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Batting for the Congress

VIDYA SUBRAHMANIAM
Moradabad

Mohammad Azharuddin declares he will banish the sound of the generator, which symbolises power failure in the Moradabad constituency

Photo: PTI

Congress candidate for Moradabad Mohammed Azharuddin having breakfast at the house of a Congress worker.

Cricketer turned politician Mohammad Azharuddin’s election office is a sprawling guesthouse on the outskirts of Moradabad. At first glance, it seems comfortable enough. A winding marble staircase leads to a massive, well-appointed living area.

Mr. Azharuddin is seated in front of a giant TV screen, watching the day’s IPL match, sweat gathering in beads on his forehead. Puzzled, I look at the split air conditioners lining the wall. They are lifeless. It is then that I hear the hum of the generator.

The generator, symbolising power failure, is a recurring motif in the Congress candidate’s campaign. For the cricketer, who has spent most of his life in Hyderabad, the north is a depressing, debilitating contrast, and the anguish surfaces repeatedly in private conversation, and on the stump. Had Moradabad been Hyderabad, most of its problems would have been solved by now, he tells a local journalist. The reporter looks uncomprehending, which adds to the debutant politician’s distress. “What have the politicians here been doing?” he asks, and then, pointing to his blue jeans and T shirt, says “it is not enough if you wear kurta-pyjama. You need to work.”

In a longish conversation with me on the campaign trail, Mr. Azharuddin agonises over the “terrible” state of affairs in Uttar Pradesh, of which he has seen a fair bit by now, thanks to the many invites from fellow Congress candidates in the State: “Everywhere I went in the State, there was darkness; everywhere I go here in Moradabad, there is darkness.”

Mr. Azharuddin seems determined to defy the politician stereotype, often junking the regulation kurta-pyjama for casual wear, and refusing to play the Muslim card in a constituency where Muslims form over 30 per cent. “My religion is between me and the almighty,” he tells me. As he goes canvassing, his one refrain is that he will rid Moradabad of the generator. “I can’t bear the sound,” he says in his meetings, many of them powered by the detested generator. More often than not, the irony escapes the crowds, used as they are to Moradabad’s incapacitating discomforts.

The once flamboyant batsman is accompanied on the campaign trail by his wife, the former Bollywood actor, Sangeeta Bijlani, and his two sons. The husband and wife make a striking pair and are huge crowd pullers. Indeed, thanks to the “Azhar factor,” the Congress, which last won this seat in 1984, has pole vaulted to frontrunner rank in this election. In the Muslim mohallas, the cricketer is a rage. So much so people sneer at the Samajwadi Party, a favourite until recently. “The SP is finished. A to Z it is Azharbhai.”

The day I arrive in Moradabad, Mr. Azharuddin’s first meeting is in Thakurdwar. But before that the convoy has to rush to the nearby helipad to pick up a guest, the Congress general secretary, Digvijay Singh. As Mr. Singh’s helicopter touches down, dust rises up in huge swirls, throwing Mr. Azharuddin and his waiting entourage off balance. But the Congress’ star candidate takes the dust shower in his stride, joking about it to the panting, surging crowds at the meeting venue: “If you have come just to see me, I’m not at all beautiful. So I hope you have come here intending to vote for me.”

Ms. Bijlani is an instant hit, her trained voice speaking loudly and clearly to an audience that whistles and claps incessantly. “Inshallah, we have enough wealth. So we have come here, not to ask something of you but to give and only give.” The Azharuddins leave the venue, followed by frenzied crowds that cannot have enough of them. They get into their van and minutes later come back into view as the roof opens up. The couple wave royally to the astonishment and delight of their screaming admirers.

At the late night mohalla meeting in Muslim-dominated Langde Ki Pulia, I see the Azhar effect for what it is. The lane is packed to overflowing and so are the terraces. The crowds lunge at him, pulling at his kurta, feeling his hair. On the podium, speakers are urging the audience to be wary of “communal” parties. Mr. Azharuddin sticks to his “no more generator” script. “I am famous for my cricket 100s, now I want a 100 per cent turnout from you,” he says, adding, “make it, not a 20-20 but a 10-10 match. Finish voting in two hours.”

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