we’re hiring

 

I think of myself as an arbiter of justice. Whenever I see a worthless piece of human trash walk away without consequence – I feel violated. And this violation far exceeds any expectation.

With the myriad of reality shows on television, I wonder what it would be like to star in one of my own. Let’s face it, standing the test of time, not to mention frayed tempers and whimsical behaviour can be tyrannical and can throw quite the spanner in the works for one masquerading as the epitome of cool.

Character is abysmally under-rated and it’s embarrassing to witness the seemingly unfettered and suave possess so little of it.

Young and tardy, executives around the world dream of the jet-setter lifestyle they think they’re entitled to – without of course, having to break into a sweat. Our politicians, predictably, are not very different in this regard.

Politics is a dirty sport. It takes a special kind of scumminess to transcend the echelons of power, kow-towing to the mighty power brokers whose every nod begets a liaison and not merely an audience with the High Command. The struggle for authority is currently at its impious best – and our men in white aren’t leaving any stone unturned to cash in on human misery.

I write tonight in a stupor. I write tonight with cynicism. I write tonight with a sense of boorishness. I write tonight with murder on my mind.

I haven’t seen blood. But I have witnessed the mindless slaughter of many who were unfortunate and couldn’t escape one fateful night, not so long ago.

I have also resumed work (after an achingly long bout with varied illness) and find the whole cut-and-dry-corporate-rollercoaster-ride difficult to get on. There’s been some trouble concentrating- I’m strangely repulsed by the abject sensitization of the average Mumbaikar’s trite response to what has transpired. What was I expecting? Perverse outrage wouldn’t be too far from expectation.

Meanwhile, our representatives have wasted no time in making the kill. Like hyenas in culinary heat, they brandish their hackneyed plots fore’ a people that are fairly livid. Gutting a few of these fainéants won’t be a bad way to kill time.

On the one hand, the Geriatric Drone of the Saffron brigade minced little time and few words to launch a vitriolic attack on the ruling party which comprises of vermin capable of engaging in similar retort with unmatched élan.

People react differently to cataclysmic devastation. And it’s interesting to note what our people elect representatives have to articulate.

A cherubic minister for home mentioned in all earnestness how impactful his party’s governance has been. After all, the plan was to slay 5000 people and they were able to restrict the damage to a few hundreds. “Such minor instances are bound to happen in big cities”. Somebody needs to inform the minister about his political incorrectness. Although, he’d probably earn brownie points for candour.

Our Minister for state is another priceless antiquity. The man beams unabashedly at the flashing bulbs and displays for public interest a string of pearls that hang cautiously from his not-so-oft exercised jaw. And to keep things exciting, he invites for a personalised tour of the site of carnage nefarious movie makers and other Godfather’s of the film fraternity. It’s plain to see – this terrorist attack will make a killing at the box-office.

In an interesting build-up of aftershocks, the charming Chief Minister of a southern state, bent on earning him a landslide victory in the coming election, visited the home of the slain NSG commando. What he wasn’t prepared for was the wrath of a father who had lost his only a son and befittingly turned out of his house an enraged minister of state. In response, our minister showed real class in an interview stating, “He (Major UnniKrishnan’s father) needs to understand that if it weren’t for his son, even a dog wouldn’t look towards his house”.

Not to be out-done, the National Vice President of the Saffron brigade had the audacity to make the following comment, “Half a dozen men and women sporting lipsticks and ties cannot be the voice of a nation”. The vermin responsible for this callous remark didn’t think it possible to show some sensitivity at a time when the citizens of the country’s largest metropolis are seething with an unstoppable fume more from the false promises of better governance than the attacks them self.

Has our collective better sense been taken for granted? Has our ability to adjust to any kind of abomination been misunderstood? If it weren’t for the simple act of commerce for sustenance, very few of us would actually want to make this easy for a maladjusted economy.

This level of desecration of public sentiment is a mockery of egalitarianism and should be a punishable offense.  Our polity’s abject lack of intelligence at a distressing time such as the present is not shocking and frankly, one can’t help but hope that more than a few of them are exterminated pronto.

Making statements to the media from the security of the manicured lawns of their sprawling bungalows in a beauraucratic capital is as much an act of cowardice as the dastardly terrorist attack. It takes more than testicular incidence to categorize these political rodents as men, much less representative elects of an incensed Vox populi.

The Indian politician is a shameless rodent of indubitable means and quite the repulsive species. This revolting genus has belittled the governance of a nation to nothing better than prostitution under the auspices of the flawed constitution of India which allows anyone, absolutely anybody an equal opportunity to contest the ubiquitous election.

Loosely translated, this makes wide allowances for Lotharios, thugs, murderers, rapists, gangsters, terrorists, wheelers and dealers of dubious business-arms-ammunition as well as scions of families that believe the Post to be their birth-right to stand for elections. What they stand to gain is an unlimited supply of ill gained comforts. A retinue of the latest cars regardless of make or cost, access to the haute couture styles prevalent in Milan, elegant leather ware, villas in Sunkist beaches and millionaire boulevards – this list is endless.

They embody the cunning needed to bamboozle a nation divided on caste and religion to fill their coffers for generations on end. Eliminating competition by buying alliances at will or murdering those that stand to oppose their best laid plans comes easy to these keepers of the countries alleged moral fibre.

Armani suits, Louis Vuitton bags, holiday homes in the South of France, paid vacations and assorted decadent indulgences including never ending gifts of precious jewels, prime real estate and anything money can buy including the company of beautiful women – nothing passes by our home-bred political despot.

Our politicians are the elite in an otherwise impoverished food chain. If only a section of the funds spent on their perks were directed instead towards strengthening the security for our nation and its citizens, none of the carnage that become apparent on the 26^th of November would’ve transpired.

Playing the blame game is a national sport that our government and its political flummadiddles outclass each other at. They’re the first ones to absquatulate at the mere hint of any predicament that would require of them planning, reserve, empathy and tact.

What are we going to do now? How can we repair all the damage we inherited?

Do we merit this? It is time we stopped with the introspection and start taking an active interest in our own governance. And voting cannot be our only creative solution – given that we’re well and truly stuck between the devil and the deep sea. Nobody should have to control our destinies.

Perhaps now the time is ripe to usher in a new voice of reason, not to mention making those trillion amendments to our constitution to help mould the right profile of what is our understanding of a desirable candidate. They will try to disembowel our revolution; hood-wink us by diverting our attention with petty assurances and vacuous promises. Eliminating those in power seems Utopian but also impractical.

And now is the time for the impractical.

The time to forgive is lost. Second chances have yielded nothing. Turning a blind eye will only get you killed. Punish the monkey I say – let the organ grinder go!

~ by alternativefrock on December 1, 2008.