Of the four- now five -states of South India, Karnataka has been most blessed by geography and history. It is home to some fabulously beautiful rivers, such as the Kali, the Sharavati, and above all, the Kaveri. The state boasts of a long and gorgeous coast-line. And it has some impressive and well-wooded mountains (as in the Western Ghats in Uttara Kannada and the hills of Kodagu).
The natural beauty of Karnataka is matched, if not exceeded, by the richness of its cultural and, especially, architectural treasures. The Hoysala temples in the Old Mysore region are among the wonders of the world. The temples in northern Karnataka, such as Aihole and Pattadakal, are less visited but scarcely less exquisite. And surpassing them both is the old Vijayanagara capital in Hampi, whose location by the Tungabhadra adds to the aesthetic joy of the random or serious visitor.
The Islamic heritage, meanwhile, is represented by - among other fine structures - Tipu's summer palace in Srirangapatna and the Gol Gumbaz in Bijapur. And, beyond Hindu and Muslim, is the ancient Jain town of Moodabidri, whose thousand-pillared Chandranatha temple is one of my favourite buildings in all of India.
In linguistic terms, too, Karnataka is extremely diverse. Tamil is massively dominant in Tamil Nadu; Malayalam more or less supreme in Kerala. On the other hand, Karnataka's capital, Bengaluru, is the only city in the world where daily cinema shows are held in as many as six languages - Kannada, Tamil, Telugu, Malayalam, Hindi, and English. And there are other languages spoken in the state too. Several million Kannadigas on the coast own either Konkani or Tulu as their mother tongue; several million more in the towns of the state would say that Dakhani or Urdu is their mother-tongue. At least half of the residents of Belgaum speak Marathi. And then of course there are the Kodava speakers of Kodagu (Coorg), whose links to the soil of Karnataka are as ancient as they come.
Blessed by geography and culture, Karnataka has been kindly treated by history as well. Kerala saw the bloody Mappila rebellion of the 1920s, and less bloody but equally bitter class conflicts in more recent times. Andhra witnessed the violent Telangana insurrection of the late 1940s, while its long-time capital city, Hyderabad, has been plagued by endemic communal conflict. Tamil Nadu has been home to bitter caste conflicts within, as well as to the spill-over effects of the horrific ethnic war in neighbouring Sri Lanka. In Karnataka, on the other hand, one has to go back to the Anglo-Mysore Wars for any comparable spilling of blood.
Of the states of the South, Karnataka is arguably the most diverse, as well as the most handsomely endowed in terms of natural and cultural heri-tage. At the same time, it is also perhaps the most corrupt as well as the worst administered. Compared to Kerala, its health and education sectors are in a shambles. Compared to Tamil Nadu and Andhra Pradesh, its economic development is too narrowly based on one city; there are no nodes of growth other than Bengaluru. Undivided Andhra Pradesh had Vijayawada and Visakhapatnam to compete with Hyderabad; Tamil Nadu has Madurai, Coimbatore, and Salem to go along with Chennai. Both Andhra and Tamil Nadu also have far better infrastructure (in terms of roads and ports) than Karnataka does.
In terms of everyday services for the aam admi, too, my state is poorly served. Speaking from experience, it is much less stressful to deal with government functionaries in Tamil Nadu than in Karnataka, whether these be telephone linesmen, electricity officials, or policemen. From what I learn from friends, Kerala is at least on a par with Tamil Nadu, Andhra, also well ahead of Karnataka.
Why is Karnataka so badly run? One reason could lie in the way the state was formed. Contemporary Karnataka is composed of four distinct fragments: one piece from the erstwhile Mysore State run by the Wodeyars, a second from the former Hyderabad State ruled by the Nizams, a third from the Bombay Presidency, a fourth from the Madras Presidency. Harmonizing these different legal, revenue, administrative and terminological traditions has proved to be difficult. On the other hand, the area of the state of Tamil Nadu is almost wholly drawn from the Madras Presidency. This part of British India was known, from the time of the early 19th century proconsul, Sir Thomas Munro, for its progressive, pro-people administration. While contaminated by corruption in recent times, state departments still function moderately well in Tamil Nadu.
A second reason Karnataka is so badly governed is that it has had a long run of mediocre (or worse) political leaders. None of its chief ministers has matched E.M.S. Namboodiripad or C. Achutha Menon in terms of ability, or K. Kamaraj and C.N. Annadurai in terms of focus. No Andhra Pradesh chief minister has been quite as spotlessly clean as EMS or Anna, but several (such as Y.S. Rajasekhara Reddy) have worked energetically to promote industrial employment in the cities and better service delivery in the countryside. But Karnataka still awaits its YSR, not to speak of its Anna or Achutha Menon.
The state of Karnataka has had more than 20 chief ministers. Of these, Devaraj Urs did some good work in agrarian reform, Ramakrishna Hegde and his ministers (particularly the visionary, Abdul Nazir Sab) in promoting decentralized development. Otherwise, the list is pretty undistinguished. And, in recent times, worse than undistinguished. Of the last 11 chief ministers of Karnataka, some have been grossly corrupt, some seriously lazy, some nakedly casteist or communal - and some all of the above.
When Siddaramaiah became chief minister of Karnataka in May 2013, much was expected of him. He had been a reasonably competent minister in the state cabinets he had served in. He had rebelled against the dynastic culture of Deve Gowda's party; then, after he led the Congress to an impressive victory in the assembly elections, he defied the high command by unilaterally announcing that he was the best candidate for the top post. As one who had personal knowledge of the problems of farmers, artisans, and shepherds, one who (at least until May 2013) had a relatively clean image, it was expected (or hoped) that he would provide a more focused, and less corrupt, administration than his predecessors.
These hopes have been belied. Prior to becoming chief minister, Siddaramaiah kept his family at an arm's length; now family members are said to have acquired influence over administrative decisions. The high command has assiduously promoted its own nominee, G. Parameshwara; to keep him and them at bay, Siddaramaiah has spent an increasing amount of time and energy placating 10 Janpath (with, it is said, more than flattering words). A foolish attempt to commemorate the 'birth anniversary' of Tipu Sultan at State expense has polarized people on religious grounds. More generally, there is an air of apathy and lassitude around all that the Karnataka government does or does not do. It is as if having achieved his life's ambition and become chief minister, Siddaramaiah has no more cares about himself, or about the citizens of his state.
When it comes to politics, governance and administration, the citizens of Karnataka are ill served. Fortunately, on the social side there are compensations. The weather is glorious, the people mostly friendly and tolerant, the temples stunning and the forests and rivers too. And so, like my father, grandfather and great-grandfather before me, I shall live on in Karnataka and like them die here as well.
