The honeybees in January

 

There are little clues lying revealingly to help us in demystification of the biggest puzzles in the scheme of nature. There is a natural art of survival without a feeling of suffering and victimization. Its protagonists are apparently subservient and soft-spoken in stark contrast to the hyperbolic obituarists who loudly shout the vainglory of struggles and mighty efforts. Like the bees in this comb.

It’s harsh cold in the middle of January. It rained overnight. Everything seems beaten and surrendered to the freezing touch of the winter that is pervading around with unsettling bravery. The honeycomb has shrunk into a tight ball. There isn’t a single movement to be seen. There is a wellspring of holism in being tightly around each other during testing times. The magisterial aura of holding each other tightly saves many against the onslaught of time. They weave a tapestry of courage and conviction to survive till warmer days are there.

The bees don’t seem interested in shifting their positions. Those on the upper side, the front guards showing arresting quality of self-sacrifice, don’t complain. It seems strictly classical. They protect those below them. They have icy dewdrops over them. The leaves are dripping with dew and mist. A few freeze to death in the line of duty. It’s almost unthinkable for we humans with our fickle emotions, stupid covetousness and base pretentions to sacrifice ourselves for a larger good. There is grace, diligence and a sense of inviolable duty among the honeybees. They stand for each other. The March sun is just a month and half away. A juicy spring awaits them. Then it will be a happily buzzing place.

After being sunless for a few frozen days in January, you actually come to feel the orgasmic pleasure of the butter melting in the pan as the sun suddenly comes up and the frozen cells of your existence melt and come back to life again with the warm touch of life.

In the little clump of trees in the courtyard, a dainty oriental magpie robin retires for chilly nights. At dusk it lets out a sawing shrrrr call, the notes confidently full of inoffensive mischief, as if warning other birds about not barging into his home tree.

I have put a clay pitcher’s neck-ring on the fence wall. It serves as a nice clay basin for putting millets for the hundreds of sparrows that roost in the nearby trees at night. They flock around with enduring versatility. Some are brooding, others are peppy. Their songs carrying myriad melodies. But they make a lot of noise while picking grains. A few bully ones chase away the docile ones, scattering the little grains on the ground. A squirrel is attracted by the din. She takes possession of the property. It sits right in the middle of the grains in the clay ring. The sparrows now show patience and sit at a distance—a picture of somberness and solemnity. Maybe they are curious to know how the squirrel uses her front paws to expertly chew the grains. A few of them hop onto the ground and pick up what they had scattered playfully. The squirrel is taking too much time. The bullying ones then start pecking at its bushy tail from behind to remind it that it has to move away.

Little Nevaan's world

 

Nevaan is reading a poem to his father from a WhatsApp message on the latter’s phone. His father is correcting every word the little son pronounces. Nevaan’s patience is pilfered away and he shuts him up, ‘How will I finish the poem Papa? You keep quiet and only say, “vaah, vaah!” when I read the poem!’

‘Oh, it’s Thursday tomorrow!’ little Nevaan is suddenly startled. Well, it’s the ‘thought of the day’ day during their online classes. And he thinks not so appropriately sometimes. His thoughts sometimes border on big insults for the teachers and the school. His free-spirited thoughts give him ruffled hair and angry shakings by his much-worried mother. ‘How I wish there was no Thursday and just Sunday in its place! There should be two Sundays!’ he sighs very sadly.

One day he is feeling very happy. He has had two successive nights of dreams. This elderly teacher is very strict with him during the online class, so much so that we use her as the scarecrow to deter him from his mischief. He says that in his dream he went to the teacher’s house and she allowed him to watch cartoons throughout the day. Not only that, she gave him big buckets of chocolates, cookies, noodles and pizzas also. So he ate throughout the night. Inspired by his dream, he isn’t taking her as scarecrow in real life anymore. ‘Ma’am is very sweet!’ he gushes.

In the second dream, a dolphin with a huge face becomes his friend. ‘We play and swim together. Her mouth so big!’ he says. ‘She opened it and I went in for playing. We played ludo, me and she in her mouth. We played football also. Then we ate hot-dogs, burgers and chips. Then I came out and we played outdoors. Then we both went to what is below Leh?’ he wants me to guess. ‘Srinagar?’ I propose. ‘Yes, we went to Srinagar to enjoy.’

The tale of a sow thistle

 

It’s a tale of an industrious spiny-leaved sow thistle. It may not be a scenic introduction to a garden but it piques the senses with its meticulous as well as untidy presentation. Though a herb in the scheme of nature, it’s condemned as a weed by we humans caught in a morass of radicalism fuelled by our utilitarian spirit. While the little plant stands silently engrossed, swathed in incredulous silence, its tiny flowers carry amazing lightness in smile.

The fragile furor unfolds around. Bouquets and brickbats are flaunted on the basis of what is useful and what is not. The farmers have a particular aversion to its presence in the cropped fields. An entire range of poison has been contrived to kill it. The weedicides are highly effective. You see the revealing, spectacular remains, with our triumph incredibly detailed over the withering nuisance.

The entire farming community baying for its blood, this particular sow thistle looked for a safe corner beyond the farmers’ sickle and fumigation showers. It grows there in the circular skylight at the top end of the barn’s wall. Old houses with cracks are now perhaps the last refuge of the untamed and the wild strains of nature. The winter rains lashed with a delectable flavor as the sow thistle picked out the tiny crack where the mankind isn’t still at war with space, a little crack in the small skylight.

Earlier the monsoon rains lashed. It was well sheltered and a furious rainstorm would give it just a decent amount of water. It thrived with a well-conceived and well-preserved spirit of youth. Then the winter sneaked in with its icy power-trappings. Facing south, it simply soaked tumblers of sunlight in the afternoons as the kind sun streamed from the southern side.

