At some strange level, the Indian political system has a deep, if not too apparent, connect with Bollywood. Like a half-decent Hindi masala flick, the Indian polity, and thereby the political system, sees and believes in only the colours black and white, with no chance in hell for the existence of a grey, let alone shades and tones of it. Like the sheriffs in the Western flicks, from where Bollywood draws much of its sustenance before fleshing out the skeleton with song-and-dance and emotional-sentimental routine (“merey paas ma hai”, mera baap chor hai”, “meri maa ko jaaney de, kuttey” and the likes), the politicians etch the line as clearly as daylight: you are either with us or against us.

Take Suskhilkumar Shinde, for instance. Having huffed and puffed over inanity for long, he seems to love playing the little great dictator now. With Chaplinesque elan, he is showing receipts of Speed Post to say he was under the impression that Afzal Guru’s family had received the terse two-liner from Tihar jail before the execution, without, perhaps, realising that his constituents can wave their voter’s slip at him, whenever he contests an election, and say they were under the impression that the vote had been cast. And like the one with the little handlebar moustache, saying stuff like he “may consider” the family’s request to visit the grave in Tihar jail, without, perhaps, realising that they do enjoy that right as Indian citizens.

Or take Omar Abdullah, for instance. He was busy happy fiddling with his Twitter till just the other day, apparently not a care in the world for certain inhabitants of Sopore, or one from his state in Delhi’s Tihar jail. Then came Saturday, February 9, the day Afzal Guru was hanged. Addressing a quickly assembled media briefing around 11 am, Omar asked for peace and calm; said there was no comparison between Guru’s execution and that of Maqbool Butt two decades ago in the same jail — Butt has since then been turned a martyr by many Kashmiris; and urged people not to believe in rumours and not to fall prey to “elements who would want to take advantage of the situation and turn to violence”.

In cricket parlance — since we have invoked Bollywood to talk politics, can the good game be far behind in India? — Omar was playing solid backfoot defence with a straight bat. But Bollywood does not teach us to play thus, so he soon changed tack, track and thwacked all his cool, composed logic and reason with a backhanded whack. “I will talk to the government about the issue of bringing Afzal’s remains here to the Valley,” he said as the minutes added up to hours and then changed numbers on the calendar, without realizing that would be a loaded pistol handed over on a platter to “elements who would want to take advantage of the situation and turn to violence”.

“Afzal Guru’s execution will breed alienation in the Valley,” Omar also said, which in effect is meant to say do not execute a terrorist convicted by the apex court — please recall the supreme court bench’s August 4, 2005 observation, “The collective conscience of the society will be satisfied only if the death penalty is awarded to Afzal Guru” — so that those “elements who would want to take advantage” do not get that advantage. But which could also mean think before you exasperate those “elements”, or stop before you drive them mad. Or, taken to the other end of the conclusion tunnel, shut the hell up and don’t annoy people in the Valley, who identify with terrorists.
In cricket parlance, that’s called a reverse sweep.

Annoyed that Guru’s family was not informed before the execution, Omar also found “something wrong in the system if we are sending information through Speed Post in this era”. Two observations: He is the chief minister of the state which has Sopore under its jurisdiction, and if he had a “premonition that Afzal Guru’s execution would follow Kasab’s”, he could have gone there to address the situation. And if he was informed about the execution on Friday evening, as home minister Shinde claims, Omar could have done a non-Speed Post communication with the kin, using his phone for things other than posting tweets, for instance.

In cricket, that’s a hit wicket. The only thing left to do after that is to return home and sulk. And hit the Twitter with new zeal, perhaps.