I had the curiously cathartic experience of being exposed to a continuous, uninterrupted and consistently cacophonous broadcast of rabble rousing babble that goes for election campaigning in our country. I usually avoid skits of this sort, having had my fill of impromptu entertainment from spending a part of my radioactive life in communist Calcutta. But no exposure is wasted and one’s half life can be considered ‘full and enriching’ if one is able to emit wisdom and crackling perspectives as a result of said exposure.
Hence, fresh after watching the rhetoric drenched delivery and listening to the pseudo sentimental sugar syrup, I thought I would make the fearless attempt to share perspectives from my tiffin box too.
Politics, as practised in mother India, is a splendid and colourful homage to the movie itself. Emotional, seemingly sacrificial, oftentimes actually so and very, very make believe. Real rhetoric is a punchline and literally, is reduced to throwing punches via concocted lines. A kaleidoscopic cocktail of the emotional and the promotional, with a twist of facts, fantasy, bravado and phantom commitments. In fact, the dance is most often a controlled choreography between promises and commitments with the rabble rouser promising to commit to the party promises if the sheep commit to elect him or her. It is between the promise and the commitment that the shadow of the ballot falls. The guillotine of adult suffrage. The scythe of the swinging democratic doodad.
The party leader, a white haired and white bearded gentleman (said form of address strictly used to differentiate from ‘lady’. I have no inclination to judge character), was thumping, harrumphing and gesticulating wildly at the assembled goats while making his many points. The content of the campaign, sometimes diabetic and sometimes bilious, was swinging madly between extremes. It felt like a pendulum with a hard on, a clock hand gone cuckoo, a streetlamp on a yoyo, an earthquake that can’t make up its mind, an outlaw punctuation mark or your regular, family sized political campaign speech. Mr Gentleman swung out of the ball park, referred to his brothers and sisters, made a fresh young sister on the spot, brought up history, geography, science, fiction, science fiction, friction and the future, took digs, took turns, took water, probably made some behind the lectern, surely made some fire in front of it and otherwise kept the goat pack thoroughly engaged, entertained and pumped up. If a bottle of adrenaline needed a face to market it, Mr Gentleman could be well it. If a vial of vegan viagra needed a mascot, Mr G could be well that too. If a book called ‘Ethnic Cleansing and the Dhokla Democracy’ needed an author …
As I was sitting enraptured by the bigoted baboon, watching the seductive simian antics of whitewashed wahoo, I realised there are various versions of politics being unfurled in mother India. Here’s some –
1. The Politics of Slander – the muck manifesto peddling art of lifting the other party’s kimono first.
2. The Politics of Pander – feed the basest and most depraved instincts of a brain bended, impoverished and unweaned public.
3. The Politics of Anger – turning purple in public and making rage the rhetoric.
4. The Politics of Bang Her – ejaculate information in a mature fashion about the other party member’s diddling dalliances with a lady.
we are all in the same vote
If such is the art of the modern compromise, what is a bit of grime?
If such are the sigils of the great houses that make commitments – the hand that yanks the chain is the same hand that promises progress and the lotus that is strewn upon the garden path is the same lotus that promises toilets and text books, what is a bit of grime?
If such is the farce of a spotless future, with a one way first class ticket to Utopia, what is a bit of grime?
If such are the lies – whiter than the whitest white, what is a bit of grime?
If such are the characters – the beast, the liar, the totalitarian, the bigot, the super star, the entitled, the crook, the thief, his wife and her lover, what is a bit of grime?
Between the Cheap Minister and the Dung Parliament, between the Joke Sabha and the Erection campaign, between the Demoncracy and the Constitution – what is a bit of grime?
Yes? Minister?
My omelette 