
Political debates are meant to educate the electorate so as to enable the voter to make an informed choice. Of late they have degenerated into mud-slinging matches replete with scandalous personal allegations sparing none. Hence the demand for dignified debate whose parameters however are not clearly spelled out except the general prescription that what is revolting and disgusting should be avoided and prevented. Inevitably some element of subjectivity will creep in because what is disgusting to some may be entertaining and enlightening to others. Justice Stewart of the US Supreme Court confessed that he could not define obscenity but could recognise it when he saw it. There is no inseparable difficulty in distinguishing between a dignified debate, though marked with pungency and sarcasm, and an outpouring of vile abuse.
There was a classic verbal encounter between Winston Churchill and Lady Astor who said that if she were Winston’s wife she would pour arsenic into his tea. Churchill’s retort was that in that case he would gladly drink it.
There was a debate at the Oxford Union Society on March 17, 1892 about Prohibition Laws. The speaker in favour of the motion for prohibition was Sir Wilfrid Lawson, a witty speaker and an ardent advocate of the Prohibition movement. Sir Wilfrid, when he succeeded to his father’s Baronetcy, had immediately opened the cellars of his Carlisle mansion and destroyed the stocks of wine. The speaker to oppose the motion was the 19-year-old F E Smith, who later became a brilliant Lord Chancellor of England. F E after gravely pointing out the folly of legislating prohibition changed tack and launched a personal attack on Sir Wilfrid. He said: ‘‘What did the honourable gentleman do with his cellar? He destroyed that priceless heritage of the ages, in which was stored the bottled sunshine of the south — he destroyed it under circumstances of such barbarity that even the thirstiest throat in Carlisle was denied participation. I tell you, sir, that if in years to come, the honourable gentleman comes to me, when I am nestling in Abraham’s bosom, and asks me for a drop of water, I shall say to him: ‘No, not a drop! You dissipated greater liquor!’’’ That was brilliant. No right thinking person, including our lifelong prohibitionist Morarjibhai would brand F E’s remarks as undignified.
Gentleman actor
Peter Ustinov was my most favourite actor mainly because he excelled in mimicry in which I at times indulge. Ustinov was performing by age 3, mimicking politicians of the day when his parents invited Ethiopian Emperor Haile Selassie for dinner. Ustinov had a multicultural background. In his delightful autobiography Dear Me, he says that he was ‘‘conceived in St. Petersburg, Russia, born in England, baptised in Germany, and raised by nurses of Irish, German and Cameroonian heritage.’’
Perhaps that accounts for his life long addiction to laughter, ‘‘the sound of which has always seemed to me to be the most civilised music in the world.’’
Ustinov had a serious side to his life. He devoted himself to the world’s children for more than 30 years as a goodwill ambassador for UNICEF. This led the UN Secretary-General Kofi Annan to joke that Ustinov was the man to take over from him. Ustinov also set up a foundation dedicated to understanding between people across the globe and between generations. The motivation was his belief that knowing people is the best way of getting rid of prejudices. Are there any greats in Bollywood who exemplify Sir Peter’s talents and virtues?
Ubiquitous Parsees
Gandhiji’s famous comment about the Parsee community was ‘‘in numbers beneath contempt, in contribution beyond compare’’. Apart from this unique feature, Parsees are also ubiquitous. In Abraham Eraly’s book, Emperors of the Peacock Throne there is an interesting passage about Emperor Akbar inviting Dastur Mehrji Rana, a renowned Zoroastrian theologian, to his court in Fatehpur Sikri in 1578.
According to the author, under Mehrji Rana’s influence, Akbar set up a sacred fire in the imperial palace, and ‘‘probably also took to wearing the sacred shirt (sadra) and girdle (kusti) which all Parsees are required to wear.’’ Is there any solid historical evidence in support of these statements? In any case, these events do not tantamount to Emperor Akbar embracing the Zoroastrian faith.
It transpires from Vincent Cronin’s chapter on Napoleon that a Parsee servant was engaged for Emperor Napoleon when he was detained in the island of St. Helena. As the engagement was without the Governor’s permission ‘‘the Parsee was arrested and dismissed on the spot’’. Alas, nothing more is said. What was the Parsee servant’s name? What happened to him after his instant dismissal? Was he employed as a cook? Did he introduce the Emperor to the delicacies of the delicious dhanshak? These tantalising curiosities must await further serious historical research.


