I thought this article was funny and articulate - its not often that a journalist is privy to the private shinanigans of the powers to be and gosh it makes them all look like shmucks! Way to go Mr Wolffe!

Backstage at the Crisis

As the world's leaders gathered, the Middle East burst into flames. How President Bush handled the biggest foreign challenge of his second term. A NEWSWEEK exclusive.

By Richard Wolffe
Newsweek
July 31, 2006 issue

The forward suite aboard Air Force One is a hushed and dimly lit space, a private sanctuary where the president can sleep, exercise and lead the free world from 30,000 feet. At the start of an eight-hour flight en route to Germany and a world summit in Russia, President Bush is deep inside his own head as he paces up and down the long hallway that leads from his study to his conference room. While Washington was sleeping the night before, yet another corner of the Middle East had erupted into violence, after Hizbullah launched a deadly ambush on an Israeli patrol. The summit, which was supposed to focus on Iran's nukes and Russia's democracy, had just been hijacked by the war on terror.
Onboard, Bush is demanding constant updates from his national-security adviser Steve Hadley, who is holed up in a staff cabin, speed-dialing officials around the world to get a better read on the situation. "Let's find out more of what's going on about the Israeli plan," Bush tells Hadley. The president reminds his staff that this time last year, when he was in Scotland for another G8 summit of world leaders, suicide bombers struck the London subway. It becomes a grim joke: another G8, another crisis. Bush's day has barely begun and the region he has tried so hard to reshape and rebuild is on the verge of all-out war.

After five years of terrorism and bloodshed, crisis has become a way of life for George W. Bush. Back home, he usually has the luxury of managing events in private, with his aides close at hand and world leaders a phone call away. This time it's just the opposite: Bush must respond to the violence in the full glare of a global summit, where the leaders like to take each other's measure in front of the cameras. Over the next several days, Bush huddles with presidents and prime ministers, showing how far he has traveled since 9/11—and also how little he has changed. Bush thinks the new war vindicates his early vision of the region's struggle: of good versus evil, civilization versus terrorism, freedom versus Islamic fascism. He still believes that when it comes to war and terror, leaders need to decide whose side they are on.

But after Iraq, many of those leaders find it hard to rush to Bush's side, and he has struggled to win them back. Over the past three years, since the invasion, his options have narrowed; circumstances have taught him to speak the language of diplomacy more fluently. Yet he still trusts his gut to tell him what's right, and he still expects others to follow his lead. For Bush, diplomacy is not the art of a negotiated compromise. It's a smoother way to get where he wants to go—especially when all the other options are off the table, as they are in Iran and North Korea. As the crisis worsened last week, several allies wished Bush would talk less about the United Nations and more about sending in his own envoy—less process, more peacemaking. Yet Bush's goal isn't to broker a ceasefire; it's to disarm Hizbullah and roll back the ambitions of its patrons.

As the crisis unfolded, NEWSWEEK gained rare access to the president and his senior aides, spending hours behind the security curtain that surrounds Bush in the air and on the ground. Between meetings with world leaders, Bush agreed to four freewheeling interviews and hundreds of candid photographs. He showed his ease with diplomacy on his terms—in short one-on-one meetings that he could control. But he also showed his impatience with the formal statecraft of summits and group sessions, where his voice was just one among many. In the interviews, he was unusually relaxed, revealing a president by turns playful and pensive, stubborn and accommodating, as he grappled with the biggest foreign crisis of his second term.

Friday, July 14: A Call From on HighIn the two days since he left the White House, Bush has wooed the new German Chancellor Angela Merkel and enjoyed feasting on wild boar. His aides, meanwhile, were busy with the crisis: gathering intel, shuttling across the region and strategizing about the way ahead. On the ground, the Israelis have destroyed Beirut's airport runways and flattened Hizbullah's headquarters in the city; in return, Hizbullah has fired rockets at Haifa, Israel's third largest city, and struck an Israeli warship off the Lebanese coast.
Now it's time for Bush to intervene. Again aboard Air Force One, en route from Germany to the G8 summit in Russia, Bush sits in his long, wood-paneled conference room with Hadley and Secretary of State Condi Rice. His two advisers have been gaming out possible twists and turns in the crisis, calling intelligence and military officials to get a jump on the enemy's next move. One question arises early on. Should Bush call Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Olmert? After all, he is a close ally and friend. But in the delicate diplomacy of the Middle East, direct talks could easily backfire. If Bush does call Olmert, the press will want to know what they discussed. Bush doesn't want to look as if he has approved or disapproved bombing targets.

For now, his focus is to win the support of friendly Arab leaders. With his secure phone in front of him, Bush rehearses what he needs to say to King Abdullah of Jordan, President Hosni Mubarak of Egypt and Prime Minister Fouad Siniora of Lebanon. Bush tells the leaders he's trying to calm the situation, by warning Israel not to topple the young government in Beirut. He lays out what he sees as the risks: that Iran is trying to control the region, that Israel might collapse the Beirut government and that Syria might take back Lebanon. Yet his main goal is to win their agreement that the villain is Hizbullah. They all need to apply pressure on Syrian President Bashir Assad, who supports the extremist group. "The real culprit in this case," he tells them, "is the militant wing of Hamas and Hizbullah."

The calls go well; the Arab leaders agree with the president. Listening on their own handsets, Hadley gives Bush the thumbs up and Rice grins.

