I went to meet Vinod in Central Hall, an MP’s spouse’s privilege. On the way I called to Rajdeep Sardesai who was speeding along the corridor. He just smiled and said — not now, later. Central Hall was unusually packed, but without the usual banter. Everyone was extremely sombre. It felt as though a black cloud hung above. Vinod explained why the House had been adjourned. I was shell shocked. I asked friends in the UPA what they thought would happen, and was surprised to hear that they thought the vote would go ahead as planned. My instinct as a lawyer made me feel that with such serious allegations made on the floor of the House, they needed to be first investigated by the House. If any action was required to be taken against any MPs, I thought this should be taken before the members vote. After all, if any MP had committed a criminal act which would lead to his or her being expelled, it seemed logical to me that the MP should be first expelled and not allowed to vote, especially when the vote was so close.
Later, as I tried to explain to Shraddha and Radhika that the House was adjourned because of the commotion when some MPs had alleged that they had been paid to vote a particular way, they just couldn’t comprehend my words. When they finally did, they said, with eyes full of shock and in total innocence, “But that is like selling the country.” And I thought to myself, yes, it is.
Sitting in the first row of the Special Gallery I told Shraddha and Radhika strictly not to talk or fidget. Shraddha demurely crossed her legs, and an officer promptly reprimanded her as her soles might be visible from the House. When the proceedings reconvened, the girls were flabbergasted and asked me, “If we have to follow rules and can be removed if we don’t, why don’t the MPs also have to follow the rules? And why don’t the MPs follow the rules that they themselves make? How can they break their own rules...?” How indeed?
After the electronic voting, while all the votes were being counted, we did some celebrity spotting. As I pointed out several illustrious and some not so illustrious leaders and personalities, I found it very hard to explain how someone who has been convicted by the Court for murder, and sentenced to life imprisonment, could be allowed to be in Parliament and voting.
And then came the mother of all questions — “Mom, suppose President Bush were to phone the man in the comfortable chair and tell him that the nuclear deal is off. Right now. Then what? Would they still vote?” It got me thinking — what indeed if the deal was suddenly called off at America’s instance, before the vote, and this was conveyed to India? What would be the relevance of the trust vote, and therefore, was one democracy marching to the tune of another?
As we reflected on the day’s events over dinner, I asked Shraddha and Radhika what they thought of their experience. Radhika said, “You know, we saw so many good people. All the security people did their job so well. We can learn from them.” Shraddha, a generally blasé teenager, thrilled me with her reply: “You can never imagine how majestic it is to be in Parliament till you are there.” Their final take, however, was — it did not make me feel proud.
I don’t think I have ever felt as ashamed as I did by the Parliamentary proceedings on July 22, 2008. I feel deeply ashamed to be a part of my generation of Indians: the custodians of our children’s’ future — the keepers of the India my children will inherit.
But there was a silver lining — our children. May God protect them from our evil ways.
The writer is a lawyer, and married to MP Vinod Khanna
Kavita Khanna
