The killer instinct can kill too

Twenty years ago, it was very fashionable to talk of us Indians as having no ‘killer instinct’. It was touted as the reason for our poor performance at sports, particularly cricket. By ‘it’ was meant the need to triumph over the competition, to draw blood, to win. It was not in the start, we told ourselves, that we had a problem, it was in the finish. Something seemed to happen as we neared the end, some loss of heart, that prevented us from taking the last lunge over the finishing line, the last swat at the goal, the last four runs. We were ready for the hunt but not prepared for the actual kill.

In recent weeks the fatal flaw has made a reappearance. Not in the sports field but in the many profiles and obituaries that have appeared following the sudden death of former minister and Congress leader Madhav Rao Scindia. Everybody, it seems, who took it upon himself or herself to assess the late politician could not help but refer to his lack of the ‘killer instinct’. Looking through some of the observations made I found, for instance, that he was considered not ‘ruthless’ enough, was too ‘dignified’, ‘detested manipulation’ and so on, all of which apparently kept him from angling for the top post in the party and the country. That he was immensely popular and well regarded is in no doubt. Yet, this was perceived quite clearly and emphatically, as a shortcoming, a handicap.

It is a significant expansion of the meaning of the phrase ‘killer instinct’ and is reflective of current social attitudes. Clearly the ‘killer instinct’ no longer refers to merely beating the competitor to get a decisive win in a game. It appears to now indicate possessing the will to do anything necessary, unscrupulous and undignified if need be, not just to win but to get thetop post. It also suggests that the top post is the only one worth having. Both are fairly commonplace assumptions these days. One has only to look at the burgeoning number of contests and awards in every possible sphere of activity: writing, acting, beauty, personality, music, etc. and the associated hype to know that being good doesn’t stand a chance against being the best. Regardless of the criteria employed to judge or the qualifications of those judging, to win is considered significant. Children, mainly young boys, seem particularly prone to this win or nothing way of thinking. Parents of school-going kids confess they have to lose deliberately at board games to stave off tantrums. The concept of failure as a valuable learning experience does not figure in this system. Nor does the idea of postponing gratification. An eventual win is no good. A win every step of the way is. Commonplace though they may be, are these beliefs necessarily valid?

Take the first assumption that it is not possible to make it to the top without a ‘killer instinct’. Whether Scindia would have become prime minister of India, we will never, sadly, know. But I can think of at least three prime ministers in recent times who could have been said to lack the ‘killer instinct’: Atal Bihari Vajpayee, I. K. Gujral and V.P. Singh (To those who would differ on the last count I would say think of Singh in his pre-1986 avatar: a politician quick to resign on the moral issue, a loyal number two to Rajiv Gandhi). In fact, it is more likely than not, in these times of coalitions and blurred ideologies, that qualities such as adaptability, wide acceptance and persuasiveness are far more necessary in a political leader than what has come to be known as the ‘killer instinct’.

On the second assumption that the top post is the only one worth having. Why is it considered so? What about excellence? What about specialisation? Do we not have room for a great home minister? A visionary foreign minister? A capable railways minister? And if not, why not? Partly, of course, it follows from the fact that the ‘killer instinct’ celebrates an urge to win through destruction, not co-operation.

The message is to see competition everywhere and vanquish rather than co-exist with it. As far as I can make out, from the affectionate tributes paid to him, Scindia was loved and respected by a great number of people, including political opponents. He was admired for his abilities as a minister and a politician. He appeared to have lived by certain personal codes that evoked adjectives such as ‘dignified’ and ‘gentlemanly’. He appeared to have led an active social life; had time for a wide variety of interests (flying, cricket, golf etc.); was known for his sense of fun. And look at it this way. Having the killer instinct might just have spoilt everything.

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