Unlike so many others of my caste and class, I have never remotely been attracted to the idea of living permanently in the West. This country has given me enough, and more; I was born here, have been content to live and work here, and will await dying here too.
On the one occasion I was tempted to leave India, it was not for Europe or North America, but for Africa. In the academic year 1994-95, I was a Fellow of the Wissenschaftskolleg zu Berlin. My wife and little children were with me. While I was in Berlin, I got a letter from the head of the history department of the University of Natal at Pietermaritzburg. She had read my work on environmental history, a field that would be of growing importance in her country. Would I be interested in applying for a position in her department?
Berlin was for my wife and me an interim stop between New Delhi -where we had lived for the past six years - and our home town, Bangalore, where we intended to settle, for good, after our year in Germany was done. The early 1990s had been a time of sectarian strife in North India; and I had witnessed some of it. I had seen family members and former friends become Hindutva bigots; and had myself visited Bhagalpur after the riots of 1989, the worst since Independence. Three years later, the Babri Masjid was demolished. "Like the three domes that crowned the 464-year-old Babri mosque," wrote Time magazine at the time, "the three pillars of the modern Indian state - democracy, secularism and the rule of law - are now at risk from the fury of religious nationalism."
I feared for the future of my country too. Reared on the ideas of Mahatma Gandhi and Jawaharlal Nehru, I did not look forward to coming under the rule of Lal Krishna Advani and Ashok Singhal. Whereas the Republic of India was turning its back on its democratic and plural heritage, the Republic of South Africa was moving from white rule to democracy, thus beginning a new and glorious chapter in its history. The fall of the apartheid regime had been for me the most uplifting story of recent times. Nelson Mandela himself seemed a combination of the best of Nehru and the best of Gandhi. We had, as a people and a country, apparently blown away our chances; but might not the South Africans under Mandela make a better fist of it? And might I not, as a historian, see it happen at close quarters? And participate in some way in the making of a new South Africa too?
It was in this frame of mind that I received this invitation from Pietermaritzburg. Moving to South Africa now, in the first flush of their freedom, seemed an exciting possibility. I consulted my wife. She was open to the idea. Her sister, to whom she was very close, had made a dozen recent visits to South Africa, developed intimate friendships, and was half-thinking of moving there herself. My wife was an accomplished graphic designer; surely finding interesting work for herself would not be difficult in that land.
In the event, the job at the University of Natal did not materialize. In 1997, I visited South Africa for the first time, to see a friend posted there. Shortly afterwards I began work on a multi-volume biography of Gandhi, and made several further visits. In between I followed South African politics fairly closely.
When, 23 years ago, I contemplated moving to South Africa, Nelson Mandela was president of the Republic. History presents Mandela as a Gandhi-like figure; dignified in conduct and conversation, with colossal moral and physical courage, bearing no ill-will towards his oppressors, reaching out to his political adversaries. This portrait is not inaccurate; but, in fact, Mandela admired Nehru much more than he admired Gandhi. He had followed his career more closely too. Thus he sensed that Nehru had stayed on too long as head of government. Indeed, it was this cautionary example that perhaps led Mandela to retire from politics after a single term as president of South Africa.
Mandela's successor as president, Thabo Mbeki, was a highly capable and intelligent man. However, he lacked charisma, and was not very good at dealing with colleagues. He was in denial about AIDS, and blindly supportive of African dictators such as Robert Mugabe. After Mbeki finished his two terms, Kgalema Motlanthe served less than a year as president, before being succeeded by Jacob Zuma. Zuma had plenty of charisma, but little character. A power-hungry megalomaniac, he was predatory towards women, and excessively close to a family of shady Indian businessmen. He faced impeachment charges several times, but on each occasion managed to save his office - although not his reputation.
Zuma's term ends next year. Earlier this week, the ruling African National Congress nominated Cyril Ramaphosa (picture) to succeed him. Ramaphosa had been very active in the anti-apartheid struggle. Indeed, he was on the shortlist to succeed Mandela as president in 1998. After Mbeki got the job, Ramaphosa became a successful businessman, before re-entering the domain of politics. Now he has won a close vote against Jacob Zuma's former wife, Nkosazana Dlamini-Zuma, for the right to lead the African National Congress. Given the ANC's dominance in the nation's politics, this means that Ramaphosa will almost certainly become the fifth president of democratic South Africa.
There are some striking parallels between the African National Congress and the Indian National Congress. Like the Congress, the ANC led the freedom struggle against white rule; giving it the credibility and the legitimacy to enjoy power for long periods when freedom and democracy finally came. Like the Congress, the ANC grew arrogant and corrupt while in office. Although it remains in control at the national level, in some provinces the ANC has met with strong Opposition; most notably from the Democratic Alliance in the Cape.
In the 1990s, when I briefly contemplated moving to the land of Nelson Mandela, it was because I felt my own country was turning its back on its founding ideals. Twenty-three years later, what would I say about South Africa? The problems it faces are real and substantial. They include corruption, cronyism, crime, a brain drain, and reverse racism. On the other hand, the country still has decent universities, rich natural resources, a flourishing tourism industry, and outstanding jurists, activists, and social workers. It has not blown it - yet.
As president of South Africa Jacob Zuma was a disaster. The two politicians who vied to succeed him offered different visions. Ramaphosa presented himself as a pragmatic reformer; Dlamini-Zuma as a radical populist. Although he has won, the narrow margin of his victory means that Ramaphosa will face resistance from within the party. Thus, as Jason Burke wrote in The Guardian, "several other senior positions within the ANC had gone to politicians who are unlikely to back Ramaphosa's expected push to reform the party and crack down on corrupt patronage networks that have flourished over the last decade." Outside the party, the new president will have to contend with deep cleavages in society, with the inequalities of caste and race and region that persist after two-and-a-half decades of freedom and democracy.
After that brief moment of hesitancy in 1994 I have never again wished to leave my country. I will live and die an Indian. But South Africa remains, for emotional as well as historical reasons, the country other than my own for whose future I most fear. Although I cannot vote for him or for his party, when he takes over the ANC, Cyril Ramaphosa will have this citizen of India cheering in his corner.
