He was famous and on the way to being rich, but he was different. He got to the top in the way we wish we could have.
The Punjab government may have gone a bit over the top in arranging a state funeral for Ishmeet Singh, but there is no doubt that those who mourned for the young singer were surprised by their own grief. It was not our usual star crazy sentiments, nor the whistling charm of the low brow that made this young man so dear to us. The spontaneous surge of sympathy for Ishmeet was because his rise was a realisation of the quintessential Indian dream.
Every Indian longs to move out of anonymity to stardom on the strength of cultivated inner skills that speak plainly of personal accomplishment. No palms greased, no furtive calls made, but an open demonstration of talent and its transparent reward. This rarely ever happens here; and if it does by some freak accident it is always in some desert sand.
But as Ishmeet bloomed in a wide open reality show it only heightened the drama of living the Indian dream. A reality show is vicariously interactive for it mingles our emotions with that of the studio audience. This is why we felt we were a part of Ishmeet’s elevation. When we voted for him we did the one right thing in an otherwise soiled and sordid day. In the making of Ishmeet we all played our part to make the Indian dream come true.
For that brief while when Ishmeet sang his way to the top, we were all pleased to be Indians. In a country known for its magnum corruption which does not even spare the very poor, everything was so spotlessly clean in Ishmeet’s case. If only our worth too could also be recognised in the blazing sun then India would be the perfect place to be born in.
What can one say when a teenager, any teenager, dies? A tragedy such as this is always numbing no matter how far it is from one’s door. The dirge rolls past us in a snap of silence before the usual noises consume us again. Ishmeet’s death, however, held that quiet a little longer. After all, he was right here in our homes, singing our favourite songs, and looking each one of us in the eye.
Ishmeet’s charisma was dictionary perfect. It was a gift of grace. He played by the book, sang by the score, and did all that his way. When Lata Mangeshkar crowned him we had a hand in it too. We were right there by her side in full throated endorsement of the judgment. The praise did not come from the academy, or from gharanas, but from people like you and I, and the small-town hick in a reality show. The stylish Monet had once said that art is not about being infallible but about being expressive. Ishmeet seemed to have instinctively lived out that dictum.
Just a few days back the Parliamentarians were a TV spectacle too. Though we were now watching people who were legitimately elected by us, they all seemed so alien. It was our votes that got them to the Lok Sabha, but did they really represent us? Were suitcases doing the rounds? Was it America that was putting pressure? Did the Speaker do the right thing by holding on? Has the Prime Minister finally lost his innocence? These and other like -minded thoughts went in and out of our heads. We were alternately disgusted and more disgusted by our politicians, but what could we do?
This was in such sharp contrast to what we felt when we watched Ishmeet on TV. He sang for us and we hummed along. If he struck a note that we failed to hit, we happily ceded ground to him. His music was marked by unmistakable talent and we judged him highly by plain good taste. This is why our relationship with Ishmeet had a certain intimate quality, though he was every inch a public figure.
Our idolisation of movie stars is different. We are never quite sure of the actor’s talent: perhaps it is looks, or lights, or just luck. There could also be the mafia, the casting couch, and the sleaze of fixing prices and promos. Matinee idols dizzy us with stunts and stare us down from hoardings, but we are always conscious of the distance between us and them. By the time we get to know and name them, their lifestyles price them out of family magazines.
The business world has its share of shenanigans too. Did the billionaire get to Forbes’ good books ethically or by cutting corners? Are the products and services of the company priced right? Did money bags and wind bags secretly exchange rings in the half light? These are some of the questions that refuse to go away when we think of corporate giants and their boardroom plots.
Ishmeet was famous and on the way to being rich, but he was different. He got to the top in the way we wish we could have, and our children too. Ishmeet gave us something to dream by, which is why we have all appropriated him in our own way. The Sikhs feel gratified that one of their qaum has been recognised by the rest of India; the youth believe that they too can chase a passion; and the rest of us can rejoice in something made entirely in India and with all the right reasons.
The author is professor of Sociology, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi
