10,000 ariyari note. He walked beside me, laughing and putting his hand on my shoulder. “Welcome back to Tana, my friend,” he said as he let me walk away.

Sure, I will come back to Tana, the city of thousand homes. I said in my mind. Though it was bribery or daylight robbery, I liked the way he did it. And I was smiling as I walked into the duty free shops.

I landed in Mumbai, into the quagmire of IPL, and raids at Modi's office and detailed reports about his high-profile staff. And, then came the Tharoor exit. No wonder he never replied to my mails asking for details of the Kochi team's owners. When I sent the mails three weeks ago, I didn't know I was trying to touch the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

(Read yentha.com)