The muck stops here

I ran into a gaggle of white-kurta-clad politicos, who each carried a large broom in his hand, looking the very antithesis of the black witch of popular imagination. I caught up with the conversation they were having. "… only Modiji could have come up with a such a great scheme of connecting with the people while doing something useful for the nation," I heard one say. "I am really happy to be able to do this for the party and for the country," enthused another and added, "I have been dying for years to do just such a thing." A third in the group eyed him quizzically and said, "But you could have cleaned your locality without Modiji's Swachh Bharat. Why did you wait all these years?" The ever-willing-but-only-now-active politico replied with equanimity, "Arre, Bhaisahib, earlier I would have dealt with filth and got nothing out of it, no? What's the use of doing dirty work if there is no publicity in it for me?"

As they got down to clearing a street corner of urban muck, a group of college students walked past them. When they stopped to see the politicos working to rid India of trash, one of the men in white turned to another next to him and said, "Must be brilliant students," and winked in a knowing manner. His co-cleaner grinned lasciviously and flicked his cigarette butt in the direction of the young girls. "I like the way they walk," he said, and you could almost see the trash heap of dark, dirty thoughts in his mind as his eyed lingered on the girls.

Having cleared the garbage, the rest of the cleaning brigade moved on, except the leering pair. They stood there and continued to look at the receding back of the girls. "I like the way they walk," repeated the ogler. And they would have continued to stand and stare had it not been an admonishment from the group walking ahead. "Come, let us proceed with this work, let's not waste time," cried out one elderly politico to them. "I have an important meeting after this."

"Sirji, forget your meeting, let's give the prime minister's campaign a hand. What can be more important?" remonstrated another oldie. "Modiji wants us to have a clean India, and you want to sit in meetings!"

Pals in politics for long, the man who was anxious about his meeting whispered into the other's ears. "Accha, okay, let me tell you about it. But keep it confidential, Sirji." And on seeing the quick nod of his friend, he continued, "You see, I am having some contractors over for tea. They want to discuss the new bridge project with me." There were knowing smiles all around. "So there, now you see why I want to do my duty in cleaning the country but have to leave early. Sometimes, you have to look out for your own interests too."

In the meanwhile, two others were deep in their own conversation as they used their brooms to pry out all the junk from behind the malodorous, overflowing municipal dump. "Remember, I told you about the piece of land that I had my eye on? Seems it belongs to a Dalit." His conspirator asked, "What does the man do for a living?" The land-hungry, white-clad politico said darkly, "He is a peon in the Malaria department. How do I grab that plot?" His pal obviously was experienced in handling such problems, for he brushed it off as of no importance and said, "Leave it to me. He will lose his job or he will sell you the land at a pittance." Hearing that, the land seeker's face lightened up. It now looked brighter and optimistic - like Bharat after it had been swachhified by the politicos.

Free Run is a fortnightly look at alternate realities joel.rai@bsmail.in