Bush may deplore the loss of life, but he also sees the crisis as an extraordinary opportunity. "I view this as the forces of instability probing weakness. I think they're testing resolve in many ways," he tells NEWSWEEK moments after the phone calls. He is leaning back in his leather chair, wearing his Air Force One jacket, emblazoned with the presidential seal. Bush thinks the violence speaks more effectively than he does; he knows that the world is wary when he talks about force. "Sometimes, in order to get others to act with us," he says, "there has to be conditions on the ground that make the case better than I can make it." It hasn't always turned out that way: in Iraq, conditions on the ground have long conspired against Bush and driven allies away.

The serious work of the summit starts tomorrow. But first, there's some social time: dinner with the Putins. The relationship with Putin has run hot and cold, trending lately toward Siberia. Bush knows he'll need Putin's support over the next few days and wants to make sure they're on good terms. "I guess one of the things I've learned from my family, both Father and Mother—in many ways, it's interesting, it's from Mother—is the ability to get people to relax, to try to put people at ease," he says. Sometimes that means Bush crosses into a leader's personal space, as he does when he surprises Merkel with a shoulder rub in Russia. For Vladimir Putin, a massage is unlikely to do the trick. His stress comes from intense media scrutiny. "He's got the whole world coming to look at him," Bush says.

Dressed in a shiny brown suit, Vladimir welcomes George and Laura by showing off his antique Russian car. Bush turns on the charm and asks Putin about his children. "Always good getting a dad to talk about his daughters," Bush says later. The couples appear on a balcony for a photo op holding drinks. Bush sips water. "Go find some Russian vodka and relax," he shouts to the press below.

Saturday, July 15: The Bear HugThe next day, at Bush's base on the grounds of the Konstantinovsky Palace, the mood is much more tense. The cold war may be ancient history, but Secret Service agents believe the president and his aides are under surveillance at all times. They have ordered White House staffers to hand in their BlackBerrys and cell phones so Russian spies can't track their conversations. Russian security refuses to allow a sweep for bugs at "the cottage"—a McMansion-style villa complete with a pool and weight room. Hovering above the ground nearby is a white communications balloon that Bush's aides believe is recording everything they say outdoors. The only totally secure place is the president's armored, soundproofed limo, which the White House has airlifted to Russia. Whenever Bush's advisers want to strategize about Putin, they're forced to sit in the car, parked in the driveway. Inside one of the cottage's rooms, the Secret Service has set up a black tent, where aides can handle classified documents out of sight of any cameras buried in the walls or furniture. Bush is especially guarded as he waits outside for Putin to pick him up for the short trip to the villa where they will hold their talks. As host of the summit, the Russian leader has decided to ferry Bush around in a golf cart, which Putin insists on piloting himself. NEWSWEEK asks whether Putin maintains his dour KGB face in private, or whether he is more relaxed behind closed doors. Bush looks up at the spy balloon and states clearly, "That's your phrase, not mine."
Putin arrives in his white electric cart. Bush climbs in and calls Rice and Hadley over to join them. Rice has been making cell-phone calls to the Middle East all morning and is distracted. She doesn't even glance at her driver as she steps into the cart. But when he turns around and smiles at her, she realizes the chauffeur is the Russian president. "Oh," she says as Putin leans over to embrace her. "Good morning, Mr. President!"

Bush has a full day ahead with Putin, but first his aides have a long list of subjects to cover with him. In a prebriefing session they try to cram him with talking points on a vast array of issues. Bush, who hates to get bogged down in the weeds, has heard enough. "How long do you want this list to be?" he snaps. At least he doesn't need to make small talk; last night's dinner has dispensed with that. "It makes it easier to sit down and get right to the subject," Bush says. "You don't have to break ice and establish rapport."

At the top of the agenda is the Mideast crisis. Bush knows that Russia has a special relationship with Syria and Iran, and he urges Putin to intervene. "Any time a nation is attacked by terrorism, they have the right to protect themselves," Bush says to Putin, using terms that the Russian president understands well from his own conflict with Chechen rebels. "It will be very useful to remind Syria they have an obligation to rein in these people, and Iran as well."
Their talks run late, leaving little time to prep for the big show: the obligatory news conference to feed reporters their sound bites. Before leaving for the giant media tent, where the world's press is waiting, Bush and Putin huddle with their aides in different corners of the same cottage. Bush's staffers warn him of likely questions and suggest possible answers. They hand him two cards of bullet points; ignoring the script, as he usually does, he turns one over and scribbles his own notes on the back. Within minutes the two presidents are standing in a cramped hallway, awaiting their cue. Bush sees Putin clutching some notes, and leans over. "Are you sure you want to say that?" he quips. Putin looks up and glares, then gets the joke. Bush straightens his red tie and pats Putin on the back. "Have fun," he says as they walk into the cloud of camera flashes.

Bush doesn't know that Putin has been readying a joke of his own. When asked a predictable question about the state of Russia's democracy, Putin pounces: "We certainly would not want to have the same kind of democracy as they have in Iraq, I will tell you quite honestly." There are guffaws from the Russian media and gasps from American reporters. Struggling to hear the translation, Bush joins in the laughter before catching himself. "Just wait," he snaps back, and his smile fades.

Outside, both men return to happier banter, even as reporters dissect the tensions of the press conference. "He's good at quips. I think it was pretty clever," Bush says later. He waves off the media's analysis that his meetings with Putin are strained. "It makes me wonder if people have their articles written before they arrive," he says.

Bush thinks Putin's motives are all about Russian pride. "Here's the key now," he says. "Russia wants to be an equal partner. That's what this meeting is all about." It's clear that Putin, just like Bush, enjoys sitting at the head of the table. Over lunch afterward, he cracks another joke at someone's expense. "Our challenge over the next two days," he says, "is to stop Jacques Chirac from complaining about the food."

