| From the late 1960s, the streets of Calcutta shook to claims that "China's chairman was our Chairman", and to the rattle and roll of pipe-guns and bombs. Everyone, including Jyoti Basu and his metaphorical elder sister, was anathemised as "a CIA Agent" in the wall graffiti. We were also assured that we could forget our fathers' naam but we would never forget Vietnam. |
| Bengalis have always had a weakness for catchy slogans; no matter what the content. Later, as teenagers, we added the creative tagline "The Chairman's wife is our wife". This was despite the fact that we had all seen images of Madam Jiang Qing "performing" at her show trial and frankly, there was absolute consensus across the Leftwing Intelligentsia that Mao must have been a raving masochist to have married her. |
| Speaking of Mao, the Great Helmsman had passed on by then to that Great Commune in the Sky where a thousand flowers bloomed. The Little Red Book had become an entry in the Guinness World Records and every trivia buff knew that the name "Mao Tse Tung" transliterated in some peculiar fashion to the meaningless "Hair Heinrich East". |
| None of us cared about the LRB aphorisms or about Heinrich's Hair. The chaps in power locally said they were Stalinists; they also celebrated Durga Puja and skived for minibus licences; so their lip service to Peking (as the old-timers still referred to it) meant little. After Deng got into his capitalist stride in the 1980s, the Bengali comrades became ever more embarrassed about the Beijing Connection. China became just another country""the minibus licences mattered much more. |
| The attitude to China changed bewilderingly between 1975 and 1985. But that's always been true when it comes to our vibes about the Northern neighbour. Five years before Naxalbari, Bengali were volunteering as faujis chanting "Chinese people we shall slaughter/Sparing neither mother nor daughter". |
| 1962 was a watershed as China waltzed off with chunks of real estate and slaughtered regiments of ill-prepared troops. The military reasons for this are well-known although the government has never seen fit to publish the Henderson-Brooks Report, which laid them out in black and white. |
| India lacked the troop strength, the equipment and the infrastructure to defend Ladakh and the North Bank of the Brahmaputra. Through the 1950s, the military establishment, led by General Thimayya, wrote note after note to the PM and Defence Ministry, explicitly pointing out the Chinese threat and begging for budgets to modernise. The professional opinion was ignored, even after the annexation of Tibet. |
| Defence Minister Krishna Menon was paranoid that a strong military establishment would inevitably carry out a coup (or, more likely, prevail on Nehru to sack him!). Nehru had not the least idea of military logistics. When Thimayya resigned in desperation in 1959, he simply browbeat the General into withdrawing the resignation and continued to ignore the danger "Timmy" pointed out. And in 1962, Nehru sucker-punched his own nation when he casually instructed the army to "throw the Chinese out". |
| That's water under the bridge. But 1962 inserted hate into what had previously been a trusting, if one-way, relationship. What with Bhai-bhai in the 50s, war (hot and cold) through the 60s, studious avoidance till the 90s and cautious re-engagement after that, the official relationship hasn't been very predictable. |
| Economic ties add another dimension""for the middle-class in both countries, engagement is now win-win. Do you need to love or trust your neighbour to do business with him? The answer to that question will define the next ten years of Chindia. If history is any guide, the future direction of the relationship will be entirely non-linear. |
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