The entire circular skylight is now covered with its luxuriant growth. Its bluish green spiny leaves carry the aura of thinly veiled fiction, a kind of delicate balance between facts and fables. As a mark of its triumph, now it flaunts little yellow flowers that look similar to wild dandelion. There are many flat-topped arrays of flower heads that hold the prospects of a dandelion-type smile on an old, withering wall. There is still hope—a wild plant having a foothold among we humans and smiling breezily. Well, some more flowers are always good for this world.

Rain Romance in January

 

The rains of January are not so gentle reminders by mother nature that She holds far more cords in the puppet show of our existence; that all our strategizing is unreliable and dodgy. Sometimes She flaunts her robust patronage of our fates through the harshest, cruelest and darkest trajectory. The January rains may not exactly qualify to be too much on the scale of the fact mentioned above but it has enough to convey her disapproving glare.

The clouds thunder at their best with a strange creative focus, a kind of stimulating contradiction in the form of water and sizzling lightning fire across its watery bowels. It looks a strange, awesome testing ground of hatching newer possibilities.

The cold rain comes lashing. We realize our limitations and withdraw. And a few days of leave of absence by the sun makes us realize that our life is a mere gift by the sun. A brief spell of sunlight amid the entire gloomy overcast day has the power and potential to revive hopes at many levels. The loud, garish proclamations instantly take a backseat as the tiniest of a ray peeps through the clouds. Delicately flavored is its touch; everything looks energetic and inspired. And despite holding the key to our survival, the celestial torchbearer stays so unassuming and unpretentious.

The good part about January rain is that it gives a nice wash to the trees and plants. It serves a still better role. The arrogant monkeys surrender to their wet, soaked fate. The eccentric display of misdemeanors vanishes and they start behaving well. The sight of a shivering, rain-sodden monkey on a gloomy, cold January day, moving with good manners is nothing short of blissful. Their foolhardiness slowly being asphyxiated, they carry a sullen visage. They don’t loaf around. No wonder, it’s really peaceful when they sit quiet.

Three days of winter rain and their roof leaks. It never was a home, always remained a house. The father-son drunkard pair always kicked the homely foundations. Disgrace, poverty and continuous pain define their existence. And now when the roof leaks in this cold weather, the daughters of the almost ruined house get onto the roof, try to stop the leakages by putting a tarpaulin sheet as an extra protection to their depilated house. The broken house still stands because there are three lovely daughters to support its crumbling columns.

And the winter slowly lumbers on as if following a self-reflecting trail. It’s very cold. The reptiles and rodents gone very deep for hibernation in their holes and burrows. Deprived of hunting opportunities, all the feral cats have smartly ditched their shyness and come begging. They raise their tails, making purring, flattering sounds and try to rub against one’s legs. It’s a problem of plenty. You don’t feel comfortable with all the feral cats gone friendly.

Some ray of hope in the winters. The Taliban have made a slight amendment in their behavior. I take it as a welcome change. They have ordered the shop owners to behead mannequins. Well, that’s better than beheading people in real life. One little step ahead indeed. But then they follow it with a big jump backwards. They are going to have a suicide squad as a regular unit in their army. This is scary. Someone blowing himself or herself seems the worst form of violence.

Kundalini

 Allow the self to be twisted and turned as per the the divine crawling of Her grace and blessings...it will seem overbearing sometimes...sometimes perplexing to the extent of getting you to the threshold of the dark night of the soul...don't crib and complain...have faith...making is a bit challenging but all this is happening for a purpose...to make you a better version of yourself...with volition and conscious effort we can do ourselves some favor..if not, it will twist us a bit more painfully...it can't be stopped because finally we have to get into a better shape as per the laws of evolving consciousness...so smile, take a deep breath and cooperate...and always remember: There is no goodness bigger than that we spot in others. There is no bigger evil than that we generate by our own hands.

January 10

 

There are people who once lit up your life with their warm smiles. The cold, hard icicles of your life melted under their warm touch like balmy sunrays giving a kiss of life after many snowy days. Later, however far you may drift apart, they are still inseparable part of your being. Your ego may deny it on the surface but the cells in your body carry those sweet memories. They set up the tunes of an unwavering harmony below the turbulent surface having ripples of guilt, complaint, pain and anger. The fragrance lingers on with its innate modesty. A frozen current inside you that still flows sometimes under the warmth of the nostalgic strains of distant memories. Its aching beauty, its divine sadness still sometimes comes acalling to refresh and revitalize your pain-lynched present self. It always exists to define your present. Always. Acknowledging the existence of countless such sweet memories in my mind, body and spirit! With grace, humility, gratitude and love wishing the source of these sweet memories a very happy birthday! Always wishing that special someone a profound, meaningful, joyful happy birthday on the tenth of January!

The story of a mother and her son

 

Naveen Baman usually set out on his hunt for the day after touching his mother’s feet. It was theoretically a very moral-heavy schedule. Much to matrilineal delight, his father would get a patriarchal heartburn as the son won’t even look in his direction as he stepped out for a well-paid day in many senses of the term, that included apart from money—his first love—winning some affection from some fresh female in his life.

With each minute ascending into relevance, the mother would wait for her darling son to return at night to serve him dinner, however late it was. She was always there, awake and alert, like a petite watchman on duty. The blooming mechanisms of a very interesting outdoor life got him curious about liquor one day. He tasted it, found it interesting, drank then, and led by an over-zealous assertion of free spirits gulped down pegs after pegs. From the top of an oozing enthusiasm, he toppled down suddenly and was blacked out.

The moment you pass out you turn small and insignificant. With monumental presence of mind, his drinking peers left him in front of his street and vanished into the profoundly dark swathes of night. They were well aware of the fulfilling bond between the mother and the son and hence were scared of the mother’s stormy tantrums when she would see her son heaped out of senses.

