India Read Free

over four floors, in a Muslim part of the old city of Delhi opposite Filmistan Cinema. The Bahujan Samaj operation was unlike that of other parties. In Lucknow, I had noticed the same thing: it was run by the firm edict of its leader, rather than in the usual haphazard way. Big posters of Mayawati, Ambedkar and the party’s founder, Kanshi Ram, were on show by the entrance. The workers there were looking poor and edgy as they prepared to go campaigning, but they had a disciplined attitude which seemed to say, we might change things, our way.
    Haji Mustaqeem had a canny face, with the sides of his head squashed in as if by forceps, and brown patches lay under his eyes. He was forty-seven years old. Guarded by BSP minders, he was sitting on a bed and looked as if he was not used to speaking to foreigners. “I have entered politics to help the poor and the downtrodden,” he said in Urdu. One of his secretaries from the meat packing company was translating for me. “I am a good businessman. Congress and the BJP do nothing for these poor people.” Aminder who was visiting from Uttar Pradesh—UP—cut in: “He is very successful in business, he comes from a very reputed family and has no criminal record.” I sensed that the party officials and Haji Mustaqeem did not make an easy fit. It seemed as if he was used to issuing commands, not taking them. He began again.
    “The chief minister of UP, Miss Mayawati, said to me, ‘You have earned a lot, now go out and serve your community.’ My father was pro-Congress for fifty years, but in fifty years they have done nothing for Muslims in India. My father was a butcher before me. We don’t have jobs in the defence services, in the bureaucracy, in the police. We are talking about people who have been neglected since years. The educational prospects are not good. The BJP is a communal party—so for me they are zero. My family used to be 100 percent Congress supporters. I have worked very hard, doing food export.” This was true: under “education” on his election affidavit, Haji Mustaqeem had written only “Primary schooling from Rahima Madarsa.” His was the sort of success story that was rarely mentioned in India or beyond: not being a software tycoon, he slipped under the net. Judging by his surroundings and appearance, he had little interest in displaying his wealth.
    What sort of meat did he export? He looked surprised to be asked. “Lamb, goat and buffalo—fresh and frozen—to the Gulf, to Malaysia, to Egypt and South Africa. We are completely mechanized and automated, using equipment from Germany. We have one factory in Ghaziabad district in UP, one in Haryana and a government slaughter house on lease in Goa. We export 400 to 500 crores of meat per annum.” That was about $100m a year, an impressive business. Was he bothered about some Hindus not wanting to vote for him? Earlier in the campaign there had been a story, quite possibly invented, about buffalo carcasses tipping off one of his lorries in front of a Hanuman mandir. The question did not interest him. He did not see the world in this way. The Haji was a businessman, not a politician. “My vote bank is in the walled city area. I have not approached any local leader to deliver my votes.” Did he think the Bahujan Samaj Party could break into a constituency like this? “When we started, at the local election, our vote went up from zero to 16 percent—so we can win.” 7
    As it turned out, Haji Mustaqeem did little campaigning, just tramped through the narrow lanes of the old city with an entourage who wore blue scarves, choosing days when he knew other butchers would be off work, counting on the votes of the Muslim sub-caste to which he belonged, the Qureshis. His essential purpose in this election was to put down a markerfor himself and the party. He waved as he walked and rarely spoke or smiled. Haji Mustaqeem was the local man who had done exceptionally well. Elections were part of his