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Why do we want our heroes to be so pure that even Gandhi and Mother Teresa would find it tough to survive scrutiny?

Kadiam Srihari was a nobody in most people's lives till October 12, 2000.

You and I did not know who he was. You and I did not care what he did. You and I did not know how he looked or how he spoke. You and I did not even know he was around.

Last Thursday, Kadiam Srihari felt it was time the world knew.

Minutes after P V Narasimha Rao was sentenced to three years of rigorous imprisonment and fined Rs 2 lakh in the JMM MPs' bribery case, Kadiam Srihari -- honourable minister for secondary education in Andhra Pradesh -- decided to encash his gift voucher of 15 seconds of soundbytes that are bestowed on ministerial mouths.

The Chandrababu Naidu government, Kadiam Srihari told reporters, had decided to delete a lesson on the life of the former prime minister from Hindi textbooks for eighth standard students in PVN's home state.

"The government 'felt' it was 'not proper' (emphasis added) to retain the lesson on Rao in view of the court verdict," he said as the video cameras whirred in Warangal: "Rao could have been a role model for honesty and integrity, but he has turned out to be a mascot for corruption." It is unlikely Kadiam Srihari will ever march into our lives once again, but slyly, quietly, he has left behind his messy footprints on the sands of contemporary history.

Cut to Karnavati. There, three months ago, the Kadiam Srihari of the Gujarat government had decided to remove a chapter on Kapil Dev from school textbooks after the all-rounder's name had figured in the match-fixing controversy.

There are two ways of looking at such tinkering of textbooks. "Serves the frauds right," is certainly one way. After all, what kind of prime minister is it who "buys" the loyalty of MPs just so that his minority government does not fall? And, what kind of cricketer is it who puts up his loyalty to the nation and its team for "sale"?

But this is such a predictably middle-class and incredibly hypocritical position to take.

Sure, by removing Rao, the presiding post-graduates of public relations may have sent all the right signals to the voting masses about how they view corruption in public life. Sure, by axing Kapil, the presiding avatars of avarice may have sent the right signals to the cricketing classes about how they view greed in private life.

But what humbug, what hogwash and, hey, at what cost?

Ahmedabad or Hyderabad, the two incidents certainly highlight the thin line that divides fame from infamy in the court of instantaneous public opinion. But what they also prove beyond a shadow of doubt is that we are an incredibly silly, short-sighted and sentimental people, who rush to judgements overlooking the broad picture.

To find out why, examine Exhibit One: the timing. The Telugu Desam Party regime turned its back on the Telugu bidda the same day Special Judge Ajit Bharihoke was sending him to jail. And Kapil got the sack the day after the income tax authorities had raided his home and office on suspicion of possessing wealth disproportionate to his known source/s of income. Clearly, the decision to yank out crooks from textbooks is for effect.

Exhibit Two: witness how unilateral the decision is. In the case of Mr Rao, as perhaps Mr Dev, the people who first decided to put them in the textbooks -- teachers, professors, academics -- had, from the looks of it, no say on removing them from there: it was left to the Kadiam Sriharis. This is how our future generations form their opinions of the past. Would a Congress regime in Andhra have done what the TDP has? Unlikely.

The real clincher is Exhibit Three: the urgency to pronounce a verdict. Sure, Mr Rao has been convicted. Sure, Mr Rao has been sentenced. But surely he has the right to appeal? Surely, there is a chance that the special judge's ruling may be overturned? Surely, there is a chance that Mr Rao may walk out innocent? But no, such niceties are lost on our two-bit politicians looking for a spot of reflected publicity.

Likewise, Kapil Dev. Four months after the match-fixing scam hit the roof of the Eden Gardens, there is still no guarantee that the Central Bureau of Investigation will find him guilty of malpractice and/or name him in its report. In fact, there is every chance that the former captain and coach will be exonerated, even as news agencies report that at least four cricketers are likely to be named.

The god is in the details but our Kadiam Sriharis -- be they in the land of the Narmada or the Godavari -- seem to be practising atheists.

This is not to defend the corrupt and the venal. But by narrow-focussing on the negative and by making it the sole parameter for the entry and exit of contemporary heroes into and out of textbooks, we are missing the woods for the trees. In fact, by being so blatantly revisionist, we are committing the same crime that the secularists often accuse fundamentalists of making.

As Steve Waugh, the Australian cricket captain, said in a different context: "If we don't know where we came from, how will we know where to go?"

If this is the kind of fudging that contemporary people and incidents suffer at the hands of progressive states, imagine the kind of fudging that may have gone into Ayodhya, Mathura and all the other cities on the VHP wishlist?

For all we care, PVN may be found guilty as indeed may KD. But who can deny Mr Rao his rightful place in the history of liberalised India -- as the man who brought us back from the brink of economic chaos and opened our eyes to the world? Who can deny Mr Dev his rightful place in the history of cricket -- as the man who won us the World Cup for the first and only time and as the man who overtook Richard Hadlee as the highest wicket-taker?

Why do we want our heroes to be so pure and lily-white that even Mahatma Gandhi and Mother Teresa would find it tough to survive scrutiny?

Krishna Prasad