The other world leaders arrive that evening, and the official summit begins with a lavish feast. The dinner is something out of a Fellini epic, staged at the magnificent Peterhof Palace, built by Peter the Great. The scene is a uniquely Russian mix of historical grandeur, political power and touristy kitsch. The Russians offer a seven-course meal including caviar and beef stroganoff (maybe Chirac has a point), served by waiters wearing powdered wigs. Outside, a bear dressed in a green tutu with pink polka dots performs tricks. Inside, Chancellor Merkel starts to tell the story of a rare wild bear that was recently shot and killed in Germany. This prompts Japan's Junichiro Koizumi to reel off every bearlike word in his English vocabulary. "Teddy bear," he says for no apparent reason. "We must bear criticism. Unbearable." The leaders all start giggling.

Later, Putin opens up a serious exchange about Russia's democracy. Bush asks him how judges are picked and whether they are independent. "The old Soviet system was not very independent," he tells Bush. "We've got work to do on the judiciary."

Sunday, July 16: When Leaders TalkOn the sidelines of the summit, out of view of the cameras, there's a hyperactive mood as the Mideast crisis escalates. Rockets and shells are flying in both directions across the Lebanese border. Over breakfast, the national-security advisers to Bush, France's Jacques Chirac and Britain's Tony Blair set to work on a summit statement to chart a way out of the crisis. "We might have to wait half a day to set up a phone call between Chirac and the president back home," says chief of staff Josh Bolten. "But here there's much more immediacy and spontaneity. And in the midst of a crisis, that can be advantageous." In the days ahead, Bush's aides would cling to the statement as a roadmap to peace; their critics would say it did nothing to end the violence quickly.

Before the first summit session of the day, Bush sits down to talk with Blair and then Chirac. They quickly agree on how to proceed against Hizbullah, while keeping the pressure on Syria and Iran. "Chirac was very strong in recognizing that Hizbullah and Syria and Iran are part of the Shia arc in the Middle East," Bush says later. (Some Sunni Arab leaders are also concerned about the emergence of a "Shia crescent," but mostly because of the rise of Shia power in Iraq.)
Bush may find summits an easier place to do business in private, but they also provide more chances to trip up in public. During the summit, the president speaks to the press three or four times a day and he often varies his language as he ad-libs—a dangerous habit during a Middle East crisis where every word is endlessly parsed. After avoiding hands-on management of the Arab-Israeli conflict for the past six years, Bush may also feel unfamiliar with the nuances. On his first outing, Bush forgot to mention both Syria and Iran as the backers of Hizbullah—even though the White House cited both countries in a written statement. Two days later, standing alongside Putin in Russia, Bush failed to mention Iran, and neglected to warn Israel to avoid toppling the Lebanese government. Reporters quizzed Bush's aides about what looked like a rapid shift in policy.

Now, as he prepares for yet another press session, this time with Blair, his aides remind him of the complete wording. Bush is annoyed by his errors and frustrated that he must repeat the whole thing: the entire explanation runs to 190 words. "It was a reminder to him that you have to make a full case," says Bush's counselor Dan Bartlett. "You can't just give one assessment. You have to touch all the bases."

If the press questions are painful, Bush finds the lengthy summit sessions almost unbearable. The negotiations were concluded long ago, and all that's left is a procession of windy statements—which some of the other leaders endure better than Bush. After one working lunch that runs late, the president returns to his cottage and staggers through the door as if he's exhausted. It's only halfway through the first full day of the summit. For someone who usually spends no more than one night in a foreign country, the four-day trip to Russia seems like an eternity.

Bush has left the lunch to meet with Hu Jintao, but the Chinese president is late. Since China isn't an official member of the G8, the Russians won't allow him to arrive by car. It's a snub that forces him to take an unreliable, smoke-belching hydrofoil across the Gulf of Finland that separates the palace from St. Petersburg. Several boats have broken down in the last few days.
As a result, the president of the United States is left cooling his heels outside his cottage. He passes the time by chatting with a Chinese security agent, quizzing him about his English. "You been practicing?" he asks. A moment later, the agent's cell phone rings. The young man has a split second to choose: does he turn his back on a once-in-a-lifetime conversation with the president of the United States, or just let it go into voice mail? The agent snaps open his phone, and walks away. "Cell-phone violation!" Bush calls out. His staffers chuckle nervously: chirping phones are one of Bush's biggest peeves. "The guy didn't know the rules," says Bush. "Give him a break, will you?"

That afternoon the leaders are promised they will see the final text of their statement on the Middle East, which calls on Hizbullah to end its rocket attacks and then urges Israel to end its military strikes. But the document fails to arrive at the promised hour of 4, and it's still not there at 5 o'clock. Bush has had it. "I'm going home," he says to the room full of presidents and prime ministers. "I'm going to get a shower. I'm just about meeting'd out." Some of the leaders suggest they should all work out their differences together. But Bush can no longer keep up appearances. "I thought that was a lousy idea and so did others," Bush says later. "It would lose focus and everybody would then have an opinion."

Blair steps in to calm things down. "Let me see if I can work it out," he assures Bush, and he disappears into a side room with Putin. Condi Rice and Sergei Lavrov, Russia's foreign minister, join them. As it turns out, one final bit of haggling stands between Bush and his shower: a reference to both the terrorists and "those" who support them. Bush had hoped for a mention of Iran and Syria, but didn't want to block the agreement. The president is exasperated by all the hours of dickering over the obvious. "Everyone knows who is supporting Hizbullah," he says later.

