Why NaMo Is Making A Mess Of Things

Starting a weekly irreverent column on…well, life, the universe and everything

A light weekly column for Swarajya runs the risk of being slugged as ‘humour’: a comment that is not deep and introspective but merely a skate on the surface of the intellectual pond; one that eases furrowed brows into a smile (though a faint expectation in a nation where laughter is considered impolite and women titter behind their hands).

Still, here is my first offering.

After deep and introspective study, I have finally figured out why Modi-bashers are so frightfully busy. He is not playing the game according to the rules.  There you are, that is an incandescent distillation of my research. Who does he think he is, the BCCI? Not being a team player could tee anyone off. You just can’t keep dashing off at tangents on your own? There we were, expecting just more of the ho-hum, the same old platitudes and Pimms, and along comes this fella full of plans, not dangling hopes and aspirations and fractured promises, but flipping plans that he puts into action overnight. And who is expected to do the dirty work? The bureaucracy. Really, where does he get off?

Why, tomorrow he’ll want even the cops to be honest.

His party is seething because  now they can’t make hay even though the sun is shining brightly, Big Brother is watching. That was not on the cards. They were supposed to rake it in.

Other parties are stuck in the dark, teetering on rickety platforms as they peer down the political tunnel for some, faint sliver of illumination.

Bankers have to offer a service, not spray casual contempt.   The public sector has to deliver.  The private sector is not being molly-coddled.

The general public has been told to be part of the solution, now get with it.

Oh, and the media have been given a one way ticket to Coventry and there are no teacher’s pets.

Like he’s so gung-ho, this man from Gujarat, everyone is in depression. We love being miserable, and he wants to better life per se, it is an intolerable imposition. This collective wrath is so understandable. It was bad enough the Prime Minister talked about toilets in the UN darling, really, so déclassé, went the trill of the drawing-room daffodils. But the biggest problem is that while all his foes wait for him to stumble, the man seems to use glory instead of bathwater to drench himself.

I mean it is a bit of crust winging your way to Kashmir  to break K rations with the soldiers and giving a Diwali morale boost to our men in uniform, when you should have been in Gujarat lighting diyas and receiving VIP guests and wads of moolah in brown paper wrapping to fill the empty spaces in your cupboard.

And to cap it all, Namo is seen in a tent at high-altitude, playing with a sniffer dog which had animal-lovers all gooey and moist. This sort of conduct is just not acceptable.

After sixty odd years of being dicked around by politicians, you cannot expect us to so swiftly accept the change of pace. Ergo, you have to be up to some wicked little trick, Mister NM. All this is only smoke and mirrors. I can see through you. Ha, you don’t fool me. As all the pygmy Cascas plot against you, one day, you might trip or reel under their sheer numbers,  and then we will all be vindicated and turn to each other and say, see, told you so, they are all the same.

That will be such a relief. Doing everything right is not only exhausting, it is downright exasperating.

Why on earth do you want to be an eagle in a world of pigeons?

We all took bets that it would not last, this guy is too good to be true, he is too slippery, clever, too slick,  Zarlton Karpathy oozing charm as he oils his way across the floor. Will you please make a slip and let us get on with our lives ?

And now, ladies and gentlemen, Willkommen to ze caba-ray ! For his next act, Namo will dump ze rabbit and two doves and produce a list of secret Swiss account holders and what a show zat will be, old chum !

As one government secretary said to the other: run to your homes and fall upon your knees, pray to the gods to intermit this plague…lest it lasts forever. Sheesh, it’s ruining my golf handicap already.