This too. That too. Ivy too. Poison too. League too. Beleaguered too. Neck too. Tie too. Garland too. Noose too. Murder too. Mubarak too. Eulogy too. Apology too. Layak too. Naalayak too. Poot too. Kapoot too. Baap naalayak. Beta layak. Baap layak. Beta naalayak. All in the family. SangParivar – hum saath saath hain. There is khoon. And there is ApnaKhoon. Rishtey mein to hum tumhaarey Baap lagtey hain, naam hai ( Baap re, unka naam naa lo, Bhagwan ke waaste) Shah. OmAdyaNetwork. Rings any bell, anyone? That famous network? Check it out. Check out its funds. Check out who it funded. Check out who brought those funds. OmAdya. Layak beta. Networked. Perhaps we are getting the spellings a bit mixed up here. OmAdya? Perhaps there is a different way to spell it right. But what’s to be done? Happens. We mix up spellings. We mix up much more than that. We mix up sophistication with sophistry. We mix up Ivy and Poison. We mix up garlands with nooses. We mix up Layak with Naalayak. We mixed up hope with hype all those years ago, don’t you remember, bhaaiyon aur behnon? AchheDin!!!! AchheDinn!!!! AchheDinnn!!!! We got mixed up. It was all KachchheDin! You can at least afford kachchhe, can’t you? You get the drift, mitron, don’t you? That’s half the job done. Next term. Give him a next term, and you’ll know. Can’t you be naked for your country? Are you an anti-national? Are you really going to complain you have been stripped naked? That you have no more than a kachchha? No. Can you not see your Emperor? In his new clothes? He’s rendered himself naked too, so you can see all of those famed inches called Chhappan, no less. Behold. Flinch. Lynch. Pay your respects. Shame on you that you complain about being stripped naked. Now you know. Yes, now you know. Relax, listen to a bit of MannKiBaat, calm down. But you’d agree we do mix things up. We should not be surprised, it’s so unkind on ourselves.
Why be surprised by ourselves? Our own image in the mirror? It’s us. It’s we who did it, We The People. We are flaw abiding citizens. We are committed to our flaws. We respect them, we salute them. Oftentimes we also welcome them and garland them. This is something that has made all of Vasudhaiva jealous and envious of our Rashtra – of how sublimely flaw abiding we are. So much that Vasudhaiva pines to be Kutumbakam with us. Where will you find such a flaw abiding citizenry? So many millions that together, and with all their collective and single-minded devotion, uphold the FoolOfLaw? Such a culture. Such vultures. Such devoted contributors to RitualFunds. Sahi hai, yaar! Garlanding. Invest a few garlands, the returns will be great, have patience, have trust, it’s a RitualFund, it shall pay dividends. Check it out. Go to RitualFunds.Com. SahiHaiYaar! Mahadeb? Listening? Looking? With your shuteye or with your blistered one? See, here are differences. An eye won’t see. An eye cannot for it is a blistered eye.
There is IvyLeague and there is PoisonIvy. There is cosmopolitan party and there is a lynchopolitan party. There are bankers and there are vote-bankers. There is an eye and there is an I – a shuteye and a blistered one. Then there is sherry and there is blood. Yeh laal rang kab mujhe chhodega? When did the cocktail party end, when did the mocktail party begin? When did we lose sight of the difference between sherry and blood? Did we spill blood or was it only bloody sherry? How much? How many were they? Can’t be enough. They are too many, far too many. Go to Bakistan, or else… Raktbeej. Pogrom. Encounter. Murder. It has happened. Rampantly. Blood is on our hands, it’s just that there is no data. How many? How much? Not enough, not quite. We need more. Clean the place up, SwachhBharat ki jai!! Bring on the flowers, perfume the air. There’s still the smell of Them around, be done with them. Bring on the garlands! Naalayaks! Bring on the garlands! Forget the necktie, hand me the noose. Spill the sherry and fill the goblet up with blood. Be not mixed up, be not confused. Give me their blood and I shall give you your garland.
And put it round your neck
And tell the wide world
What the heck
It’s only a flower hurled.