I have been on a blogging break, the one-off movie review or rhyme aside. It's not like I haven't been writing during this hiatus - mostly in solitude without sharing it with anyone else - a lot like the break I took from sex a little over 25 years ago.
There has been a utter lack of inspiration. This condition was exacerbated by my clarity on refraining from voicing my ideas on The Great Indian Political Juggernaut - mostly, because anything you say antagonizes at least one section of my minuscule readership, and also because *skhruff* *khuaahh* death!
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| Gilli gilli goom! |
It is mind-numbingly, nut-crunchingly suffocating. I pick up the morning paper - there he is peering through his broad glasses, gesticulating in every random way possible - a distorted victory symbol, abracadabra hand twist and something which couldn't be anything but Fleming's left hand rule (or perhaps, the 'right hand rule' in this particular case).
Then there's the folded arms guy. Come to think of it. There is a reason he is made to stand in the centre of all those people in the posters. If he were on one extreme, the advert would simply be ignored as another fairness cream campaign. Growth se no growth tak. Now in just 9 years.
Mannu ji is more difficult to escape. Even if everyone just kept quiet, you would be reminded of him.
Then there is the army of revolutionaries, or as I fondly call them, 'The Cough parade'. The perennial victims. Like that studious kid, with possible noble intent, who wanted to top the class, be class monitor and all that. Always running to the headmistress - not because he thought he deserved more, but mostly because he wanted to present the other student's answer-sheet and get marks deducted. Or, he would just put his head down and whine.
Yet, no, they are not the poorest victim of this election episode. That would be my FB Feed.
Yes. It is exciting time. It is an annoying time. It is an excitingly annoying and annoyingly exciting time.
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