Clueless about how to proceed further, he chose half of the water drain and the other half of the street to lie down and snore. The air was laden with disintegrating gloominess. Much scandalized over her son’s thunderous misjudgment, the mother arrived at the scene with a few members of the extended family to salvage her son from the clutches of the corrupt and corroded episode.

They got into the act of hauling him up. Naveen had very serious objection to this disturbance. The mother was shouting amidst a flurry of teary promos. With his few traces of consciousness still in his grasp, he made out that this old, shrieking woman was the ringleader in dislodging him from his favorite drain. ‘Bhola, give me a rope. We have to strangulate this old woman. She has too big a tongue and prattles too much,’ he yelled to his cousin brother. The mother indeed was famous for her talkative tongue.

As they dragged him to the house, he kept on shouting, ‘We have to kill this woman by hanging!’ The father looked from a distance. He felt as if his son was talking sense now, even though under the influence of liquor. But truth has to be accepted in whatever form it arrives. So he felt happy inside.

Naveen started snoring after a tornado of proclamations to get his mother hanged by the strongest rope in the house. The next day, when he got down to touch her feet she kicked him. She did it for a week. On the eighth day, she put her hand on his head. ‘You are a nice son! Devils are the ones who made you drink,’ she declared.

Natural intelligence

 

This particular belpatra tree, in   a corner in our garden, has unbelievably big, dangerous thorns, almost  two inches long and so sturdy that these can be safely used as nails plonked into wooden planks. Even standing near the tree seems so scary. Its thorny mass is sprawled over the fence wall. It’s impossible to even think for the humans to put their hands through a few boughs. It’s a fearsomely barbed fence. But cats, monkeys, squirrels, chameleons scamper through it without much concern. The birds land upon it with as much ease as they show while landing on a flower.

I see two peacocks rustle through the thorny maze almost effortlessly. Their entire bodies seem to carry natural intelligence, allowing them to go along the path of existence with amazing fluidity. We, on the other hand, have too big conscious part in our brains, which clouds our natural intelligence with fears, phobias, illusions and false assumptions. No wonder, I get a prick as and when I try to pluck a leaf from the tree. They, the rest of the non-human species, don’t bother beyond a few basic points and glide joyfully in the process of living. We humans, on the other hand, carry a huge burden of awareness that usually brings us down instead of elevating us higher.

Village of the apes

 

As the ever-effacing scythe of time reaps on, it’s no longer the same world. We have turned out to be a sensationalist species. Our riling and abrasive march on the path has forced the lesser species to go hush-hush and move prohibitively, trying to stay away from our snipes and barbaric barbs.

But our simian friends, the co-sharers of our gloriously compulsive traits, still hold out the baton from the side of the lower species. Everything from flowers to jewellery is under risk. How can things be normal with so many monkeys around? The situation is grim. Sometime in future, I apprehend a ‘Planet of the Apes’ kind of scenario.

The rhesus monkeys aren’t simply driven by instincts. They surely have a strong intent to carry out their thuggery. They love breaking, ruffling, toppling and shuffling things. To watch their misdeeds is an illustrated treat in itself. They deftly handle the myriad strands of foolhardiness to spin out most outrageous of stage scenes. Their sexuality is decidedly warped like their more evolved brethren. I see two monkeys going normally over the top of a wall. Suddenly, the one behind jumps onto the haunches of the one in front and feigns vigorous, avaricious pelvic thrusts to pacify the pangs of lust lying forever unsatisfied in the psychic realms. It’s a blatant slap on our norms. A typical tome of their mischief.

The year's last day

 

It’s a balmy afternoon on December 31, 2021. The sun-warmed moments are sleepwalking their way to a cold evening. The last hours of the year on the peripheral, marginal sprawl of another time unit readying to say goodbye. Time and its slipperiness, it elusive prowl reaping sheaves of lives with the scythe in its hand. Space and time in an emblematic tussle, laying out a well-manicured matrix of things, phenomena and happenings.

There are the thinnest sparse traces of white in the blue skies, some kind of little commas in the seamless narrative of mother existence. It turns the afternoon blaze to a kind of yellowish tinge. The sky looking down with an unpretentious grace as the earthlings’ vaulting desires hurtle up to form a cosmos of their own.

The frost-beaten trees hang there with their attitude of tortuous durability. The sparrows are engaged in sharing chatty tips. A tiny group of six or seven parrots goes with their thrilling and fascinating squawking as if discussing the seamless fabric of fruity flavors. A flock of pigeons, a few dozen of them—maybe around hundred—flies in a beautiful formation as if drawn by the smell of some unusual delights. Every time they turn southwards, their white underwings flash a silvery blaze in perfect symmetry. What a celebration of the spirit of freedom! We humans may harbor traces of melancholy but they are bidding a happy goodbye to 2021. And their formation and the flashing of the silvery underwings against the sunrays, as they dive in a particular direction, exposing the whitish underparts of their wings to the sunrays, beats any aerial show managed by we humans to commemorate our victories, national days or other landmarks in our history. It’s a subtle, simplistic saga and augurs well for the coming year. We have to hope for the better because mother nature is splashing her joy with such prominence through the emblematic agents of peace.

Sher ka bachha

 

A few weeks back, 65-year-old Randhir, a hardworking farmer, happily shared the exploits of his two-year-old grandson. The kid is surely large for his years. ‘He shakes up and bashes all the children including four-year-olds,’ he shares the proud, panoramic characterization of the upholder of his pedigree. ‘He is strong, I can see,’ the grandfather is already mulling over his future as a famous wrestler.