Monday, July 17: Homeward BoundThe atmosphere turns chilly on the last day in Russia, and not just because the weather grows cold and wet. At their final lunch, the leaders sit down with outsiders, including U.N. Secretary-General Kofi Annan. Bush is frustrated that Annan wants an Israeli ceasefire before Hizbullah has returned the abducted soldiers and stopped firing rockets—as the G8 leaders have just agreed. "What they need to do is get Syria to get Hizbullah to stop doing this shit, and it's over," Bush tells Blair. His comments should have stayed private; instead, they are piped to journalists outside. The same thing had happened to Rice in Moscow a month before, when she and Lavrov got into a testy exchange. "Every time we go to Russia we get an open mike," Rice says.

Bush rushes to the airport as soon as the lunch is over, ditching the traditional news conference that every other leader holds. US PRESIDENT AVOIDS MEDIA AFTER G8 SUMMIT, reads the headline on Russia's official summit Web site.

Showered and rested, Bush sits in his conference room on Air Force One, clearly glad to be heading home. A large bowl of popcorn sits in front of him, and he proceeds to demolish it by the fistful, stopping only to sip some Diet Coke. Bush is in a philosophical mood, pleased with the summit and his handling of the crisis. There has been some progress on trade, solid agreement on North Korea and Iran, and a strong statement on the Middle East.

But as the crisis in Lebanon deepens, Bush's allies and critics question the depth of his commitment to diplomacy. Is he really embracing the United Nations or using the slow diplomatic process to buy more time for Israeli forces to destroy Hizbullah? Will the support he has rallied among moderate Arab states survive another week of Israeli airstrikes? In his own mind, he's simply doing what much of the world has long urged him to do: build a coalition.
"What you're seeing is a foreign policy that works with friends and allies to solve problems," he tells NEWSWEEK. "It takes a while for a problem to occur and it takes a while to solve a problem." It took a while for Bush to learn that language. He has a little while longer to put it to work.

URL: http://msnbc.msn.com/id/13988981/site/newsweek/page/6/

I wrote this on the day of the Mumbai blasts for The Globalist & the original can be found on www.theglobalist.com


Bombs, Mayhem and the Lifeline of a City

It’s happened again! I can still smell the charred bodies and blood from 2003, and three years later that smell has emerged from the dark recesses of my mind where I thought it lay buried and hopefully forgotten.

Mumbai has been hit with bombs again and again hundreds of innocents have paid with their lives and limbs for complicated domestic and international politics and the anger of a few.

I remember the blood on the streets in 2003. Twin blasts ripped open the most vulnerable parts of Mumbai. One, at the city’s most prestigious monument the Gateway of India and the other killed dozens in the crowded by-lanes of Zaveri Bazaar (The Jeweler’s Market). 52 people died that day and more than 150 were injured.

We were a team of reporters fighting to get the story first and no matter how much blood we had to wade through. None of my team was over twenty five and you’d expect us to have weaker stomachs. Thrusting mikes into faces of victims and their wailing relatives, this was not our finest hour. But the job needed to be done. Just as my team is doing it right now, while I sit in Washington, turning grey at the thought of loved ones trapped and dying in the wreckage.

This time around, in 2006, Mumbai’s sacrosanct Public transit system has been targeted. Sitting at the opposite side of the world, I can only imagine the panic on the streets, the chaos at the stations where seven high-intensity blasts have killed more than 135 people. The toll is still rising as more than 300 injured have been rushed to near-by hospitals.

Phone lines have been cut-off and cellular phones are down, contact with friends and family is only through the blessed internet. I am simultaneously trying to call Mumbai, and send frantic e-mails to my friends. News reports had claimed that reporters from my former channel had been aboard one of the trains that blew up. I pray it’s not a friend, and I pray they are unharmed. I send out a fresh batch of emails to everyone I think could possibly have been on those trains.

My former boss writes back to me. “Our reporter on the train wasn’t hurt. It wasn’t anyone you knew. He’s on the field now, we were lucky that he was there and wasn’t hurt, so we got to break the story. There was a loud blast in one of the train compartments which he was in. When he rushed there and looked, he saw people with severed limbs and grievous injuries. I have to rush, we’re beaming out Live. It’s carnage out there.”

After the nth attempt, I get through to my aunt’s cell phone. An intrepid reporter herself, her voice sounds harried as she tries to re-assure me that everyone in the family is safe. Suddenly the shock emerges as she confides, “I was supposed to be on that first train. I missed it because I was called back to work.”

I can almost visualize her shaking herself and her tone immediately becomes professional. She tells me, “You know the drill, you’ve done it. I won’t be going home for at least the next two days. I’m trying to get through to the hospitals and morgues. There are some extreme rumors floating about. I have to get to work and hopefully get the right information out in the public domain. Exaggeration can potentially cause a communal riot.”

And she’s right. When Mumbai was hit by bombs in 1993, it began a wave of communal violence, which sent this cosmopolitan city into shock. In 2003, the city’s denizens did not give in to the temptation to point fingers and unequivocally bounced back to being an unstoppable economic machine. In 2006, the fear that lurks in the hearts of Mumbaikars is that 1993 must be avoided at all costs.

International and Indian news websites are brimming with the news. The blasts had gone off during rush-hour when the Western line of Mumbai’s train system are at their busiest. Carrying 6.5 million people at that time everyday, to Mumbaikars, the Western and Central lines of the transit system are more than a lifeline, it’s a way of life. To attack the trains, is to attack the hearts and minds of the city’s residents.

The Indian government is claiming that the attacks were carried out by Kashmiri militants who are backed by the Pakistan government. In 1993, when similar accusations had been levied, our countries had almost gone to war. I am left wondering, is there any proof, that these attacks were backed by anyone, had anyone officially claimed responsibility?

