The curious case of changing Times

Selective activism has been in vogue. & why not, charity afterall is only cleavage deep. That TOI, one of the least respected and most popular newspaper has learnt this over the past few days shows the way.
Keeping objectification of woman aside, we forget the objectification of humanity that this pick & choose method of activism does. A tabloid known for its raunchiness (sic entertainment) picks up an actress in a paparazzi act, and behold the nation has found a cause to take up. To add, in the free time, we get over passing all the entertainment (sic sleazy) content on whatsapp. Who anyways has heard of the widows of Vrindavan, they are the art film material anyways.
There is a reason a TOI triumphs over an Hindu - because we let it. A GK quiz question - who is Irom Sharmila? It's because only blockbusters sell - whether in films, in politics or in activism - & so do they fade out. Life as a struggle continues for the rest.
Our gods may have come from the depths of the outer space but our monsters are native & indigenous. TOI did what it does to survive, remain contemporary to its audience. This controversy besides, it will continue to do so and flourish till it decides to go the way of an idealist journalist.
It is a forgettable experience of reading about crotch, nipples and vagina in a newspaper and hopefully forgettable will be the activism around it. That TOI is the national commode daily is common knowledge, that we will continue to zoom further in the zoomed about images of cleavages is an existential (sic ugly) truth. Let Irom Sharmila be googled till then, let the widows of Vrindavan be sent back to wherever they don't belong. There is a blockbuster activism playing around now, next change will be another one. Till then, the nation wants to know...nothing.

The Midas who became the PM

Ages back, there lived a King called Midas and whatever he touched turned to gold. & yet the story didn't have a happy ending, for Midas got greedy for more and starved himself. The boon turned into a curse.

Midas is bygone but the greed lives on in many forms - of gold,  of religion, of power and more. The e new incumbent to the office of PM of India is said to have a Midas touch, hope he doesn't carry his greed. He has been the architect of a remarkable campaign that swept the Congress out of power to get a thumping majority (30% of a fractured mandate). He has also been credited for being the Champion of Gujarat and the Champion of Gujarat! In an age, where divinity has been trademarked upon, Mr. PM may give some lesser known and well-known Gods a complex in terms of the mass devotion he has generated. Rambo to NaMo to Har Har Modi, the man has assumed so many titles in his race to get to that one coveted title - of being the PM of India.

Carry on Mr. PM, for whether we are with you or against you, under your watchful eyes, we would be 'ruled' by you. But touch your heart, if it is not Gold yet, and rules us if you may, but like a 'Sevak' and not a 'Swayam Sevak'. With one stroke, you got the most decisive mandate the nation saw in decades but also its the most divisive one. You swept the marginalised (the old, minorities, outcastes, poors) aside, but do not abandon them. Because today when you grow with the majority at your command, there is a silent minority that is as human as you would have been once.

You achieved a heartless victory in more than one way. You faced hatred, but the love you got smells of poison. There is a beast in each one of us, you have managed to unleash it, now try and reign it. I do not fear your supporters, I fear for them. Their arrogance, and hatred for opposition, stems from some form of a demonic worship - don't sacrifice them at your altar.

Mr. PM, whatever the few of us might think of you, we respect the office of PM - a position you have in the past conveniently mocked at with the disgrace only an usurper can leverage. Now you sit on the chair. Embrace its dignity. I will never respect you as the person you are, however I respect the chair you hold. Do not touch it by your Midas touch.

Wave or Plague?

Let's reject Dynasty this time around. Let's reject corruption this time around. Let's reject all the adjectives by bloating them out of proportion. Bharat's Hindus have arrived, and arrived in style!
2014 has been called a historic mandate, an election never seen in decades, an expression of people's anguish against a government conveniently labelled inept and corrupt.
Was it a landslide, I beg not to differ. Was it an informed decision, I do beg to differ. I 'beg' because that's what the 'not on our side' have been reduced to. I 'beg' because, I see something my fellow countrymen, Hindus, Hindi-speaking public failed to notice.
60 years, we have waited for growth, I do not know, my memory at my age does not travel that back in time. But we believed in it. We realised we were born Hindu, and we need to be proud of the heritage. In a nutshell, modified our belief system as different from our parents or their parents before them.
Democracy became a majority rule and not a representative rule. Secularism attached itself to pseudo and communalism metamorphosed into Nationalism. Gore was either glorified or brushed aside, Hindutva was rationalised for growth.
Strategy was formalised to win the elections and not for a vision for the nation. I may crib and cry on the propaganda that swept the nation in a wave but why did we get into it surfing merrily. For all it didn't appear to be a democratically fought election but a wrestling arena where we the audience bayed for blood.
This was a bigger canvas and a dangerous one. Everything was fair and justice was the word of the meek.
We talk of a wave that was there, I fear it was Black death - a plague we the nation happily fell for. If the Parliament has the concept of collective responsibility, so should we.
I am a proud Hindu, and no one defines the concept for me. I am a proud Indian, and no one sets a benchmark for nationalism for me. As a majority, I have never felt the threat by a struggling minority. As a human being, I could never forgive the people who presided over pogroms. As a pro-developmentalist, I could never justify the concept of the greater common good.
In this new modified India, am I an outcast? When people around me, near & dear ones talk of going saffron, why do I feel alarmed? It is just a colour like green afterall.

Stray Rider

The roads is an endless darkness,

He is a lonely walker by,

A mirage here, a mirage there,

Simmering play of the firefly.

The shadow is gone,

& he is naked - under a naked sky.

There used to be here, a marketplace,

Of candles & candies and chandeliers,

The alley now haunting, looks at him,

Mad man you are, stray rider,

The time is gone long by.

My ambrosia, my poison – the rider cries,

In the hollow of the sky.

He takes his knife to stab his heart,

But it’s cold & stone beyond his strength,

The sellers come back to him,

Mad man you are, stray rider,

The dream you have to live by.