A middle-class suburb.
7:30 a.m.
77 degrees and cloudy.
A young lad was waiting out on the grass. Waiting for change. Adjusting his glasses, fidgeting on his cellphone, hoping for the sun to not break out of the clouds soon & wishing that the clouds did not get too happy pwning the sun and over-did the favor by raining down on him – and, waiting for change.
People were slowly trickling into the center, as the morning slowly sobered up from the frigid one-eyed yawn into a mumbling Pearl Jam song.
The lad was oblivious to all this. His mind had wandered off. This was his second opportunity at letting the wheel of democracy creak and set in motion prospects of a better future. And he was feeling like a speck of dust on the wheel of change. More alone than ever.
But was he alone, really? Could he, but for those fleeting moments before the act, not feel a thousand voices coaxing him on? Could he, but for his Gears of War & NFS skills, not isolate every single voice in that melee? Yes, he could. And all of them were with him – wishing for change.
The man who lost his job because he did not support Hu Jintao as his Chairman was with him.
The guy who had been kicked out of his house because ‘The Party’ needed it for a local office was with him.
The mother whose kid had been devoured alive by dogs in the outdoor ward of a government hospital was with him.
The young lad who had lost his right to a job, because of being deprived of English as a language in school till Class VI, was with him.
The labourers and clerks who lost their jobs because they refused to go on hartal with the CITU against the 'capitalist' American owners were with him.
The lady whose B.Tech degree went a-begging because ‘The Party’ didn’t allow computers to be used in offices in the state was with him.
The farmers at Nandigram who were butchered by the State police because they “did not get with the program, bitchezz”, were with him.
The journalist caned out of Singur for portraying the establishment in a frank light was with him.
The gentleman who had been clobbered beyond reckoning because the cadres were not paid their due ‘chanda & pujo maalkori’ was with him.
The autowallahs, bus drivers, rickshaw pullers and truck drivers who had been unofficially taxed to the last penny by ‘sympathetic’ Comrades were with him.
The ‘budhhijibis’ and ‘biddojons’, who had been slandered, abused and taken potshots at because they protested against the ‘socialist, pro-people’ agenda, were with him.
The young 'Catering' entrepreneur who had been given the boot in subsidies for not entertaining the 10,000+ Brigade-goers was with him.
The son who lost his father because no ambulance reached his doorstep as a ‘bandh’/‘(strike)’ had been called for the larger good, was with him.
No he was not alone. 22 million people were with him. Wishing for change.
Admitted, the change might be small. After all, power only changes hands – and more often than not, the hands retain the hunger for it, along with a wry, disdainful disregard for any moral or ethical accountability to the electorate. But even a small change can unsettle the big fish.
And the lad has had a good premonition that the Bong electorate might fry a lot of fish this time. Big, small and the others.
A middle-class suburb.
7:45 a.m.
77 degrees and cloudy.
A young lad is walking out on the grass. Waiting for change.
He knows it is not long now…..
7:30 a.m.
77 degrees and cloudy.
A young lad was waiting out on the grass. Waiting for change. Adjusting his glasses, fidgeting on his cellphone, hoping for the sun to not break out of the clouds soon & wishing that the clouds did not get too happy pwning the sun and over-did the favor by raining down on him – and, waiting for change.
People were slowly trickling into the center, as the morning slowly sobered up from the frigid one-eyed yawn into a mumbling Pearl Jam song.
The lad was oblivious to all this. His mind had wandered off. This was his second opportunity at letting the wheel of democracy creak and set in motion prospects of a better future. And he was feeling like a speck of dust on the wheel of change. More alone than ever.
But was he alone, really? Could he, but for those fleeting moments before the act, not feel a thousand voices coaxing him on? Could he, but for his Gears of War & NFS skills, not isolate every single voice in that melee? Yes, he could. And all of them were with him – wishing for change.
 |
| Vote an Idea, Sirjee! |
The man who lost his job because he did not support Hu Jintao as his Chairman was with him.
The guy who had been kicked out of his house because ‘The Party’ needed it for a local office was with him.
The mother whose kid had been devoured alive by dogs in the outdoor ward of a government hospital was with him.
The young lad who had lost his right to a job, because of being deprived of English as a language in school till Class VI, was with him.
The labourers and clerks who lost their jobs because they refused to go on hartal with the CITU against the 'capitalist' American owners were with him.
The lady whose B.Tech degree went a-begging because ‘The Party’ didn’t allow computers to be used in offices in the state was with him.
The farmers at Nandigram who were butchered by the State police because they “did not get with the program, bitchezz”, were with him.
The journalist caned out of Singur for portraying the establishment in a frank light was with him.
The gentleman who had been clobbered beyond reckoning because the cadres were not paid their due ‘chanda & pujo maalkori’ was with him.
The autowallahs, bus drivers, rickshaw pullers and truck drivers who had been unofficially taxed to the last penny by ‘sympathetic’ Comrades were with him.
The ‘budhhijibis’ and ‘biddojons’, who had been slandered, abused and taken potshots at because they protested against the ‘socialist, pro-people’ agenda, were with him.
The young 'Catering' entrepreneur who had been given the boot in subsidies for not entertaining the 10,000+ Brigade-goers was with him.
The son who lost his father because no ambulance reached his doorstep as a ‘bandh’/‘(strike)’ had been called for the larger good, was with him.
No he was not alone. 22 million people were with him. Wishing for change.
Admitted, the change might be small. After all, power only changes hands – and more often than not, the hands retain the hunger for it, along with a wry, disdainful disregard for any moral or ethical accountability to the electorate. But even a small change can unsettle the big fish.
And the lad has had a good premonition that the Bong electorate might fry a lot of fish this time. Big, small and the others.
A middle-class suburb.
7:45 a.m.
77 degrees and cloudy.
A young lad is walking out on the grass. Waiting for change.
He knows it is not long now…..
an extremely biased write up!!!!
ReplyDeleteWow...!! Did not know u were so Go Green!
ReplyDeleteCompletely blasted some people off the map :P
ReplyDeleteJust read it. Its excellent!!
ReplyDeleteDramaaa !! You should try bollywood script writing!
ReplyDeletehw cum he knows its nt long??...joined hazare grp?...lol..jokes apart...gr8 compilation of all angry bruised hearts yet still waiting...
ReplyDeleteA wind of change flows softly across the grass, brushing past the young lad and giving him momentary hope in the sea of madness
ReplyDeletevery true actually...and nice too...well done..
ReplyDelete"Poribartan" Poribartan".....
ReplyDeleteread it. great. go green as much as you can. Its good for our state's health
ReplyDeletethis writeup should not be confined solely to this blog... needs greater attention to bring the desired change that we are all waiting for.... well written..
ReplyDelete