The kid must have felt the encouraging vibes emanating from his grandfather. But the proud grandpa should know that kids basically hone their skills—good, bad and all—within the house to begin with. So even the grizzly bear look of the grandmother, a strong peasant woman, was not sufficient to deter the little wrestler from making her the object of his fun exploits. Carrying his exploits a nice notch higher, he hit her with an iron blowpipe on her knee. It was a painful strike leaving her in an ennui and indecision whether to throttle the perpetrator or to heave him over her head and then dump as a punishment. But a crisp articulation of the intent to defend her child by the boy’s mother, herself a big woman so much so that when she decked herself for town visits she looked like a caparisoned jumbo, deterred the ageing matriarch from carrying out her intent. She went limping for many days.

‘The boy did what I always intended to do but could never do it for the plain fear of her,’ Randhir secretively mused. There have been long and sluggish decades of their matrimonial innings, both of them trying the art of scapegoating to find fault with each other in their routine farming life full of challenges at many fronts. You could sense the oppositional molecules floating in the air whenever they were together. The plain fact is that the sturdy woman, all along these years, has been strong enough to pin him down in a hand-to-hand combat and emerge winner with a clear verdict. So he is happy that his little grandson has done what he failed to do in decades.

Little did he realize that the children love to have fresher objects to carry out their commendable feats. Randhir is far away in the serene precincts of a peaceful place in sleep. Suddenly he is jolted out of his siesta by a painful strike on his head. The kid gallant is seen grinning holding the peasant’s favorite danda. He saw stars in the day forming constellations holding staggering forecasts for the lamp of their pedigree. But he somehow checked his impulse to beat the boy like a young errant colt. He closed his eyes and tried to regain his dream world.

Another strike and this time he swipes to clutch the culprit but the attacker slips away. Randhir now knows the offender has to be taught a lesson. He feigns to sleep. The fun-loving boy stealthily creeps up to him and before he aims his third strike, Randhir comes to life like an old, black panther. The little antelope is in his grasp. He picks up his chappal and gives four cool strikes at the little marauder’s bum. The boy now maintains distance and doesn’t stealthily approach his grandfather when he sleeps. He thinks his grandpa feigns sleep especially to lure him to strike and then grab him to beat him.

The hawker opthlomogist

 

The spirit of commerce is zealously relishing its sway over the modern-day mass psyche. All our passions, prejudices, pride and myriad other silent inconsistencies of our character go onto feed the spirit of the corporate operating with an officious smile, promising enduring homilies and affinities. Even the artless, hardworking rural rustic society is falling into the sheen of the corporate. There are entrepreneurs wandering in the streets, like this hawker who is shouting, ‘Get eyesight glasses. Get your eyes checked and get a number ka chasma so that you can see even an ant on your neighbor’s wall.’

Well-qualified ophthalmologists beware now. He is a small thin man with a testing kit on his bicycle. These are the times of doorstep delivery of products and services. Even the malls look like a kind of obligation now. There are so many people who are open to the idea of delivering anything from needles to road engines to your doorstep. Every street has a peasant woman selling garments and clothes apart from buttermilk and milk. One provides dung-cakes also. I recall a very kind-hearted, ever-smiling, loving custom clearing agent. Mention procuring a fighter jet to him. ‘Ho jayega, worry not!’ he is always there to help you keep your hopes alive.

Your video, my video

 As they play tera video mera video, the basic issues remain as murky as ever. To be sure the Indian political scene is hitting newer depths every passing hour. The primary issue is the safety of women at all levels: be it riots, crisis, strife, workplace, household, public places. Do they even have any shame left when the union ministers start tagging the ghastly videos of women being disrobed and beaten in an opposition ruled state? This is done to silence the critics of governance failure in Manipur? Can it be compared at all? When a Tribal woman is disrobed and beaten by some women at a market place over allegations of stealing, don't you think it's a social tragedy, a joint failure of our value system? Where is Mamta Banerjee in this? If the police and administration fails to punish the guilty then it turns an administrative failure. Or to take it even further, why wasn't a police personnel available within the seconds this happened to stop it. That much blame we can put on the Bengal government.  

To counter Manipur horror, the ruling party is citing soul chilling murder and mutilation in Rajasthan. It was a family feud. Long before the government fails to avoid such incidences, it's we as a society that have failed. Gahlaut government turns guilty the moment there is a proof of inaction subsequent to the crime. How can you even compare crimes falling in the category of abstract, sudden social failure at the level of a few people, driven to the act by a strictly personal reaction, to systematic, collective governmental failure as in Manipur. The main point of criticism in the devilish Manipur incidence is about the government not taking action for almost three months. There are proofs of it. The delay in lodging FIR and the subsequent police inaction. That's where you fail as a government. Whatever happened was unpardonable but had the BJP government been sensitive and considerate, impartial and honest, the matter should have been brought to justice. If justice had'n been delayed it won't have shaken the national conscience like it has done now. It's not only about what happens, it's also about what did the government do after the crime had been committed. And the saddest part is the tweat by the union minister about the Bengal video. Does it serve any purpose about a woman's dignity? What purpose did it serve? Did it undo the horrors of Manipur? Look at the gloat in their eyes as they share the nasty videos of naked helplessness. Just to counter the criticism over Manipur. So vindictive. Just to score political counter punch you become a facilitator of a video that tatters the modesty of a woman with the passage of each second of its going live. Stinking, mucking, horrifying sludge game. And this is the India they promised us! Just imagine their capacity and efficiency to find solutions for crimes against women: They just facilitate naked videos of women and then compare.

Chronicles of little Nevaan

 

Little Nevaan is at a temple with his Mausiji. With innocently garlanding ease, a kid has crammed many Sanskrit slokas, so no wonder he is the centre of attraction. With an acrobat’s agile leap, he jumps from slogan to slogan, garnering heaps of praise from those around. Poor Nevaan is already tired with practicing alphabets and numbers on the slate board and assembling and reading educational puzzles before coming to the temple. And now this irrational and idiosyncratic chanting by this chit of a boy. As if there is a savory slice of lime pickle in his mouth, which he likes with an impeccable and uncomplicated sense of cherishment, Nevaan tries to divert the show in his direction.

