Ever since our upstairs neighbour Ambujam Mami resumed her Bharata -ballet fusion dance training, I have been searching for a reason to live. And I am glad the gods have sent it my way. Talk is, based on our leader’s leadership and performance, that no one can dethrone our most beloved party. For the next 50 years!
You can’t imagine what a relief that is to those like me tortured with frequent elections, and yearn for the days of Chandragupta I (and other historical kings in SS Rajamouli movies), who planted shady trees on both sides of the road, celebrated festivals with pomp and gaiety, and showered obedient subjects with occasional bags of gold.
My plan for the next 50 years is more or less fixed now. First and foremost, I will learn Hindi. Because, very soon, from national language, it will become global language, to language spoken in the entire universe, including black holes. I will do this by binge-watching the formidable oeuvre of Akshay ‘ Desh Bhakt ’ Kumar. It will be a two- chidiyas -with-one- patthar effort because I will simultaneously be injected with a much-needed booster dose of patriotism.
Then, I will start the first of my ‘Venky Shastri Institute of Shuddh Hindi Baat Cheet’. I will be flooded with students. I will cover for the shortage of teaching staff by playing Akki Pitahmah ’s classics. I will turn the other way when students watch ‘ Tu Cheez Badi Hai Mast Mast’ .
I will simultaneously set up pakora stalls outside each of these institutes. Or, as we South Indians call them, bakoda stalls. I will then recruit my own students to be sous chefs (not to be confused with ‘ su che ?’) at my eateries. Further, the people who come to eat at my stall will be gently guided into our institutes to learn Hindi. This will create an entire student-employee-entrepreneur-triglyceride ecosystem. The refried oil that leaks out the newspaper cones used to disseminate pakoras will serve as a good example of trickle-down economics.
For relaxation, I will munch on self-made pakoras , and walk by the many, many lakes our cities will boast of soon enough, careful to avoid the intermittent mines of gau doo-doo along the walkways. Once toxic and polluted, these lakes will be rejuvenated into veritable oxygen tanks with the timely introduction of duck flatus. I will ponder deeply on the words of one of our wise men who said, “Having a role model is like a mango tree wanting to become a coconut tree,” and look forward to the predictions of another: the days monkeys, lions and tigers are installed with “proper developed linguistic capable vocal chords” in a “large-scale, super-conscious zoo-laboratory” making them capable of talking in Tamil and Sanskrit... which my students will translate into Hindi for a nominal fee.
I will finally gather the courage to reprimand Ambujam Mami and tell her to give up useless French pursuits like ballet. The French are tattletales, not like they were in the days of François Mitterrand (pronounced France bhaiMitron ). I will ask her to learn patriotic Bharatiya filmi dance moves that involve checking if the sari matches the fall, moving trousers this way and that with hands in the pocket, and oscillating towel vigorously to and fro and vice versa.
I suspect the coming half-century is going to be awesome.
Krishna Shastri Devulapalli is a satirist. He has written four books, and edited an anthology.
