Telegraph Calcutta

So there, Forward Looking Folks

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Arrey O KyaHaiReTeraNaam! Kitney saal ka sarkar rakhhe hai hamare naam par?””Sardar, poore pachaas saal.”

” Poore pachaas saal! Ha-ha, ha-ha, sun liya! Poore pachaas saal! He-he! He-he! Ahahhhaaaaaaaaaah! Poore pachaas saal!”

Hmmm. Heard that? Folks? Fifty years, poore pachaas saal. Live with it. What did they say in them olden days? As you sow, so shall you reap. Reap it. Keep reaping. Poore pachaas saal. What did they just tell us? From Rs 70 odd a litre to Rs 80 odd a litre represents a 13 per cent drop in petrol prices. Yes. Well. Great and consoling arithmetic. Reap it. Chew it. And when you have chewed and chewed and chewed and there is nothing left to chew anymore but your fingers, you will still be chewing on it. Remember, it’s going to be a while. Poore pachaas saal. How many of us do even hope to be around?

But what a time to be around it will be, bhaaiyon aur behnon! Mahadeb, hang on, wherever you are. It will be the time of times, such as we have never ever been witness to before in all our journey from the cosmic Shoonya to here. Imagine. If the price of petrol from Rs 70 odd to Rs 80 and some more odd represents a 13 per cent drop in prices, how many percentage points would petrol prices have dropped by the time we complete poore pachaas saal? Can you even imagine?

Arrey, it will be flowing free through your taps. So free, you’ll be afraid it is flowing so free and all over. Imagine. Your kitchen taps. Or mixer-dispensers, which you will surely have by then, it’s the least you shall have. Don’t you understand, you fools? Mandir waheen banayenge. You shall have it. In your kitchens. Left dispenser for petrol, the right one for diesel. Flick one and petrol flows, flick the other and there’s viscous diesel. Promise. Oh, but in the kitchen? No. Really? In the kitchen. Tapfuls of fuel? Where we have matches and lighters, without which we cannot have fire, and without which we cannot cook? Are you serious? Taps gurgling petrol and diesel? Naa baba, naa. I can see myself and more going up in flames. Don’t want to go up in flames before the doctors have certified me to go up in flames, don’t want to do that trying to make myself a mamta suji, or nonta suji, or whatever it is called. Upma, is it? Whatever. Don’t want petrol and diesel flowing down the taps close to where the matchbox is. These folks, they’ll burn up the nation with their promises some day. Really!

Oh. So how about milk and honey? Milk through one dispenser and honey through another? That too will be in plentiful supply. Milk, because mataawill give more and more the longer she is assisted to live. And honey, because it drips all the time and incessantly from the lips of our DeeaahLeader. Mitron? How sweet! Every time he gets on stage, he sheds potloads of it, honey honey honey, so much honey it makes me feel funny: “Main aapka Pradhan Sewak hoon.” Oh so sweet, so sweet it’s treacly. Kiska sewak? Kaunsa Sangh? So it shall come to drop too, milk and honey; think of re-configuring your kitchen taps. Kahin aag naa lag jaaye, if you make the mistake of opting for petrol and diesel. The food will be hot, but then, you may end up charred, carcinogenic matter, no more.

But there might yet be protections. The streets will be voluptuous with holy dung and holy urine, mootra. Not yours, silly, that was Morarji, this mootra is shed by another for your benefit. Lotion and balsam, face-pack and body-wash. And who knows what magical properties their application might reveal?

If that doesn’t suit you, there will, of course, be alternatives available. Like the next Pushpak flight to another Nakshatra. Zoooom! And you are on Shani. No? Okay Budh. Or Shukra. Or Yama. No? Oh, Yama, not the right name or connotation. But worry not, we shall have choices. It’s only been four years and some, and we have landed in hell. There’s more to conquer, but there’s time. Poore pachaas saal. We shall rule the cosmos by then, no worries, and we shall shoot you where you choose to be shot. And these two will still be singing:

Yeh dosti, hum nahin chhorenge,

Jaan pe bhi khelenge,

Satta ke liye le lenge

Sab se dushmani.

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