My friend Aziza has responded to my frenetic emails. Living in the heart of Mumbai’s suburb of Bandra, she is the closest I have to a first hand accounts of the mayhem. “Bandra station is a mess. There was a stampede to get out of the station when the bombs went off in Khar and Santacruz (Two other suburbs). You should see the state of madness the station is in - Forget the trains; I'd hate to be anywhere near the station! The phone lines are absolutely jammed, thank God for the Internet. My cousins logged on from MSN to check on us.”

I check the news websites for updates. Blogs and opinion pieces are flooding them. Many are calling for an Israel-like military action in Kashmir; others are demanding answers from the Indian Intelligence Agency (RAW). RAW had claimed knowledge of the threat, but had clarified that they had not known the targets. More radical and angry voices are laying blame on the entire community of Kashmiri Muslims while others are begging for calm. The tone is worrying and bringing back bad memories of 1993.

Another friend has responded as well. Aditya writes in saying he’s safe and is sitting tight in his dealing room. The security on the roads is uncertain and he says he would rather stay in the office than take a risk “This is a ridiculous situation. These animals have done it again,” he adds.

And Aditya is rightly concerned. He manages the investment portfolios of powerful foreign investors, whose confidence is already shaky after the Indian market plummeted drastically over the last few weeks.

In the past, the 2003 blasts had made these investors jittery and attacks of this proportion can only lead to capital flight at a time when the market desperately needs stability.

I manage to get through to another friend. Dhruv and his brother regularly commute by train. They tend to be in the compartments were the bombs were planted. Mumbai’s yuppie professionals tend to congregate in the first class compartments of the Western line. This is where I feared they both could have been. This is where the bombs went off.

Dhruv picks up the phone and answers in an unflappable tone. He reassures me that everyone I know is safe and the only reason I could get through to him is because he is in another city. “I called everyone before they (the police) jammed the networks. Everyone is either already at home or are staying at their offices for the night. This has happened to all of us before, three years ago and thirteen years ago. Don’t worry, we’re Mumbaikars, we bounce back from everything!”

I hang up feeling a little better. Mumbaikars are a mature people. When the blasts ripped through the city’s fabric in 1993, everyone picked up the pieces. When it hit even closer to home in 2003, the city didn’t pause, going back to work the next morning.

If politics, freedom and terrorism are intertwined, so is the heart, the gumption and the drive to make money for Mumbai’s residents. Blood, bombs, mayhem or Armageddon wouldn’t stand in their way. For those who hoped to make international headlines with this incident, they have succeeded. For those who hoped to break the spirit of Mumbai, my friend Akhtar had only this to say, “I Reached home safe and sound. But as I was getting home, I got the distinct feeling that individually and collectively, Mumbai has had enough. Blast after blast, natural disaster after natural disaster. But this is a city which has a rich tradition of swallowing it and moving on. Terror might kill one Mumbaikar or hundreds, but our spirits are too strong to be destroyed. One more punch in the gut will hurt only for a short while!”

This article was written for The Globalist and can be found on www.theglobalist.com


Indian Soaps – Washing Away Reality?

What’s the recipe for the perfect Indian soap opera? A pinch of domestic strife, a dash of extra-marital affairs, a sprinkling of illegitimate sons, a cup of mother-in-law conflict, a teaspoon of corporate rivalry and the main ingredient, a pound of virtuous womanhood. Put all that together in a 120-degree concrete jungle and let it cook for a few years and there you have – India’s top rated soaps.

Family politics, domestic squabbles and the generation gap are the central themes to soaps like ‘Kabhi saas bhi bahu thi’ (The mother-in-law was once a daughter-in-law), and ‘Kahani Ghar Ghar Ki’ (The story of every home) which are ranked highest in India’s Television Rating Points System (TRP) - a study measuring the popularity of television shows.

India’s top rated soap, ‘Kabhi saas bhi bahu thi,’ has all the elements of a typical soap. The focus of action is a solid marriage threatened by an evil ‘modern’ woman’s attempts to break the sacred bond between husband and wife. Spurned, this usually successful professional woman attempts anything from kidnapping, financial ruin and murder, to secure the man she is interested in.

The soap’s central character - Tulsi, a demure housewife - persists in keeping her marriage from breaking up by being the dutiful wife, serving her in-laws and an unfaithful husband without as much as a whimper. She tends to constantly battle a shrewish mother-in-law, while blaming away her husband’s character flaws on the fact that men are helpless when faced with a seductress.

India is a country where 25% of the work-force in the services sector are women. It is a country where there are more than 330,000 women in rural politics, where the world’s second elected woman head of state ruled, where the current head of the ruling Congress party is a woman and where women are worshipped as goddess’. Therefore, when the television is switched on every night, the clinging to patriarchal depictions of women by India’s largest production companies, like Balaji Telefilms, is confounding. The stereotype they propagate, end up firmly entrenched in middle India and even other parts of the world with significant Indian immigrant populations.

A land of traditions - Mid to small town India is home to a majority of the burgeoning middle class. It is a section of society which suddenly has spending power but a limited exposure to the cultural changes taking place in the country. People would rather relate to the exceedingly melodramatic depiction of traditional joint families and their intrigues, than a story of women’s empowerment.

All soaps begins and end with the theme that well brought up Indian women do not raise their voices against ill-treatment and men take second wives only because the first is a shrew. The husband and the ‘mangalsutra’ (the holy thread tied around the bride's neck during the wedding ceremony) are to be worshipped and the depiction of educated girls in jeans, as having lost Indian values are a direct attack on those youth perceived to have been corrupted by western influences.

This middle-class audience is also suddenly curious about the lifestyles and fashions of film stars and the upper crust, which are rapidly becoming attainable. Soap Opera families are not unlike those of the United States’, ‘Bold and the beautiful’, ‘All my children’ or even the harbinger of all glamour soaps, ‘Dallas’.

