Foolishness the raging pandemic
For the horror that has befallen upon the land is as much as his fault as yours.
There is only one thing that can displace a story, a story.
Today the story is not the hope Narendra Modi. Rather it is the hopeless hope that India finds itself wrapped with. The story of India suffering. Gasping for tiny morsels of air while the storyteller hides in hiding. The story of India crying, moaning in agony for the loss of its family and friend while the storyteller continues to hide in hiding. The story of India that is collapsing to uncertain times of financial ruin and despair while the storyteller still continues to hide in hiding.
The brief presence of the storyteller few days back on our television screen where he paused, cried and pretended to be in considerable duress and distress over the ravaging pandemic was for the first time in many times an unmoving call. Also where those real tears glistening in the eye or the magic of great light and camera skills?
My guess is as wild as yours.
Seven years hence, in a first, the shiny story of hope has been displaced to the dark times; rather died. Died with the three lakh people (and counting) who have succumbed to the pandemic that three months before was declared ‘defeated’ by the storyteller.
So how did we end up here?
Foolishness, for there is no bigger pandemic/ epidemic than foolishness.
Seven years ago, India was charmed, Bharat excited. A fresh whiff of sweet smell entered our senses with everyday words honey soaked to became tantalising.
‘India needs a new idea. A new story. A brand new shining story full of magic and surrealism.’ Yes, the country roared with enthusiasm.
‘India is withering…leadership vacuum… need of the time is a man who is bold and resolute’. Yes, in unison, the country wilfully agreed.
Enter Narendra Modi.
He became the Messiah for newer times of a ‘New India’. He anointed himself the Pradhan Sevak for a country of 1.2 billion folks of all origins, castes, sex and ideas. There was euphoria in the open skies, and it was believed India was finally given its true leader. Even the naysayers, the harsh critics, the pessimistic hedonists ungrudgingly flowed to the ebb.
This is how grand the story was, then. Considered an apt extension in the history of evolving India it was believed that the legacy of Narendra Modi would be carved on sandalwood with golden ink.
But then came the inevitable ‘but’ that always dampens the story.
Power hungry serpents from outside started slithering within the power corridors of Delhi. Soon Ego also became big and resolute turned evil. Purposes for the country became purposes for self, the party. The idea became power, power and unconditional power. ‘Congress mukht Bharat’; ‘Opposition free Bharat’; ‘Anti National Free Bharat’, ‘Pakoda seller Bharat’.
The seven years that have gone by has been about hoarding power through state elections, panchayat elections, municipal elections, student union elections, heck I even believe school head girl/boy elections are also regulated by BJP. And besides the misgoverning governance of Narendra Modi, the lies however never stopped. And one might think that the COVID pandemic, incompetently handled by the Prime Minister who shall never admit he lied to India about the deadly seriousness of the virus, coupled with the unsuccessful handling of the vaccination drive, would dent, maybe erode Modi’s support.
‘But aayega toh Modi hi’, even in such dire times the resonance is deep.
“The criticism of India’s handling of Covid is warranted, but this must be tempered by the knowledge that even if India had done the exact opposite of what it did — the results could have been significantly worse”. The tone has been already set, blame lies elsewhere. “Modi has abundance of determination and the resolve to win back the broken trust of his supporters”. And the toadies continue to sprinkle the fairydust of hope.
The question therefore within the closed, heavily sealed rooms of the Modi Sarkar, for when the Prime Minister begins his eight year in office what conversations will take place? What plans would be designed? What new ideas of lies will be conjured? Rather, what new story will be crafted?
Once again your guess is as wild as mine.
But it’s not just the fault of the story teller. Let’s be democratic, civil and accept that the fault in actuality lies with you and them, the people. For it is not just about the follies of the Modi Sarkar, but also the buffoonery of you and them, the people. The incapacitated minds of the electorate. The minds that had stopped thinking. The mind that had stopped separating fact from fiction, the reality from myth and the truth from lies. The mind that could not understand, read, nor see the lies that was being venomously strewn all over. The lies that were casting division between husband and wife, father and son, niece and aunt, in laws with in laws. The lies that was spread and spread far and wide by thuggery, through terror into the masses by the masses.
It’s not just the storyteller, but also the story writers who have written a tale of horror.
The result, the lies have evolved in deaths. The lies that can be seen swelling up the banks of Ganga. The lies that can be seen burning in the deep corners of forests. The lies that is smothering the open sky, the air palpitating to the misery of all writers who made the story teller.
So, take a pause, reflect and re-read the story from the beginning of times of Prime Minister Narendra Modi. You will cringe, you will question and you will cry. For the horror that has befallen upon the land is as much as his fault as yours. And no don’t say there is no alternative. There are stories all around, one just has to listen.
And mind you the story teller has already started practicing his story. It is the writers now who have to be virtuous over vice.
