All you anti-nationals, cheer away. As we say in our national language, what goes of your father?
But what about people like us? We had all our hopes — not to mention, business models — pinned on Karnataka. It was to be the South’s Gateway to Rama Rajya .
But I’m not here to talk about the undemocratic way in which the enemy wrested power. This piece is more about the shattered plans of honest, hardworking, development-oriented, middle-class folk like myself. And how Nehru has to compensate for it.
Mysore Pak Name Change
Our first order of business was to change the name of that much-loved, pure swadeshi sweetmeat from that unpatriotic-sounding ‘Mysore Pak’ to the mellifluous ‘Mysore Bharat’. (For years, I have been unable to so much as sample this sweet for fear of the sour aftertaste of Jinnah.) We were to go from shop to shop, persuading mithaiwallahs to change the name, and offer them a thousand copies each of corrected menu cards at a nominal rate. (With thandai being made compulsory, of course.)
Repurposing Microbreweries
Bengaluru, as we all know, is a hedonistic city at the forefront of teaching un-Indian things to its youngsters. It is full of pubs and clubs where impressionable yuvaks and yuvatis indulge in Nehruvian vices. We were going to change that, dammit. Overnight, these pubs were to be repurposed to dispense gaumuthra . Of different vintages, in different varieties: light, strong, sparkling, Ongole and Jersey. We even had a cool name that would appeal to the youth: micro- muthraries . Sigh, foiled again.
Leader Masks
Based on market projections, we had printed lakhs of masks with the faces of our most beloved leaders. They were to be given to the general public — at traffic signals, railway stations, bus stops, funerals, etc. It was a scheme designed to be like a mini-Aadhaar. Whoever wore them, we would be able to identify as our own from 20 paces. And whoever didn’t, would be taught to sing the national anthem, off-key, with a Gujarati accent. What the panchgavya are we going to do with our stock now?
Ancient Internet
Bengaluru was the IT city of India. It has since lost its position, thanks to Nehru and his aftermath. Our plan was to bring back Bengaluru’s glory days. And how were we going to do it? By introducing Biplab Deb Model Vedic Internet. No more expensive underground cables, satellites and servers. All the IT giants would just install a puja room, invoke Devdutt Pattanaik, and internet would just appear from thin air. In the form of Goddess Lakshmi. As it did in the old days. No buffering, no payments. Just ancient bullet train speed.
Foam Lake Tourism
Of late, Bengaluru’s lakes have been doing some pretty astounding things. Like spewing froth and shooting flames. (Much like some of our beloved leaders when they are asked questions out of turn.) If you want to put a negative spin to it, yes, it is Nehru’s fault. But why not look at the opportunity here, we thought. We were to turn these unnatural wonders of faecal alchemy into amusement destinations. Voilà, foam rides, flame kayaking, fire-and-froth bungee jumps. Limitless selfie opportunities. And the much-needed tourism boost. Alas, all ruined now.
Instant ‘A’ Removal
What’s all this Karnatak-A, Kannad-A nonsense, I say? That’s not how we say it in the North. Kannad, Karnatak will do. The ‘A’s in these words are like the rose in Nehru’s buttonhole, utterly useless. We had bought litres and litres of whitener. Well, I guess we could sniff these at leisure now.
We had so many plans. Changing “Ready, Steady, Go” to “Reddy, Yeddy, Go” in all school sports events, naming each pothole after one Nehru-Gandhi family member... Sigh... All gone.