The uber-rich dress in wedding finery to go grocery shopping, discuss deals that only number in the millions and billions of rupees, and whose daughters and daughters-in-law, are educated yet know their place in society and the home as the dutiful Indian woman. Killing two birds with one stone, soaps feed stereotypes yet portray India’s growing economic clout and spending power.

Every night, the sari-clad good woman faces challenges that highlight issues like Indian society’s preference for light skinned daughters-in-law rather than a darker skin tone. But the twist in the story disappoints.

The scripts go as far as to say that if a woman is dark, the only way she can overcome such a ‘flaw’ is by being a devoted daughter-in-law who binds the family together and aspires to be no more than the best mother, wife and daughter-in-law she can be.

If she is beautiful, then the beauty of her character and her home-maker talents will add to her virtues. And if she is ugly, the love of a good man and a magical make-over within the first few episodes will ensure that society doesn’t have to answer the impossible question – “Is there a place for ugly women in India’s beauty conscious society?”

The first TV revolution took place just a few years after the 1991 economic liberalization was initiated in India. In 1996 one of Indian television’s first soap operas ‘Saans’ (Breath), attempted to break the mould and justify a woman’s right to divorce her husband.

‘Saans’ depicted the struggles of a single mother facing down a society, which chose to blame her for a failed marriage and her husband choosing to keep a mistress. The protagonist, Priya (played by actress Neena Gupta), in this case also the director of the soap, wanted to show that women over the age of 35 were more than just mothers and wives.

She wanted to prove, that women could create their own identity. ‘Saans’ was the original story of a divorced woman who takes on the responsibility of bringing up her children alone.

After a few seasons of portraying an empowered middleclass Indian housewife, ‘Saans’ also began another trend seen in subsequent years. Conceived as a woman-centric drama, it later kowtowed to TRPs and took on a tone of female subservience.


‘Saans’ producers had realized that their audience, which had critically appreciated the women’s lib theme in earlier seasons was now shifting loyalties. The message was hitting too close to home with similar situations taking place outside the ‘reel’ life of the characters of ‘Saans’.

Intrigue, extra-marital affairs, sexual violence, cultural bias, corporate rivalries are all revolutionary topics for an India that trying to juggle the ancient and modern. Public discussion of such topics is unparalleled even by the more mainstream - Bollywood. But production houses, even those headed by women, delve into these controversial themes from a distinctly male perspective.

Sexual and domestic violence are written into the script. The degree of acceptability though, does vary. In a country where a woman gets burned to death every 75 minutes, these soaps reinforce the evils of the dowry system and even matters of national concern. But the hypocrisy is undeniable. In the same show domestic violence is shown as acceptable. For example, a husband may be shown slapping his wife who is hysterical at the discovery of his secret second family.

Soaps touch upon the topic of women’s clothing as a cause for sexual attacks. Young women of these ‘reel’ families who step out of the house in skirts and jeans are brought back home in scattered episodes with torn clothing - implicitly or explicitly stating sexual violence. A monologue, usually from the oldest woman in the house inevitably follows, blaming the dishonor of the family name on the unnecessary freedoms given to the girl by her mother. ‘Your scanty clothing tempted the man into attacking you,’ is the predictable conclusion. The attack then tends to be followed by macho family revenge and the blatant disregard for the rule of law.

In bringing these topics to the dinner table, India’s soap operas ensure that men play secondary roles and women are central to the script. But the dessert course is the bitter sweet realization that it is the dominance of the values of the secondary roles that shape the lives and screen presence of the central characters.

Interesting websites:
http://www.balajitelefilms.com
http://www.csmonitor.com/2005/0610/p07s01-wosc.html
http://www.setindia.com/
http://www.startv.com/india.html

I wrote this article for The Globalist. The orginal article can be found on www.theglobalist.com

The Changing Face of Indian Television
Big hoop earrings, a flowing crinkled cotton skirt and a gauzy top: Shagufta looks just like any of the pretty young college students flitting about in India’s national capital, New Delhi. Nineteen years old, she is one of a crowd of students in the city’s bustling university environment from small towns around the country. And she shares one thing in common with many of them – She has battled her family who believe she must marry young, instead choosing education and a career.
Shagufta’s story isn’t unique, but it speaks volumes about the changes sweeping India. A year ago, she left Bhopal, a small town in the state of Madhya Pradesh, to study in India’s premier undergraduate school, St. Stephan’s College. Despite family pressure to marry when she graduated high school, she chose to come to Delhi to try and discover what the world could offer her. Now considered a rebel, her neighbors rarely allow interaction between their children and her, when she returns home for vacations.
But these social infractions are of minor consequence for Shagufta. She merely shrugs her shoulders and says it is her life - not one determined by her parents or by the fear of what society will say. She calmly states, “Things are changing – you just have to watch TV, or read the news and you know – the world is no longer the same as when my mother was my age.”
Shagufta and her friends indulge in one addiction, other than hunting for bargains at the local Sarojini market. They gather around a large television set every week, to tune into ‘Astitva – Ek Prem Kahani’ (Self Respect – A Love Story). A soap opera about the empowerment of Indian women, ‘Astitva’ was launched back in 2001, as a show that was breaking new ground. It pledged to change the way single and divorced women were seen by a conservative India.
‘Astitva’ was aimed to be a brave ‘new’ concept for the country, though a similar attempt had been made in the 1990’s. The show promised to encapsulate the adversities and biases faced by a single woman in India’s traditionally patriarchal society. It took on a lot and has delivered very little.
In a country where women are considered over the hill by the age of 28, ‘Astitva’ tracks the life of a mid-30s professional single woman. A gynecologist who lives in Mumbai, Dr. Simran Mathur (television star Nikki Aneja Walia) breaks the stereotype of a traditional Indian woman.
The character was created to represent a strong willed professional, to whom self respect and personal ethics are more important than society’s approval. An ‘older’ woman by Indian standards, she falls in love and marries a man 10 years younger than her.
The marriage of an older woman to a much younger man, who has an off-beat career as a photographer, would give parents like those of Shagufta’s, sleepless nights, as it did for the television character’s. The marriage takes place without her family’s consent thereby causing a split between her father and her.
The plot thickens when a few months later, she discovers she is not only pregnant but her ‘loving’ husband is also cheating on her. Scene after scene of Dr Simran pacing the apartment with melancholy as background score, set the stage for her brave decision to divorce him and become a single mother. Her father, now placated by a granddaughter becomes her most ardent supporter. The concept of single motherhood and divorce are the anti-thesis of what is acceptable to conservative Indian society. ‘Astitva’ set out to challenge that very notion.
Shagufta like many young women in India, is hooked to the show. She sees it as a sign of a changing India, and the emancipation of Indian women. But the main audience for ‘Astitva’ and other soaps of the genre are not young metropolitan college students. They are traditional housewives in middle India. Women like Shagufta’s neighbors back home in Bhopal.