With the urgency of rattling trams and angrily hawking vendors, he recites Gayatri Mantra and Mahamritunjya Mantra. Egged on by the heady pampering of his parents, the other child unleashes sloka after sloka from his big repertoire. Coming to terms with a sense of humane realism, little Nevaan brings out the best shot in his kitty. He starts whistling. It’s his inalienable right to showcase what he considers to be the best item in his kitty. He hammers his tone to stonewall the Sanskrit slokas coming out so profusely.

Only a gentleman with silver-grey hair tries to be the solo audience to his offering. Nevaan fails to grab attention. So the other boy wins the show—prominently, purposefully and publicly. On top of it, it gets him another reprimand from his ever-correcting mama. He responds. At night, his mama opens her phone to find a notification from her Amazon account regarding a payment failure of one lakh rupees. Nevaan put an i-phone and a gold ring in the cart and made an unsuccessful attempt at payment. He knows his mom loves the money more in the purse instead of its changing forms, especially the costly gadgets.

There is a visitor at the house. He is haggling him with the question, ‘When did you come beta?’ Now little Nevaan is clueless about dates and days. It was about two weeks ago when he arrived at his maternal uncle’s house, yours truly by the way. The questioner looks serious enough to have his answer at any cost. He repeats the question a few times. ‘I came on the day I came here,’ Nevaan gives the asker a crisp glimpse of his much-sought answer.

I’m reading and little Nevaan is looking for something more substantial, a playmate. Lost in the reclusive and remote world contained in the book, I try to ignore him. He is making strange guttural sounds. ‘What is this?’ I’m forced to enquire. ‘I’m asking “What are you doing?” in Chinese,’ he enlightens me. ‘I’m reading a book,’ I reply in Hindi to his Mandarin query. ‘No, no I’m asking what are you doing in reading,’ he simplifies the query. I make it that maybe he wants to know what I’m reading. ‘I’m reading that little kids shouldn’t disturb the elders when they are reading a book,’ I try to somehow salvage my reading session. This piece of information doesn’t fit his plan at all. ‘No, no I was just asking what are you doing,’ he tries to avoid the unbecoming issue of kids disturbing book-reading elders. And before I can reply he says, ‘Ok, I see you are playing with a book.’ He continues with his strange sounds. The answer to his second main question doesn’t exist because the question itself has been wiped clean on his slate.

By the way, his mother is very happy. ‘He has started to get up in Inglish now!’ she gushes. ‘Today he said, “I’m oothing in the morning,” and last night he said, “I’m sleeping,” so that means he is sleeping in eengleesh also!’ Well, this world seems to be some primeval mother’s creation.

I’m engrossed in the miseries of the bigger world. The paper spread in front of my face carries deep and voluminous folds of activities that grown-ups are engaged in. Geostrategic wars, political brawls, diseases, killings, sports rivalries holding my attention with their clawy tentacles. I’m sitting on a chair. Little Nevaan is standing in front of me. He is a bundle of energy carrying ecumenical vibrancy and a dreamy future-map in his twinkling eyes. I’m, on the other hand, carrying a timeworn load born of weathering of long years. No wonder, our worlds are completely different.

The double spread newspaper chronicles a sage of grit and glories of the past twenty-four hours. He is staring at the full-page luscious advertisement by a global food chain. Crunchy grilled patty, juicy toasted buns and grilled burgers are presented for a child’s food paradise. A picture speaks thousands of words. He has read entire tomes by the time I finish reading a few news columns. ‘Sufi mama, why aren’t you reading? You are just looking at the a, b, c, d. Read here. Yummy yummy masala mar ke, aha!’ he informs me that he has read all the pictures and I have been merely looking at the letters in the meantime.

He has turned a big informer in the house now. The gossiping neighborhood aunties use his informing skills. ‘Don’t tell what you hear inside the house to the people outside!’ he gets a reprimand from his mother. So he decides not to inform anyone about anything said inside the house anymore. ‘Ma doesn’t call you bulldozer auntie. Ma doesn’t say that your car is khatara uncle ji. Ma never says that you beat uncle with a stick aunty ji,’ he tries his best not to divulge any secret anymore. He is very happy as he returns. ‘Ma, I didn’t tell them anything as you said,’ he tells her and expects ice cream as a reward today.

He is around three and is taken to the doctor for a routine vaccine. He howls. All his wrongs for which he gets reprimanded flash before his terrified eyes. He thinks he is getting a punishment for all those pieces of mischief. ‘Dotter, dotter, please forgive me! Maaf kar do! I will stop eating candies. I will not watch mobile. I will stop watching cartoons on TV. I will study,’ he realizes all the sins that have possibly landed him in trouble. After a long list of will-nots, he realizes his sins are too big for these promises. Then he tries to bribe, ‘Dotter, I will give you the best plane, the red fighter plane!’ The doctor is amused. ‘O really! I will take it as my fees.’ The needle goes in. A loud cry. The tone is bordered on the abusive frequency. His mother senses it. She tries to forestall it by putting her hand on his mouth but Nevaan is successful in splurging a cuss word he has caught in the streets from the mouths of older street urchins.

We buy a new cycle with side-supporters on so that he learns the art of paddling and balancing. He is serious and sullen and sits in a corner. ‘Aren’t you happy with this beautiful gift?’ we ask. ‘No, I’m not happy. Now I have to fall from it many times!’ he explains the reason for his being in sullen mood. He has seen a few little ones toppling over as they learnt cycling. ‘What gift is this? I have to fall many times to play with it. No, no it’s not a good one,’ he condemns the latest purchase.

He is getting another dose of reprimand. He has written ‘Pupaya’ on his worksheet. The last papaya he ate didn’t come too sweet. So he improvised to make it sweeter. ‘But Ma, pupaya is very sweet,’ he tries to convince her. Maybe pupaya is sweeter than papaya. But in the world of grown-ups, the helplessness to adhere to the factual correctness doesn’t leave any space for the sweetness brought by a kid by changing some vowel.

