My father, the Modi bhakt

I have beef with the blind faith in one individual that neither education nor an evolved world view can apparently shake

My father returned to America this weekend after my parents' annual three-month visit. He's a retired doctor in his mid-80s, with a failing memory that often leaves him confused and frightened by his surroundings. He walks slowly, almost tip-toeing. His hobbies are to eat (he's lucky my mother cooks well) and to sleep. He's not big on reading. TV news used to hold him in thrall but now seems incoherent. He loved films but now focuses on the popcorn; he is probably unable to connect a narrative's dots, particularly as it flies by in pictures on a giant screen. However, despite my informed advice and relentless presentation of facts, he remains a true NRI in that he is a bhakt of Prime Minister Narendra Modi.

As a result, our arguments for years resembled those that you read about in a Dostoevsky novel (except my father is no cruel and reckless patriarch, of course). The last two years I have stopped arguing, simply because facts do not seem to matter to bhakts, no matter how educated. Also, I find that talking politics these days is depressing – people generally seem to have no time for decency or debate or even just a polite exchange of views; it is all scorched-earth battles nowadays. Whenever my back is turned, or I'm running an errand (or busy writing) I'm told that my father goes into rapture about Modi. It has nothing to do with Modi's policies or failure of governance or his supposed incorruptibility. It is simply because Modi stands up for the "average, decent" Hindu like my father.

Oddly enough, when my younger chacha who also lives in America arrived in February for his ten-day "if-it's-Tuesday-this-must-be-Belgium" visit, he took my father on a couple of excursions. The first was to the Ajmer Sharif Dargah. This is a well-known shrine to sufi saint Moinuddin Chisti, built in the 1300s by Mohd bin Tughlak. It is revered by people from all walks of life. (My wife, an Assamese, regularly visits the Dargah with her sister.) I was surprised that my father, the Modi bhakt who's been talking anti-Muslim nonsense the past few years, should visit a testament to Indian secularism. Perhaps it means something. I've lately worried that Modi has let the vicious, ugly genie out of the Hindu bottle, but maybe the situation is not irretrievable.

When I was early in my teens, my father took me to Hindi films in Queens, New York City. One was 'Amar Akbar Anthony'. At no point did my father stand up during the film, pointing at the screen and declaring that the narrative's inter-religious bonhomie was bakwaas. (Rather, he enjoyed "Purdah hai Purdah".) As a high schooler in NYC, I lived for two years alone with my father and every Saturday we would have a post-movie dinner at Beefsteak Charlie's. My father relished his steaks. The next morning he visited the Hindu Temple in Flushing, Queens. It seems odd that such a nonsense-talking bhakt from the Hindi heartland has eaten so many pieces of cow in his life.

I reminded him about it a few days back, and he ignored me. My mother seized the opportunity for an anecdote from earlier this decade, when they were returning to their Brooklyn apartment from the doctor's and they stopped for food. My mother possibly had her usual fish dish, while my father had a burger. She watched him, so he stopped chewing and asked, do you want a bite? She seethingly reminded him that she had never eaten beef in her life. To which he said: "This is not beef, it's a burger." I still slap my forehead and roll my eyes with disbelief.

Various relatives dropped by during my parents' three-month stay, and so my mother was constantly preparing fish or chicken dishes. In the last fortnight there was a lot more chicken being served, and one day my father quietly confided to me that he was sick of eating chicken: "Chicken here, chicken there, chicken chicken chicken," he said, shaking his head. Well, I said, there's no beef to be had in India, under your Glorious Leader's reign. "I don't eat beef, I'm a Hindu," he tartly informed me. My wife could arrange some delicious Naga pork, I told him – would he like to try some? He looked more horrified than when I suggested beef. Non-vegetarian Hindus like him don't eat pork for cultural reasons rather than religious injunction, and that seems like yet another testament to north Indian secularism.

Don't worry, I said. When you fly back to the US, in business class you can safely ask for a beef dish. He looked at me, and then seemed to quietly consider this. In that moment I knew that India has every chance of outliving Modi.

Aditya Sinha's latest book, India Unmade: How the Modi Government Broke the Economy, with Yashwant Sinha, is out now. He tweets @autumnshade Send your feedback to
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