The majority of India’s soap-opera audience lives just miles from India’s largest cities while others are in remote parts of the country. These women aspire for the wealth of the ‘metros’, but cling to their traditional roles. They live in cities and towns where the struggle to adapt to a westernizing world is still in its nascent stages.

In middle India, women tend to be housewives. Some are college graduates while others might never have even gone to school. The winds of change heralded by the television set blaring in their living rooms make many of them nervous. The obedient daughters, who might otherwise have chosen to follow their mothers’ lead, are instead moving to larger cities to study, exposing themselves to role models well beyond their small towns. The promise of a female revolution is a fear that is now real for parents who are afraid to break social taboos.

To Shagufta, TV soaps represent a medium that can influence positive change. To families like those of her neighbors, soaps are expected to impart traditional values that don’t threaten Indian culture and don’t propagate what is seen as Western influences.

This battle to preserve traditional culture even finds a political platform, in campaigns by national and regional politicians. Young women like Shagufta are still a minority, in a country torn between modernization and ancient traditions.

Ultimately, the soap’s promise of depicting change, inevitably falls short, with the business of show business taking over. And the business is all about the Television Rating Points System (TRP). They are what determine the direction in which soap opera scripts go.

As in the US, how long a soap will run, which direction its story line will take and which characters will be killed off – temporarily or permanently, depends on viewer feedback. The weekly Nielsen ratings, fan letters and market research have determined the future of many, on shows like ‘Days of our lives’ and ‘Dynasty’ among others.

Similarly, Indian soap writers have the specter of TRPs, fan feedback, network revenues and sponsors constantly dangling over their heads. That pressure has seen many activist-oriented soaps like ‘Astitva,’ conforming and taking on a patriarchal tone. Soaps where women were to find a platform to address social change, have become more conventional. Straying husbands are excused as weak in the face of a seductress, violent sons – the product of bad mothering. And the ending? A happily ever after with an abusive partner.

Despite the publicity surrounding ‘Astitva’s’launch as a ground breaking concept dramatic societal changes have made its audience uncomfortable, and look for more traditional messages for their daughters. Daughters like Shagufta, who breaking traditions and taking the message of liberation to heart.

Families in middle India have not able to absorb this sudden attitudinal change and have begun back tracking. An emancipated Shagufta would mean societal rejection with no chance of arranging a suitable marriage. ‘Astitva’ has gone from being the harbinger of change, to a ‘corrupting’ message of the Westernized metros.

‘Astitva’s’ storyline has not remained a ‘brave new frontier’ for long. In the rush to maintain high ratings, it has followed the expected trajectory of the ‘brave’ central character forgiving the erring husband and his two subsequent marriages and adopting his daughter from a third. The story leaps forward in time and continues as the ex-husband now in his early 50s, returns to the fold and all is forgiven by the protagonist.

In each of the soap operas on air today, and those in the past, the culture of joint families, female subservience and moral values are the central themes. Soap scriptwriters insist education, globalization or the west have not erased what makes a ‘true Indian woman’. ‘Pati Parmeshwar’ (which means ‘my husband is my God’), is the now traditional message in every script, even though it might have begun as a battle cry for women’s lib.

The current melodramatic episode of ‘Astitva’ has come to an end, with the blinding of Dr. Simran and the death of her adopted daughter. Shagufta and her friends have turned off the TV set and are now in an animated discussion about the scripts rather ‘black or white’ portrayal of life. A disappointed soap party breaks up with the hope that the next episode will not be a complete pandering to the traditional powers that be. Shagufta’s parting shot hits home – “They can’t hide women like us under the carpet for much longer!”


Interesting Links:
http://www.tribuneindia.com/1999/99feb28/sunday/head4.htm
http://www.hinduonnet.com/thehindu/mp/2005/03/14/stories/2005031400710300.htm
http://www.tribuneindia.com/2002/20021208/spectrum/tv.htm
http://www.zeetvusa.com/zee-mar/ProgramDetails04.asp?Progcode=ZSAST00001&channel=ZEE%20TV
http://www.indiantelevision.com/perspectives/y2k3/interview/niki_aneja.htm

I wrote this for The Globalist. The original article can be found on www.theglobalist.com

Monsoons Come To Washington

It should have been just another soaking wet day in Mumbai, as I ran around the mall finishing up last minute errands. It was India’s 2005 monsoon season and no matter how well I protected myself, the elements would undoubtedly leave me looking like a drowned rat. But the rain never did let up that day. And as I struggled to make my way home, stranded in waist high water, I felt that Mumbai was being washed out to sea.