The other day, after two hours of memorizing and writing exercise, he writes ‘Grabs’ for ‘Grapes.’ His mother gets a practical clue and grabs him by head and shakes it quite forcefully to ruffle his nicely done hair. He looks shaken like a pigeon cat-handled by an angry cat. He doesn’t react, he responds. ‘Ma, you tell what is two plus, minus, multiply a, b, c, d, dog and cat!’ he yells his question.  

2024 में मुझे किसे वोट देना चाहिए?

बाथरूम में सब नंगे हैं. इससे हमें झटका नहीं लगना चाहिए. हम लोगों को उनके बाथरूम में नग्न रहने के लिए जज नहीं कर सकते। राजनीति भी वैसा ही बाथरूम है. खेल में जीवित रहने के लिए, सभी राजनेताओं को अपनी अच्छी तरह से कलफ लगी साफ खादी को उतारना होगा, इसे दीवार पर लटकाना होगा और नग्न होना होगा। अब सवाल उठता है कि क्या हमें उन्हें जज करना चाहिए. हाँ, भावी मतदाता के रूप में हमें ऐसा करना चाहिए। लेकिन हमें यह स्वीकार करना होगा कि राजनीतिक स्नान का मतलब नग्न हो जाना है. यदि आप ऐसा नहीं करेंगे तो ईमानदारी, सत्यनिष्ठा, विवेक, निष्पक्षता, नैतिकता की गंदगी आपको राजनीतिक रूप से गंदा कर देगी और कोई भी पार्टी आपको टिकाऊ नहीं समझ पाएगी। इसलिए यदि आप किसी भी प्रकार के चुनाव में मतदाता बनने का इरादा रखते हैं, तो एक आदर्श राजनेता की अपनी उम्मीदें छोड़ दें। उम्मीदें दुखों को जन्म देती हैं। और एक आदर्श राजनेता की अपेक्षा हृदय को असाध्य पीड़ा से जला देती है। स्वीकार करें कि नैतिकता, ईमानदारी, सत्यनिष्ठा और निष्पक्ष खेल जैसी कमजोर करने वाली चीजों को धोने के लिए बेचारों को बाथरूम में नग्न होकर जाना पड़ता है। यदि आप निर्णय करते हैं, तो सापेक्ष नग्नता के आधार पर निर्णय करें। मेरा आदर्श राजनेता वह है जो शॉर्ट्स और बरगद पहनकर बाथरूम के शीशे के सामने अपने नितंब हिलाता है। अर्थात्, बेशर्मी से नग्न नहीं और अपनी प्राकृतिक प्रवृत्ति तथा सशक्त निधियों से प्रेम करता है। इसलिए हमें 'सापेक्षता' से ही समझौता करना होगा।

बॉलीवुड फिल्मों ने हमें सबसे स्वच्छ खादी के तहत नग्नता की सीमा के बारे में बताने की पूरी कोशिश की है। उन्होंने समय-समय पर दिखाया है कि सबसे बड़ा गुंडा, जो परोक्ष रूप से छोटे डाकूओं की कठपुतली को सतह पर खींचता है, वह हमारा बहुत प्रिय राजनेता है। तो उम्मीदें क्यों रखें, जैसा कि बुद्ध ने कहा था।

लेकिन हमें राजनेताओं की जरूरत है क्योंकि हमारी व्यवस्था लोकतांत्रिक है। वे स्मार्ट और साफ-सुथरा दिखने के लिए कम से कम बाहर खादी पहनते हैं। दूसरी ओर, निरंकुश लोग हर समय, भीतर और बाहर बिल्कुल नग्न रहते हैं। उन्हें छवि की परवाह नहीं है. उन्हें नहाने की भी आवश्यकता नहीं होती. वे अपनी इच्छाओं, दंभ और झूठ की गंदगी से सहज हैं।

हमारा अगला संसदीय चुनाव शायद नौ महीने दूर है। तो स्वाभाविक रूप से यह प्रश्न उठता है कि देश का नेतृत्व करने के लिए सबसे उपयुक्त कौन है? खैर, हमें 'सर्वश्रेष्ठ' नेता के संदर्भ में बात नहीं करनी चाहिए क्योंकि यह हमें फिर से अति-अपेक्षाओं की चपेट में छोड़ देगा। मेरा मानना ​​है कि हमें सबसे 'प्रभावी' नेता के संदर्भ में सोचना चाहिए। तो एक मतदाता के रूप में मेरी चिंता यह है: सबसे प्रभावी नेता कौन है?

हममें से ज्यादातर लोग सोचते हैं कि हम अपनी पसंद-नापसंद के आधार पर वोट करते हैं। लेकिन यह शायद ही सच है. जिसे हम अपनी पूरी तरह से व्यक्तिगत पसंद और नापसंद के रूप में देखते हैं, वह हमारे चारों ओर घूम रहे तथाकथित हवा के जाल में घूम रही कहानियों के प्रति हमारी प्रतिक्रियाएँ नहीं बल्कि प्रतिक्रियाएँ हैं। 2014 के राष्ट्रीय चुनावों में मैंने नरेंद्र मोदी को वोट दिया। कठोरता से। अकेले। कारण नितांत व्यक्तिगत था. एक प्रतिक्रिया। हरियाणा कांग्रेस ने सिविल सेवक बनने की मेरी संभावनाओं को खत्म कर दिया था, जिसके लिए मैंने लगभग एक दशक तक कड़ी मेहनत की थी। हम ऐसी फिल्में देखकर बड़े हुए हैं जिनमें बदला लेना होता है। तो मैंने अपना बदला ले लिया. उनके खिलाफ वोट किया. 2019 के राष्ट्रीय चुनावों में मैंने फिर से मोदी को वोट दिया। लेकिन इस बार यह एक प्रतिक्रिया थी, भारत को एक प्रभावी, मजबूत, नेक इरादे वाले राष्ट्र के रूप में उनकी ब्रांडिंग के आधार पर उनके नेतृत्व गुणों की एक सोची-समझी प्रतिक्रिया थी। बेशक उनके मजबूत, प्रभावी नेतृत्व में भारत का कद कई पायदान ऊपर बढ़ गया है।

