Arrogance begets chaos

I am an Indian who has lived in Delhi forever. That typically makes me a loudmouth, because I am a Dilli-wallah. It also makes me privy to two things, languages and politics. Here's a victim of the first phenomenon, that I am now in an 'asmanjas' (quandary) as to what is really happening in my country… The second is that I see things as they are panning out, which makes me wonder and consider – yeh vaakai ho raha hai (is this really happening)? Can this be true? What? Well, the simple conundrum that those who turn too big too fast have a history of turning into pathetic iconoclasts shortly after. It is playing out in India. My problem here is that the plunder is seeing innocents turn into victims. And heroes turn into idiots.

I saw and experienced this first-hand when I ventured from Delhi to Amritsar last week, when Madraasi me was informed by my theth (hard-core) Punjabi wife that things weren't too good with her father's health and his advancing age. This slight or comment by the missus sparked an odyssey that eventually turned into a crusade.

In my columns over the last almost two years, I have often sided with the farmers and their efforts to make a change against the 'teen kale kanoon' (three black laws). Very good, and very nice… But it is in victory and wins that we eventually display our real character, as did my farmer brethren over the last few days, while they returned home after slaying the demonic laws. Well, what a slaying and what a return. Wah!

Sab kele aur seb khao

This column is going to be slightly bi-lingual. I packed my Punjabi missus, a very Tamilian mother and two very adorable and domiciled cats into my car and headed for Ambarsar (Amritsar). We were in for a rude shock. The farmers returning to their villages in Punjab, the winners of this incredible new World Cup (the repeal of the three farm laws and the promise of more to come), were not just all over the place; they were belligerent and obnoxious, way beyond belief.

On a highway where I have covered 80 kms every hour for 35 years, I was stopped every 10-20 kms for 30-40 minutes. Each time, there was snaking traffic snarls that stretched for kilometers. Why? 'Sab log kele aur seb khaayenge' (everyone will eat bananas and apples). And those that don't shall not be allowed to pass. Honk your car horn and you were confronted by wannabe youthful assassins brandishing swords and kirpans. 'Kela lo. Seb lo, yah toh..' (Take Bananas. Take apples, or else). Really? You will kill me?

More miles down the highway from Delhi's incipient borders were more brethren, offering jalebis, dhudh (milk), matthi, chah and water, showering petals on us as if we had created the pullback of these laws (or caused them in the first place). I cursed through the incessant jam. My mother asked for a toilet and my cats were going meeooow, but where could I go? There were people dancing around my car, brandishing swords and lathis and swinging their hips to huge resounding speakers that my failing and flailing couldn't even begin to counter. It was first gear. Neutral. 5 meters. First gear. Neutral. It was nice.

What was nicer was that in every one of these congregations, there was heavy, very heavy police presence. What were they doing? Nothing! Many were sipping and dancing. Very nice it was, indeed, for me and the thousands of other stuck commuters. Our victorious farmers made their victory point. Salute.

Those that rule us

Arrogance and pride comes before the fall, I have stated earlier. Here's why. There are some who govern our lives that need to be mentioned. Let's talk about a minister who this week used apolitical language when asked why investigating agencies are recommending stringent and serious sections of the Indian Penal Code against his son, one who implicitly and intentionally mowed down farmers. "My son is innocent, you are framing him," he exploded and thundered in a video, while ridding the said reporter's colleagues of their mobile phones and calling them India's most favored curse word.

Wow! What followed? Nothing. Except that all of India's voluble powers remained silent, not speaking against or for him and that in itself is a story. Those dead allegedly under the minister's son's car remain dead, while he remains untouched, despite a rather transparent and duplicitous involvement in the matter. What did you learn from this lesson, little crow (apart from how to fetch water from the proverbial jug?). The caw-caw is missing. The crow has flown, after having a belly-full.

The answer is that the right to choose is being depleted beyond recognition. We now daily witness the green shoots of a new Indian media that had lost all its essentials. I have already written about this before. We have taken some solid steps toward creating what is now called our 'godi' media. What is this? Well, it is that particular part of the Fourth Estate that sits in your lap and offers lip and more extendable services, in innovative ways.

Then it was Virat

Arrogance has no sister (it has no brother either). I say this because we have been blessed with a Virat Kohli, who is now seemingly in trouble. At the cusp of a very precious series against South Africa, we have now given birth to a rift betwixt Dada, Sourav Ganguly, the sword-brandishing BCCI chief, and a Virat who is seemingly losing his ground. I do not know Virat. I do not know Sourav. I know cricket and the politics within. All we are doing is demeaning and bemoaning what could be our best cricketer ever, and forget his performance over the last few years.

Dignity has to be maintained, but that has been lacking here. So we shall now take a deep collective breath and exhale – for anything less shall be less than appropriate. Let's forget the minister's son who made an ass oh himself of global television with his limited knowledge of any language and any cricketing sensibility. In this column today, I cry for the mutilation of Indian respect and fortitude, for we are forced to pay obeisance to such jokers. And such pusillanimity actors play the lead roles in India's lead fields today, as they are the soothsayers of tomorrow.

As I said, arrogance eventually leads to rubbish.

What is the destination?

It is a dark world that we are headed toward. Forget social media and the barbs that we hide within, which is what Indians witness in their daily lives. A very progressive nation of yore is bowing at the knees and forcedly embracing mockery across the world. Somewhere, we lost the plot. The powers that be went askew in their schemes of grandeur and historical fame.

The average Indian has gone from hurrah to alas. Our daily bread is today far more important than the promise of a brighter and shinier tomorrow. And dangerously, we are burgeoning as a nation of buyers, consumers, yes, but also of have-nots, litigants and quasi-marauders, as we beat one-another, depending on cast and creed and fame, to pulp.

The author is a communications consultant and clinical analyst. Views expressed are personal. [email protected]