Gorgeous Disaster

Mrs. Flood uttered with terrible flamboyancy that they were touring Spain this year, and added to it imprudently that the previous summer vacation had been a kind of a sheer waste, since Barcelona was too very gloomy and serious to be a vacation spot that is supposed to be ideal for merry making, as she had felt; an old intelligent lady, her next-door neighbor, grinned and asked if Geography used to be a part of her course in her school days...

Well, we have just celebrated the 61th Independence Day and that was followed by some stunning and long awaited performances at Beijing, but all were evanescent; 'show time over' and we have got ourselves inclined back to the Singur~Tata conflict, trains have once again started going derailed and looting, arson have regained the reputation of almost regular affairs, not at all a wonder, after all we are driven by folks like Mrs. Flood, who happens to be striving for her PhD!

Sky scrapers and high rise buildings dot the landscape in the present scenario, we live in an age when humbleness, loyalty, simplicity and related nouns have lost their essence; a bit of idiocy amalgamated with worthless pride(in ignorance) is what one requires to bear the badge of the era on her shoulders. It seems we have learned everything, without having learnt the meaning of learning.

When Rushdie celebrates the launch of The Enchantress of Florence, there aren't many to participate in his frolic but as soon as he gets over his plans for the 4th marriage, we have newspapers and magazines blooming with his close-ups on their cover pages, this is what our learned men have always indulged in, the basic ideology hasn't changed much though scores of years have passed, it was the same with Solzhenitsyn when August 1914 had been brought to the market, the nation pounced on the poor wretched man, only because he hadn't compromised(even a bit) with what he had actually felt with the inauguration of the World war.

The property of oscillation fits better for the masses than the laboratory pendulum, they are always in a puzzled stature of mind, not really concerned with anything, but for the sake of their beggarly prestige (that is dangling in the middle of a chain built by puny, apocryphal strings of sincerity) and can get fragmented any moment, Sydney Porter had written this decades ago, what an unnatural analytical power, he had been blessed with.

I could have been brought up in an India which would be a glowing script of success and approbation, had my people known to live and love, alas they have somehow altered the word and have made it all the more vile; I presume, this is only the forecast, perhaps we still have time to save a gorgeous disaster heading our way.


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