I had thought of heading out for lunch after sending this column to the Press but given, over the last two months, the high decibel level of raucousness getting higher with each ticking second, I have, in order to pre-empt a possible migraine, decided to sit in restorative solitude at a cafe that goes by the comforting name Tea ’n’ Sympathy…
Thankfully, this piece appears three days after election results have been announced, and so with bated breath and fingers crossed tight enough to constrict the flow of blood, one would hope most of the hullaballoo would have shuttered down and one would be able to wake up to a fractionally Sunday-ish Sunday. I say “in some measure” because now the Sarkaar shall be formed and there will be more brawls and guttural battles as to which throne goes to whom…Now the commencement of in-house fighting with many Humpty Dumpty’s littering the stadium going barking mad despite being broken into pieces. (Incidentally not one for exercising keyboard restraint but since I have a word count to take into account, so shan’t be able to punch out everything brewing in my mind!)
These, the dirtiest, filthiest elections in history or would it be incorrect to say, the World’s History?! Fine, American elections, especially when Trump was campaigning, were not what a pink and flouncy frock was made of… But in our desh ki dharti the abuse levels reached an unconscionable dizzying height that went way further down than hitting below the belt. Remember the Polaroid camera? Click a picture and out slid the print, and within a few breathless open-mouthed minutes one would have the bromide magnetising into a full-fledged photograph? Well, that is exactly how the ugly campaigning went. The image of Duryodhana, the Kaurava king, tossed around, whose sole purpose of life was to eliminate the Pandavas, first and foremost Arjuna. So one Neta charges the other of being Duryodhana, the other huffing and puffing, shoots back that soon Arjuna would emerge from “their fold” to teach the former the lesson of his life.
The Mahabharata viewed eons ago on TV pales in this battle of 2019. The Ramayana roped in as well. So for every Rama there is a Ravana and since good always triumphs over evil (it’s an open secret that, that is not the case but who dare say so?!) these polls will, at long last, usher in Ramrajya? Methinks, that this era was to be shepherded in some five years back?! By now Ayodhya was supposed to be the prime pilgrim destination housing the resplendent Ram Mandir on the Lord’s Janambhoomi? This particular campaign so drippingly dirty, spreading like knotweed and we, the people, though sick and tired of it all, addictively, helplessly glued to our news channels or having them on in the background so that watch we may not, but we are abreast of the last/current/on-going low-down, one-upmanship comment. (As a side note, I am promising myself that once this grimy, smearing, unsightly carnival is over, the idiot box installed in my study room shall be wrested off the wall; in any case, what business does a TV have to be there in the first place? The bedroom Telly, I have no say there, so can only, come evening, bundle up my pile of pillows, with the unfinished heap of books lying at the bedside table, and curl up on the drawing room sofa where, thank goodness, there is no such screen hammered on the wall!)
No further circuitousness! Kodak Moments, remember?! Dog eats Dog, goes the saying, but yet again one would think even a sparring match between a Doberman and Rottweiler would, in-between, take a break before coming to blows, exchanging punches… Not speaking in any sequence, since with this overload, the brain aches and is in a tangle. The other evening while sipping Kahwa from a copper cup, for the novelty of the “tea ceremony”, Mayawati announces that Modiji does not respect women—why else would he have banished, abandoned his wife?! Mamata, on her part, wishes Modi’s much-touted 56-inch chest to swell to 112 inches, for the furtherance of robust health. Adding somewhere along the line, that with his distilled wisdom of 69 years, come September, he would know that repeatedly consuming boiled tea leaves was bad for health. And how is it that it is quite right to market one’s Chaiwala credentials while thumping one’s torso purporting that even those from the humblest backgrounds can become Prime Ministers if they wish to serve the nation with utmost honesty and integrity, but If someone else calls him a Tea-Man, it is considered disparaging, slandering infuriating him to a point where one wades through further murkier waters…
Then there are repetitive slogans such as, “Chowkidar Chor Hai”… where Mantris suffix Chowkidar before their names. Politicians playing games, good at yodelling, that one knows but this foul-mouthed waggery, a new phenomenon. Shatrughan Sinha exiting from the BJP, declaring democracy had been replaced with dictatorship. Demanding to know why Titans such as Advaniji, Dr Joshi, Yashwant Sinha, Arun Shourie had been chased into permanent exile! Speaking of filmstars, Sunny Deol, a candidate from Gurdaspur, which happens to be adjoining Pakistan, drew a blank when asked what he thought of the Balakot Strikes. Rahul Gandhi, for over months and months crying hoarse over the Rafale deal seeking an explanation. Finally, perhaps as a response, Rajiv Gandhi is dragged into the Road Show. The same Prime Minister, who 28 years ago on May 21st, was blown to bleeding bits by a Human Bomb, accused of being Brashtaachari Number One, the most Corrupt and Unscrupulous of them all… Dead Men do not Talk. Yes, there have been movies titled, Hero Number 1, Biwi Number 1 but Brashtaachari Number 1, a First.
Elections 2019: A Mud Raking, Scandal Mongering, Character Assassination Marathon actively outpacing the tenets of our well-dwelled on, contemplated Constitution.