Our Aspiring Leaders

I am looking at the two candidates who aspire to be our Prime Minister on the fifth of September, and I think – Is this all the Tory Party has to offer the Country? Two wannabes with nothing to distinguish them from the lumpen masses inside the Party, and the mindless acolytes outside. I am from Kerala, where even the barely literate household staff read the newspapers every day, the-beedi rollers have one employed at full wage just to read the paper to them while they roll the tobacco into the poor man’s smokes, and the far Left is more often in power than not. No Country deserves the entitled apparatchik, or the frozen person. The only bright spot is that the two leaders will both make most people so mad that they will vote for Labour in 2024. Meanwhile, how do we suffer this empty, pompous lot? What we need, of course, is a people’s uprising. This is not going to happen. Our version of this is called a polite No-Confidence vote. Look at the time and effort it took to shed Johnson. The two contenders talk non-stop about tax; I get the impression that this is what exercises their tiny little brains. NHS? Truss wants to sack nurses, I hear. BP raising the prices for the common man on fuel while accumulating vast profits? Sunak is all in favour. No way out for any of us.

When did we become Third World? I am listening to the tales of hardship on Channel 4. A mother who has no money to feed her daughter until the next Universal Credit check arrives. A father who has nothing left after paying the utility bills. What happened to this rich Western Country? Are we third world now? In 1974, I fled from a bad marriage to the United Kingdom. I lived in lodgings on Lower Richmond Road. I was paid 59 p an hour and the rent was nine pounds a week. I had a gas metre in the room and had to feed it to stay warm. I remember the careful shuffling of expenses until, a few months later, I got a job teaching Maths in a Secondary School in Wickford. The Department of Education would not pay for the ten years previous teaching experience, or my Maths degree, until six months later. I had to get verification from the University of Madras direct to the DES. Teachers were not paid very much in the seventies anyway until the Houghton award, and we got a huge pay-rise. Meanwhile, I did dinner duty to get the free meal that went with it. I had no Winter garments, coming as I did from Africa, so I layered. I lived in a high-rise Council flat and took a bus from Basildon to work. I watched the electricity meter frequently and bathed in small amounts of hot water when the meter seemed to be going round too fast. I was glad the children were not with me. The Houghton awards trebled my salary and the accumulated back pay made me feel rich. So, I put down a deposit of eight hundred pounds on a house that was selling for 9350 pounds. I have memories of not buying the Whippy that I was greedy for, getting my first overcoat for nine pounds after six months of saving… The mothers and fathers who struggle to feed their children are in a very bad place now. For this, the Tory government is responsible.

THE FAB FIVE Did you see the soap opera yesterday? The edifying sight of Liz Truss and Rishi Sunak tearing into each other, the raking up of mistakes made by the Tories in Government over the last decade, the excavation of ancient biographies – who went to school. Where? Labour’s job is being done for them. When McDonnel makes an ugly swipe at Starmer, I want to send a message to him to shut up. Go and do this in Committee, I think, not on the media outlets. I am on his side; I am left of left. Brought up in Kerala, what do you expect? I want a redistribution of wealth tomorrow, my wealth included… The LEADERS’ DEBATE yesterday was a catfight. How did these guys not know at least after the first debate that they were doing a Labour party political broadcast? How stupid are they? Mind you, I have always believed that anyone who joins the Tory Party is, by definition, stupid. But a lot of morons vote for them, and they are a reality like plant pests. Interestingly, the discussion of policy was minimal – it was all about who is the best top dog. No one will call a general election; they know they will be wiped out. 2024 seems a long way away.

The LEADERS Larry, the No 10 cat, and eleven others are all hoping to be our P M. Couldn’t be more diverse. Men, women, Asian men, cat… All it needs is for Priti Toxic Patel to join the motley bunch of would-be-leaders. The Press don’t know what is really going on, how to separate the aspirants, where to show their power. Boris had been their man until they did a Mark Anthony on him. When you create a Frankenstein, you must expect it to turn on you. All the contestants have talked about tax cuts and not much else. The thought of money reigns supreme. There is no mention about the cost-of-living crisis, the pressure on the NHS or Ruanda. One must assume that all of them favour sending immigrants to Rwanda and keeping quiet about the Brexit disaster. If you don’t mention it, it might go away. Is this pervasive racism in the Country, or the obligatory racism to succeed in the party? True blue as a ‘Cruella’ supporter calls Braverman. And – Boris is hanging on as P M, the characteristic smirk absent. My worry is the appalling lack of talent, principles, or any real political intent beyond the acquisition of power. What’s Rishi Sunak got to offer anyone but himself? And he leads the pack, I understand. Liz Truss’s ignorance, Hunt’s opportunism… Who will rid us of this scurrilous lot?

