 "Kumar Vishwas")
It is September 29. Arvind Kejriwal, campaigning for the Delhi Assembly elections, is slated to address students at Constitution Club, the poor politician's banquet hall not far from Parliament House. A lean, clean-shaven man, hair parted in the middle, talks animatedly to a TV camera. Another breathless anchor, I think. But when Kejriwal takes his seat at the head of the table, this man sits next to him. Kumar Vishwas, a volunteer tells me, incredulous that I can't recognise the poet-teacher who is now a prominent face of the party - at least on TV. As the session progresses, it becomes clear that Vishwas is not ready to play second fiddle to Kejriwal. He chips in with a couplet here, a comment there, much to the disappointment of the students who have come to hear Kejriwal. The man loves the sound of his voice.
Later in the day, I check out his website. It describes Vishwas, 43, as an "Indian by blood, a poet by choice, and a motivator by God's grace". There are pictures and videos of him performing at various events, including in the US, and an extensive biography. The website states that he maintains "one of the busiest schedules" among singers, poets and performers. It also credits him with making Hindi poetry popular with the "young generation", especially his famous couplet, "Koi deewana kehta hai, koi pagal samajhta hai" (Somebody calls me crazy, someone mad).
My next darshan of Vishwas is at the Ram Lila Maidan in Delhi on December 28, when Kejriwal and his six ministers are being sworn in. He enters the venue 20 minutes before the ceremony, pays his respect to Kejriwal's parents in the viewers' gallery, and sits by their side right through the ceremony. The situation doesn't allow Vishwas to launch into a speech or recite a poem, but the message many take home is that he is like family to the chief minister.
An interview is fixed with Vishwas for January 1. On the appointed day, Viplava Awasthi calls to introduce himself as Vishwas' media coordinator and reschedules the meeting for the following day. Kejriwal doesn't have a media coordinator, Vishwas has one! Is Vishwas, I begin to wonder, cut from the same cloth as Kejriwal? At 11.20 am on January 2, just five minutes from his office in Vasundhara, outside Delhi, Awasthi calls to say that Vishwas had been urgently called by the chief minister. I need to wait longer.
* * *
A few days later, Vishwas announces his Janvishvas Rally in Amethi for January 12. The Aam Aadmi Party, or AAP, may not have announced its candidates for the coming general elections, but it is certain that its more garrulous leader will challenge Rahul Gandhi in his stronghold. Awasthi informs me that Vishwas will take the Shatabdi Express to Lucknow on January 11, and will travel to Amethi by road the next day. Important TV channels, he says, have been informed so that they can travel with him. Now is my chance.
The chair car Vishwas occupies has that aura which surrounds a celebrity. The table in front of him is laden with garlands. At every stop, AAP volunteers raise slogans for Vishwas. They are always outside the right coach - the travel details have been shared perfectly by his team. A formidable TV journalist parks herself next to Vishwas, blocking other TV warriors who want a byte or two from the man. Vishwas remembers our interview, but is too busy and promises some time in the evening. Girls clamour for his autograph. He obliges.
Vishwas carries with himself the air of a busy celebrity. I remember the ride with Kejriwal in the Delhi Metro a few months back: he had no airs, and wore a simple charm; when people recognised him, it was with respect; and he was approachable right through the journey. Vishwas is like a rock star. At the Lucknow railway station, a crowd has collected to welcome him with a band and garlands.He makes his way through the throng like a seasoned politician. He is whisked away in a brown Tata Safari Storme. (At the end of his ride, Kejriwal had got into his modest Maruti Suzuki WagonR.)
Vishwas has called a press conference at the Uttar Pradesh Press Club at 5 pm. There are no reporters at the beautiful old building, a short distance from the commercial hub of Hazratganj, at the appointed hour. At 5.30 pm, Awasthi calls from Amethi to say that the venue has shifted to Hotel CL International in nearby Kaiserbagh. At the hotel, two men called Saif Jaffri and Anil Wadhva, throw paper balls at Vishwas, accusing him of defaming Imam Hussain and Shiva. Vishwas leaves without meeting me. When I remonstrate with Awasthi, he takes me to Madhurima Tewari, a Bhojpuri actress (one of her hits is Bhojpuriya Daroga) and AAP sympathiser.
Tewari helps me track Vishwas to the Ram Lila Maidan, 30 minutes away from the hotel, where he is holding a small sabha. The 300-strong crowd listens to his wisecracks on Rahul Gandhi, Narendra Modi and Manmohan Singh. While Modi, Vishwas says, already sees himself as the prime minister, Singh refuses to believe that he is already one. The Samajwadi Party government in Uttar Pradesh, he adds, is only concerned about measuring Madhuri Dixit's thumkas. (A few days later, new AAP member Mallika Sarabhai accuses Vishwas of being insensitive to gender issues.) The volunteers clap and chuckle at appropriate times.
