In all the heaps of slurs and insults and the tidal waves of outrage over the many facets of the JNU issue, the Rohith Vemula suicide, the violence by the lawyers, the hate mail, the threats, the attack in Pampore, the Jat rebellion, the post Smriti Irani diatribe and other such goodies the one that ranks a head and shoulder above the rest of the stuff, is the moaning and groaning by individuals who are engaging in this ‘we are doomed’ performance.
In a line that doesn’t end come an army of these intellectual fiends ready and eager to tell us that India is on the brink of disaster.
Sorry to disappoint you, folks, but India is okay, she will pull through, all this fluff is not even an acne spot on the motherland’s visor. Since 9 February we have been fed this diet of dismay and I, for one, am up to here with it.
And to wring your hands in agony like a bizarre take off on Lady Macbeth after she did the dirty on Duncan is magnificent conceit. How dare you bring India into your petty little equations? None of us are that important nor do we have the power to hurt this country, so get over it. Stop flattering ourselves.
You really think that our antics (yours, mine, the media, the politicians, the students with their freshly minted rage, the lawyers, Modi, Smriti Irani, Rahul Gandhi, Uncle Tom Cobbelly ) add up to anything beyond cerebral self-indulgence? We are not even collectively a footnote in history.
India has seen invaders, pestilence, drought, floods, just to name a few negatives over thousands of years and she has persevered and come out stronger.
No bunch of kids (who have yet to earn a living) shouting slogans are going to hurt the nation. Bleeding hearts bellyaching about the disappearance of freedom and the passing inconvenience to their cossetted lives don’t even count as a surface wound.
Reservations and Dalits, riots and bouts of madness, injustice and violence, they are like puffs of wind, ill and unwanted, but they cannot blow our house down. So stop saying it. The Indian fabric is made of calico and leather, not tissue.
I listen to (and read) these people beating their little breasts in horror at the plague that has befallen us (not my word, theirs) and think what sad, sorry lives they must lead that they have to take their pathetic little issues and balloon them into live or die equations, migoodness, if this is not rectified India will fall into a dusty little heap.
Media and its many not-always-splendid facets is just a passing fad, changing its underwear every day, leaving not even a bruise on the body politic.
The politicians are just leaves in the breeze, turning brown and finally swept away, party over, on yer bike, mate! A hundred thousand have come, done their worst and floated off since 1947 and India is still there.
And, this Sunday morning, let’s look in the mirror and bring this whole month to an end…literally leap off it.
You want a slice of cruel fact. It is mostly a Delhi upcountry thing. All this noise barely receives an echo in the south and the west and token support aside, life in 90% of India is untouched by all the goings on in this month.
They are too busy getting through the day, doing what good people do, going to work, taking care of their homes, their families, putting food on the table, engaging in that incredible Indian exercise of majboori. They do not have the time to be Delhi-centric or, in its softer phase, indulge in the shenanigans of the northern bloc.
The media, especially TV, is force-feeding the pap to the country but everything that occurs in Delhi and the north is not always of riveting interest to people in the rest of the country. You want to think it is, knock yourself out.
Just stop whining about the nation being in peril…you wish!!