2019 और 2023 के बीच मां गंगा पर राम झूले के नीचे बहुत सारा पानी बह चुका है। मुझे 2024 के राष्ट्रीय चुनावों में किसे वोट देना चाहिए? हरियाणा में राज्य कांग्रेस सरकार के हाथों पीड़ित होने की मेरी भावना अब बहुत पुरानी हो गई है, वास्तव में अठारह साल पुरानी है, जिसने मुझे आवेगी बना दिया है, राजनीतिक रूप से प्रतिशोधी बन गया हूं और केवल एक छोटे से प्रतिशोध के रूप में अपना वोट डाल दिया हूं। स्वीकृति और क्षमा दशकों बीतने के साथ आपकी अंतरात्मा में जड़ें जमा लेती हैं, जैसे प्रकृति भूमि के एक खाली भूखंड को पुनः प्राप्त कर लेती है। दूसरी ओर, पिछले चार वर्षों की घटनाओं, उतार-चढ़ाव के कारण मोदी की राजनीति कौशल पर प्रारंभिक उत्साह भी कम हो गया है।

भ्रष्टाचार, भाई-भतीजावाद, सत्ता का दुरुपयोग, निरंकुश अहंकारवाद और बाकी विकृतियों जैसे मुद्दों के आधार पर स्पष्ट रूप से बात करें तो भाजपा इस समय कांग्रेस का ही एक संस्करण है। यदि आप एक राजनीतिक वाशिंग मशीन स्थापित करते हैं जिसमें तुरंत सफाई करने और एक शुद्ध, राष्ट्रवादी भाजपा राजनेता के रूप में पंजीकृत होने का खुला निमंत्रण दिया जाता है, तो आप भ्रष्टाचार पर किसी को कटघरे में कैसे खड़ा करेंगे? यह इतनी तेजी से हो रहा है कि कोई इसके बारे में बहस भी नहीं कर सकता। यह बहुत स्पष्ट है. निरंकुशता के अचूक संकेत हैं, विपक्षी नेताओं के खिलाफ केंद्रीय एजेंसियों द्वारा शक्तिशाली का दुरुपयोग, सत्ता और धन का लॉलीपॉप देकर क्षेत्रीय दलों का अनैतिक विघटन, नफरत भरी बयानबाजी के माध्यम से सांप्रदायिक आधार पर समाज का विभाजन, क्रोनी पूंजीवाद और बहुत कुछ।

यदि एजेंडा पूरी तरह से किसी भी कीमत पर सत्ता से जुड़े रहने पर केंद्रित हो जाता है तो आप उस विपक्ष का एक पहचानने योग्य संस्करण बन जाते हैं जिसके खिलाफ आप लड़ रहे हैं। ऐसे कई लोग हैं जो मुझसे कहते हैं कि आज की भाजपा इंदिरा की कांग्रेस के समान दिखती है। अपनी लड़ाई में अपने प्रतिद्वंद्वी की तरह क्यों बनें? क्या कोई रास्ता नहीं है?

आरएसएस ने अपनी राजनीतिक शाखा के लिए चमत्कार किया है। लेकिन किसी चीज़ को अति करना भी एक चीज़ होती है। उन्होंने राष्ट्रवादी बयानबाजी का तूफान खड़ा कर दिया, जिसने भाजपा को सत्ता में पहुंचा दिया। लेकिन यह विचार करने का समय है. क्या तेजी से बदल रहे भारत में सत्ता में आने के लिए सांप्रदायिक बयानबाजी और विभाजनकारी एजेंडा पर्याप्त है? नारे, चीख-पुकार, पिछले अत्याचारों, लिंचिंग, देशभक्तिपूर्ण गुंडागर्दी के बारे में भड़की भावनाएं मूल रूप से अर्ध-साक्षर, अकुशल, लगभग चौथाई-अपराधी (यदि अधिक नहीं) युवाओं को आकर्षित करती हैं, जो छोटी-छोटी बातों पर सड़कों और सोशल मीडिया पर उतर आते हैं। उनमें आपकी लोकप्रियता भविष्य में आपकी सफलता की गारंटी नहीं है। इसका सीधा सा कारण यह है कि जैसे-जैसे भारत आगे बढ़ेगा, यह वर्ग अपनी संख्या खोता जाएगा। हमारे पास अधिक शिक्षित, कुशल, शहरीकृत, महानगरीय युवा होंगे। शिक्षित, कुशल, नेक इरादे वाले लोग ही भविष्य हैं। उनकी संख्या बढ़ेगी. और ऐसे लोग सांप्रदायिक प्रतिशोध की भावना से चिल्लाते हुए उग्रता नहीं बरतते। उन्हें कामचलाऊ मुद्दे चाहिए. इसलिए आरएसएस को बहुत सारे पुनर्विचार करने होंगे। सांप्रदायिक बयानबाजी को कम करने के लिए। इसकी मशीनरी में बहुत तेज़ धार्मिक बिंदुओं के किनारों को कुंद करना। समावेशी होना. एकीकृत होना. क्या राष्ट्रवादी होने के लिए वास्तविक और कथित शत्रुओं के विरुद्ध सदैव चिल्लाते रहना आवश्यक है? मुझे हिंदू होने पर गर्व है. लेकिन मेरा प्यार और मेरी आस्था की ताकत किसी दूसरे धर्म के प्रति नफरत पर निर्भर नहीं है.