Right outside the maidan, a black Toyota Fortuner with a PRESS sticker is parked strategically. It is surrounded by young men who are coordinating on walkie-talkies with volunteers inside. They say they are AAP volunteers, responsible for Vishwas' security and the smooth functioning of all his public functions. As darkness descends on Lucknow, my chances of an interview also begin to fade. Tewari says Vishwas' cavalcade to Amethi will start at 7 am sharp from the KD Singh Babu Stadium - all are invited.
* * *
In the morning, there is a row of cars at the stadium. Volunteers laboriously paste AAP posters and fix party flags on them. These posters have been specially printed for the Amethi rally - the focus is on Vishwas' face. Several cars have Uttar Pradesh Sashan (administration) written on the number plates, but these are promptly hidden under AAP stickers. Vishwas arrives after 8 am and turns to the TV cameras right away. He is aware of the right angles and the right time to make the victory sign. He gets into the black Fortuner and starts for Amethi. More cars join the cavalcade en route. There is nothing aam aadmi about this juggernaut.
When the cavalcade reaches Jagdishpur, it is met with a long row of rickshaw pullers with their hands in the air and Congress flags on their rickshaws. I can see many of them have brand new blankets with them.
A few kilometres ahead, at Gauriganj, crowds lining both sides of the road raise slogans in favour of Rahul and Priyanka. Vishwas makes his way to yet another Ram Lila Maidan, this time in Amethi. The ground is packed with a cheering crowd, all in the white AAP cap. So far, Vishwas has never allowed the cap to hide his luxuriant hair. Here, the crowd won't let him speak till he wears the cap. But talk he must, so he slips the cap on. "Aaj Amethi ne topi pehna hi di." (Today, Amethi has got the better of me.) The 20-odd-minute speech is more or less the same as last night's: potshots at other politicians and a call to send dynasts packing.
Outside, the Bharatiya Janata Party has put up its "NaMo NaMo Tea Stall", a recruitment camp for volunteers. For Gopal Prasad, who mans the counter, AAP is just a "water bubble that will soon burst". Radhey Shyam Jaiswal, a paanwala not far from the venue, says Vishwas is a great poet and a great man, but no patch on Rahul Gandhi. He has no patience for people trying to influence Amethi against the Gandhi family. This seems to be the mood of most of the residents of Amethi and surrounding areas, free blankets or otherwise. My interview doesn't happen, though over the next few days I find Vishwas all over television, spreading his pearls of wisdom on matters big and small, including the alleged rape of a Danish woman in Delhi.
* * *
At Pilkhuwa, a small town near Hapur in Uttar Pradesh, Chandra Pal Sharma is the complete antithesis of his flamboyant son. Living with his wife in a simple, middle-class home with bright yellow exteriors, Sharma is heavier than his son, has a crop of thick white hair on his head and is dressed in kurta-pyjama. Sharma says he never wanted Vishwas to get into politics. He almost sounds like a father lamenting his son going astray in the wrong company. Sharma says he cautions his son that he must measure his words. "Tumhaari vaani se kisi ko bhi vyaktigat chot nahi pohunchni chahiye" (Your words shouldn't cause personal injury to anyone). Vishwas often forgets this lesson, especially when he takes swipes at Sonia Gandhi about her medical treatment in the US.
Sharma proudly says that his five children and their spouses, except one engineer son, are PhDs. Vishwas, he adds, is on leave-without-pay from Lajpat Rai college in Sahibabad, near Delhi, where he teaches Hindi literature. If Vishwas were to lose Amethi, would he go back to teaching? Sharma doubts his son will go back to academics - ever.
At the college, not many want to speak about Vishwas. Some say they belong to the science stream and have had little interaction with him. The only person who speaks is Vijendra Singh, a physics professor and AAP member. "He has suffered at the hands of the media; he is a harmless man with great views." There is not a single poster of him or AAP in the small, slightly rundown campus. When I ask Singh if this has anything to do with Congress leader Kamal Nath being the chairman of the managing committee, he says: "Nath is here not as a politician. We support Vishwas and nobody stops us, directly or indirectly." Outside the college, Ram Prasad, who runs a tea stall, says he's never seen Vishwas, though he has heard of him. He is visibly surprised when I say that Vishwas actually taught at this college.
"Chirag tale andhera," (It's dark under the lamp) - a lesser poet might say.