It rained for six days and six nights, washing away shanties and roads. Over 500 people died in Mumbai alone and over 800 in nearby villages. Homeless people drowned under flyovers, the poor within their homes.

The middle class perished inside cars, whose locking systems jammed due to the flood waters. Air traffic was at a standstill, with runways reduced to debris and the city’s lifeline, the metro was drowned out.

Mumbai recorded an unprecedented rainfall on that July of 2005, at 944.2 millimeters (mm). This beat the previous record of 838.2 mm set by the world’s wettest place, Cherrapunjee in 1910.

Electricity was cut off in most of the city, roads were unusable and people, including me, took days to walk home, handed food and water by kind people living in the streets we were passing through.

For the monsoons to bring about that much destruction is common in India’s low lying areas, where infrastructure is weak and aid impossible. But for India’s financial capital, the monsoons are usually a time when its busy residents splash along, continuing to keep the economy pumping along at 7% and more. The initial shock with which the rains were received echoes the sentiment I felt this year, along the East Coast in the United States.

Between June 25 and 26, 2006, Washington DC received as much rain as it does in one month, all in one day. The US capital beat its June average of 79.502 mm or 3.13 inches of rain with a deluge of 131.826 mm or 5.19 inches. DC’s ‘monsoon’ washed away highways, caused landslides and shut down government buildings and the metro. With just 5.19 inches of rain and more following in the week, the capital city flooded, with people having to be rescued by boat. Even famous trees on the White House lawns were not spared - neither were the basement apartments of many DC residents.

My roommate walked through the rain. As parts of the metro transit system shut down and the roads got clogged, drivers suffered never ending humidity and road rage. A resident of India’s capital Delhi, she was as unused to a downpour of epic proportions, as any DC resident. Her words to me on the phone were concerned.

“People are going insane with road rage. There are traffic jams everywhere. The roads aren’t all that bad, but paranoia about visibility is making people pull over and block traffic. It’s backed up till kingdom come!”

As a former resident of Mumbai, I have years of monsoon experience under my belt. Delayed and cancelled public transit systems, flooded roads, landslides and potholes were an everyday affair. I was amazed at the confusion that a few inches of rain could havoc in an organized, developed DC.

Thirteen people have died in the down pour along the East Coast this week and many evacuated as the flood waters rise. New Jersey and New York are under flood warnings and the television is constantly interrupted by public service warnings about tornados and floods in the neighboring state of Maryland.

The throbbing center of Indian finance had none of these warnings in July 2005 - or any other year. The rains arrive and everything and everyone is wet for three months, but life goes on.

The roads may get repaired after the monsoons, or they may not. Landslides may get cleared, or cars find a way around them. Child beggars take off the plastic bags that serve as their trench-coats and promptly put them on again at the first drop of rain. And business never stops.

In stark contrast, Washington shut its government offices, turned away tourists from museums and sites just days before the Fourth of July weekend and businesses sent employees home. But even in Mumbai’s worst-ever monsoon of 2005, the stock market never stopped its dizzying rise. Businesses kept their doors open and the economy didn’t even see a blip to mar its 7.6% growth.

I was fortunate enough not to witness DC’s first round of torrential rain first hand. As my neighbors were struggling to make it home, I was flying over the country. As the East Coast was being pounded by never ending rain, however, my air nightmare was just beginning. We circled the US’ busiest airport for hours. Atlanta’s runway was inaccessible due to the thunderstorms that were causing flooding further north, in Washington and New York. Unable to land due to the lack of visibility in the rain, the pilot chose to park us in a little strip airport in Columbus, Georgia to re-fuel and wait out the storm. It took me as long as a flight from India, to get back to Washington from a wedding in Tucson, Arizona.

It suddenly brought home the fact that pilots in India were an unappreciated lot. Even with three months of torrential downpour and zero visibility, Mumbai’s airports are as busy then, as any other season.

Pilots land planes and take off, keeping the city connected and the center of business. The only time it had closed down, was last year for two days when the runway was reduced to nothing. Even then, one brave crew decided to fly out all those who had to leave the city.

As I sat aboard my Delta flight in Georgia, watching the lightening come ever closer, passengers’ tempers were starting to fray. They were eager to get off the flight - despite being served a few rounds of the beverage service, were holding the crew responsible for all delays.

I remembered my last few moments at Mumbai’s airport before my move to the US. 3,000 people crowded within its walls, desperately looking for a way to reach their destinations. But in my mind’s eye, I could picture it without exaggeration. The July rains and floods in Mumbai happened just a day before I was to leave. The flight was cancelled as the airport shut down. I struggled to make it on board the first emergency flight out a few days later, with barely any luggage. But despite no electricity or water and a desperate lack of oxygen, Mumbai airport had been a sea of calm compared to the storm within my Delta flight.

As I reached Washington DC’s National Airport in the early hours of the morning, I walked out to rain swept roads. My African taxi driver was in high spirits. He happily described the commotion of earlier in the day, as delayed planes landed, human and vehicular traffic jams created commotion and the accidents all along the route downtown.

“You couldn’t find a taxi here and it felt just like home! It was a good day,” he said. “Never made more money!”

And there I felt the common threads binding us together. In all the tumult, I had felt like I was home. The greenhouse effect, flooding and chaos – they were the sweet memories I had carried with me to the other side of the world. A developed United States might not have been prepared for the ravages of nature that brought its organized systems to a standstill, but it had ensured I felt right at home!