As the jallikattu protests raged across Tamil Nadu, almost everyone I met in Delhi was incredulous. They were nonplussed that Tamil culture and pride had become the central issues in a mere bullfight. I too was at a loss, and so, I suspect, were the students who had thronged the Marina. All they did was to repeat, zombie-like, that they would not leave the beach until the court’s mandate was overturned and PETA, the animal rights group, outlawed.

Certainly, no one could explain convincingly how Tamil pride hinged on the right to fight raging bulls. All kinds of theories were subsequently bandied about, especially by TV celebrities whose job is to search for deeper meaning by dissecting entrails. The consensus seemed to be that Tamils did not want their ancient civilisation sullied by law courts and animal rights inspired by foreign ideologies and funded with foreign money.

Bull-speak and all All this simply did not add up, at least not in my mind. In the search for a more convincing answer to the conundrum, I asked myself whether Karuppuswamy, the bull in my farm, would want to fight humans. He is an affable fellow, with a beautiful black coat that earned him his name. When my cowherd takes him out to graze, he walks behind her like a pet poodle. He is a peacenik personified. You may want to fight with him but he only wants to chew his cud. This is probably true for all bulls: They don’t want to charge into a mob unless enraged. They have to be brutalised before they will get into a rage. Does Tamil pride demand the brutalisation of bulls?

As jallikattu snowballs into bluster against Neduvasal and fizzy drinks, things are beginning to fall in place. The agitation had nothing to do with bulls or Tamil pride. It was not the spontaneous outpouring of angst we thought it to be. The issues that were raised were just a totem pole around which to rally the crowds. There was a sutradhar orchestrating the events, a force not visible even to those who took to the streets. The mobs were being organised, food and water were being provided, and someone was footing the bill.

Same refrain The refrain at Neduvasal where ONGC wants to extract oil and gas is the same: We are doing just fine without your capital and technology; leave us alone and go elsewhere. The outpouring is from ordinary folk, but everything is well organised. There are large congregations listening to angry speeches on the catastrophic after-effects of the hydrocarbon project. Politicians of every hue have pitched in to add their bit. There are plenty of young people in the audience. Food and water are being distributed, obviously at someone’s expense. Interestingly, no one can see any good coming out of the project. The anti-development tirade would make you think you are in West Bengal.

The protest against Pepsi and Coke is a further step along the same continuum, except that the logic here seems even more muddled. Fizzy drinks are obviously quintessential junk, but why is the fight limited to multinational fizz? As a matter of fact, it is not only soda pop that is junk. Most fruit juices are loaded with additives and refined sugar. So, what is the fight against? The answer seems to be that foreigners should not be allowed to make hay at the cost of local business.

Fringe groups jostling for political space is what lies at the root of all this churn. The extreme fringe was the first to enter the fray, but smaller outfits that scored miserably in the last election soon pitched in. As the saying goes, when the cat is out the rats dance on the table. Now everyone is in it. They are preparing for a spell of political uncertainty, leading perhaps to an early election. Populism comes in handy. It is easy to show ONGC the door and accuse MNCs of being rapacious. It helps to talk of Tamil pride even when there is no threat to it. None of this would matter if this is a passing phase. But will it be just that?

The writer is a labour relations and HR consultant, and farmer

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