The LEADERS Larry, the No 10 cat, and eleven others are all hoping to be our P M. Couldn’t be more diverse. Men, women, Asian men, cat… All it needs is for Priti Toxic Patel to join the motley bunch of would-be-leaders. The Press don’t know what is really going on, how to separate the aspirants, where to show their power. Boris had been their man until they did a Mark Anthony on him. When you create a Frankenstein, you must expect it to turn on you. All the contestants have talked about tax cuts and not much else. The thought of money reigns supreme. There is no mention about the cost-of-living crisis, the pressure on the NHS or Ruanda. One must assume that all of them favour sending immigrants to Rwanda and keeping quiet about the Brexit disaster. If you don’t mention it, it might go away. Is this pervasive racism in the Country, or the obligatory racism to succeed in the party? True blue as a ‘Cruella’ supporter calls Braverman. And – Boris is hanging on as P M, the characteristic smirk absent. My worry is the appalling lack of talent, principles, or any real political intent beyond the acquisition of power. What’s Rishi Sunak got to offer anyone but himself? And he leads the pack, I understand. Liz Truss’s ignorance, Hunt’s opportunism… Who will rid us of this scurrilous lot?

The Westminster Shenanigans I expect there are a great many people like me watching the soap-opera unfolding in Westminster today. We are still waiting for Johnson as he is getting his suit buttons restored, and his shirt ironed, before coming out to the podium, to resign. I just wish he had stayed till the next general election – he was the best argument Labour could have had for defeating the Tories. However, I suppose the Country is more important than the party. I have a huge confusion in my head – no, no, no – not due to age. I had this cerebral image in my head, long-standing, as I was forcibly fed this lie in History lessons in my schooldays in India. I blame the Sacred Heart. A Mother of Parliament, where democracy prevailed in its purest form. Jesus Wept! So, what do I think of a popinjay like Johnson? How did the Tories allow him to crawl into power? Why did they not get rid of him many months ago? There were so many occasions when he let the Country down – the Brexit debacle still being played out, Parytgate… Other unmentionable misdemeanours. They were all clinging to power while they looked away from the sleaze that was the Tory parliamentary party. They are all complicit and should be booted out. WE NEED A GENERAL ELECTION – NOW I say this with some pride – I am a die-hard Socialist. Left of left. I believe wealth needs to be redistributed and the foodbanks are a disgrace to the United Kingdom. I hope Labour, when it comes into power has the backbone to do this.

The Galle Face Beach There was a routine in my husband’s home. Every evening, after coming home from work, Balan (my just-unwrapped husband) would take his parents to the Galle Face beach and park the car alongside all the other cars lined up, descanting families greedy for the evening air. He would then guide his father to the edge of the beach and the old man would walk the length of the beach and return to the car. Balan would accompany him on his slow walk while my mother-in-law stayed in the car. He is a good man, I would say to myself, about this stranger whom I had married. Balan insisted that I accompanied the threesome in the evenings; so I would sit in the back of the car with the mother and look at the crowds on the beach. Far away and across from us, the limousines drew up in the grand portico of the Galle Face hotel. Behind us the traffic speeded towards the Fort, the shopping enclave of the rich in the city. I begged out of the daily Galle Face parade after a few days, much to the consternation of my husband I started searching for reading matter. An addiction was waiting to be fed. In desperation at finding nothing, I went up to the disused storeroom at the top of our home. There was a Dutch almirah there with a glass front; I opened it and the silverfish ran about frantically, as old books with yellowed pages tumbled out. All on religion, but I had reached a point of no return. I had to find reading material. I grabbed a copy of the translation of Bhagawath Geetha in English, blew away the dust on it and took it down. Next day, my sister-in-law came by to tempt me to a dance. She saw the book I was reading and had a good laugh. ‘On your honeymoon and you are reading Geetha,’ she chortled. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that honey and moon would not be enough for me. I was addicted to the printed word. And I did go for that dance where fell in love with the joyous rhythms of the Singhalese Byela.