The Delhi Lit Fest
I was just taking a walk down the corridors of power when I noticed a trail of detritus. Taken aback because this is an avenue that is kept spotlessly clean for the stalwarts who use it for their daily constitutionals, I was all the more shocked to see that among the filth were posters for Swachh Bharat events, obviously discarded after sweeping statements had been made about the country starting off on a clean slate. But what left me flabbergasted was that at the end of the junk trail was a mountain of muck. I noticed a couple of safai karamcharis loitering around. Of course, they were not doing their task of clearing the rubbish, or rather they couldn't, because it was fairly evident that their cleaning implements had been requisitioned for VIP duty.
When I walked towards the refuse heap at the great Delhi litter fest, I could not help but think that the dirty stuff lying around appeared so much like a pile of political promises forlornly abandoned after they had outlived their poll-time utility.
But as at every lit fest, the attraction is in reading the words that lie strewn around. When I smoothed out one crumpled sheet, I could make out that it formed part of an impassioned letter. To whom it had been addressed, alas, I couldn't make out because the winter rain had ravaged the first few paragraphs on the sheet. I could salvage only this: "It saddens me that you have accused me of being behind all the bad decisions you took as minister. But that you should be saying this is, to me, an example of playing unfair. For, when you elected me the vice-president, you were accepting that I would preside over all the vice that would occur in the party. You have no right to blame me for fulfilling the mandate you yourself gave me." If I had to hazard a guess at where this page came from, I would say it was from Eclipse INC: The Twilight Saga.
I then noticed a grandly illuminated sheet that had been signed off with an Anglican flourish. On closer inspection it happened to show a tailoring receipt. The figure 10,000 on it seemed routine, until I noticed the old-fashioned L with a bar across it preceding the number. Curiosity piqued, I looked more carefully at the paper and found the details: "One pin-striped Cashmere wool suit, with stripes embroidered to read 'I have plenty to offer you for chai-pani', chest size 42 inches." I figured the man with a chest measuring less than 56 inches who had ordered it must have worn the sartorial overture at a sit-down appointment with a top government functionary and got his project cleared with alacrity. Perhaps the page came from The Accidental Crime Minister!
Another page I picked looked like an election pamphlet. It promised electricity at half rates, water almost for free, housing at affordable prices as well as police protection for women. I couldn't be sure whether this was the handiwork of the political parties fighting to capture the capital. All the three parties are promising nothing but pani, bijli and makaan at aam aadmi prices, so the skirmish has been fierce. It's been like the climax of a Bollywood potboiler in which the policewoman orders, "Apne AAP ke havale kardo", and the hero wrongly hears the word hawala, feels insulted as a result, and fires a shot, leading to a grand melee. But I digress. The page may actually have belonged to The Oath of the Vayuputras, a reworking of the saga of wind talkers.
My takeaway from this lit fest? That the pain is certainly mightier than the word, especially the discarded one.
When I walked towards the refuse heap at the great Delhi litter fest, I could not help but think that the dirty stuff lying around appeared so much like a pile of political promises forlornly abandoned after they had outlived their poll-time utility.
But as at every lit fest, the attraction is in reading the words that lie strewn around. When I smoothed out one crumpled sheet, I could make out that it formed part of an impassioned letter. To whom it had been addressed, alas, I couldn't make out because the winter rain had ravaged the first few paragraphs on the sheet. I could salvage only this: "It saddens me that you have accused me of being behind all the bad decisions you took as minister. But that you should be saying this is, to me, an example of playing unfair. For, when you elected me the vice-president, you were accepting that I would preside over all the vice that would occur in the party. You have no right to blame me for fulfilling the mandate you yourself gave me." If I had to hazard a guess at where this page came from, I would say it was from Eclipse INC: The Twilight Saga.
I then noticed a grandly illuminated sheet that had been signed off with an Anglican flourish. On closer inspection it happened to show a tailoring receipt. The figure 10,000 on it seemed routine, until I noticed the old-fashioned L with a bar across it preceding the number. Curiosity piqued, I looked more carefully at the paper and found the details: "One pin-striped Cashmere wool suit, with stripes embroidered to read 'I have plenty to offer you for chai-pani', chest size 42 inches." I figured the man with a chest measuring less than 56 inches who had ordered it must have worn the sartorial overture at a sit-down appointment with a top government functionary and got his project cleared with alacrity. Perhaps the page came from The Accidental Crime Minister!
Another page I picked looked like an election pamphlet. It promised electricity at half rates, water almost for free, housing at affordable prices as well as police protection for women. I couldn't be sure whether this was the handiwork of the political parties fighting to capture the capital. All the three parties are promising nothing but pani, bijli and makaan at aam aadmi prices, so the skirmish has been fierce. It's been like the climax of a Bollywood potboiler in which the policewoman orders, "Apne AAP ke havale kardo", and the hero wrongly hears the word hawala, feels insulted as a result, and fires a shot, leading to a grand melee. But I digress. The page may actually have belonged to The Oath of the Vayuputras, a reworking of the saga of wind talkers.
My takeaway from this lit fest? That the pain is certainly mightier than the word, especially the discarded one.
FreeRun is a fortnightly look at alternate realities
joel.rai@bsmail.in
joel.rai@bsmail.in
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First Published: Feb 07 2015 | 12:12 AM IST