अब सवाल यह उठता है कि 2024 के राष्ट्रीय चुनाव में मुझे किसे वोट देना चाहिए? मेरा एक बड़ा हिस्सा मुझे मतदान से दूर रहने, चुनाव के आह्वान को पूरी तरह से अस्वीकार करने के लिए प्रेरित करता है। लेकिन यह बहुत आवेगपूर्ण लगता है, आस-पास की घटनाओं पर एक प्रतिक्रिया। एनटीए (उपरोक्त में से कोई नहीं) बटन दबाना थोड़ा अधिक विचारशील विकल्प लगता है। मेरा स्थानीय सांसद एक पूर्व कांग्रेसी है जो चालाकी से भाजपा में शामिल हो गया और मोदी लहर में जीत गया। प्राथमिक तौर पर मेरी चिंता उन्हीं को लेकर होनी चाहिए क्योंकि वे हमारी आकांक्षाओं के प्रतिनिधि हैं। लेकिन एक कांग्रेसी के रूप में उन्होंने हमें विफल कर दिया। वह अलग टैग के साथ कैसे पास हो सकता है? और फिर से मोदी लहर के चलते उन्हें वोट देना आवेग में आकर भगदड़ में फंसना होगा। मुझे किसे वोट देना चाहिए? उपरोक्त तथ्यों के आधार पर मुझे कोई उत्तर नहीं दिख रहा।

इससे मेरे सामने थोड़ा और वस्तुनिष्ठ प्रश्न खड़ा हो गया है: भारत का नेतृत्व किसे करना चाहिए? मेरे अत्यंत व्यक्तिगत आवेगों, पसंद-नापसंद से परे। और मुझे लगता है कि नाम मोदी है-हालांकि थोड़ा दुख है क्योंकि हमारे पास शायद ही कोई विकल्प है।

मैं राहुल गांधी के लिए खुश हूं. कम से कम वह चापलूस मंडली से बाहर आ गए हैं और असली भारत का एहसास करने के लिए जाग रहे हैं। वह पहले की तुलना में अब कहीं अधिक प्रभावी नेता हैं। व्हाट्सएप यूनिवर्सिटी जो उन्हें चिढ़ाने के लिए व्यवस्थित रूप से पाठ्यक्रम तैयार करती है, उसे अब पुनर्विचार करना चाहिए। लोगों को इसके बारे में पता चल गया है. प्रत्येक वर्ष बीतने के साथ वह और अधिक प्रभावी नेता बनेंगे और मुझे उम्मीद है कि वह किसी दिन भारत का नेतृत्व करेंगे।

मोदी एक बड़ा अंतरराष्ट्रीय ब्रांड हैं- यह उनकी अपनी करिश्माई वक्तृत्व कला, व्यक्तिगत ईमानदारी और अलौकिक स्मृति के साथ-साथ ब्रांड मोदी को चमकाने में खर्च किए गए भारी संसाधनों का परिणाम है। यह पहले से कहीं अधिक वैश्वीकृत दुनिया है और किसी नेता की अंतरराष्ट्रीय छवि की राष्ट्रीय नियति को आकार देने में बड़ी भूमिका होगी। ब्रांड मोदी के दस साल निर्विवाद रूप से हमें अगले पांच वर्षों तक अंतरराष्ट्रीय लाभ दिलाते रहेंगे। उनके पास महामारी, अंतरराष्ट्रीय युद्धों और भू-रणनीतिक बदलावों के सबसे कठिन दौर में देश का नेतृत्व करने का अनुभव है। वह सीमाओं के बाहर भारत के लिए सर्वोत्तम ढाल हैं।

यह हमें आंतरिक स्थिति में छोड़ देता है जो मुख्य रूप से इन दिनों मुझे बहुत परेशान करती है। सांस्कृतिक और राष्ट्रवादी संगठनों की चरमपंथी खुजली - जो दीर्घकालिक सामाजिक खतरों की कीमत पर तत्काल राजनीतिक लाभ प्राप्त करती है - बहुत मजबूत नेताओं के नेतृत्व वाले उनके राजनीतिक विंग के शासन में बहुत अधिक प्रकट होती है। सांप्रदायिक शत्रुता को ताज़ा करने के लिए अतीत को उजागर किया जाता है। यह वोट तो देता है लेकिन देश के विकास को रोकता है। यह पैरों में बेड़ी का काम करता है। चौबीसों घंटे आग की लपटों को जीवित रखने, प्रतिकार करने और जवाबी हमला करने में बहुत अधिक समय, संसाधन और ऊर्जा खर्च की जाती है। अधिक सकारात्मक, सकारात्मक रणनीतियाँ हो सकती हैं। वही, सदियों पुरानी फूट डालो और राज करो की रणनीति का उपयोग क्यों करें। नवप्रवर्तन करें और इससे बाहर आएं। क्या आप दुनिया की सबसे बड़ी राजनीतिक पार्टी नहीं हैं? क्या आपसे यह अपेक्षा नहीं की जाती है कि आप हमें लगातार कान पकड़कर रखने और अतीत से सबक सीखने के बजाय 21वीं सदी के मुद्दों के आधार पर जनता का ध्यान आकर्षित करेंगे? सनातन धर्म परिवर्तन को स्वीकार करता है, चिंता न करें। यह आपकी वैचारिक पुस्तकों में भी आधुनिकतावादी परिवर्तनों को स्वीकार करेगा, निश्चिंत रहें। यहीं आप उन लोगों से अलग हैं जो अभी भी सदियों पुरानी रेखाओं पर कायम हैं।

एक राजनीतिक मजबूरी सांस्कृतिक और राष्ट्रवादी संगठन की चरमपंथी प्रतिभाओं को वश में कर सकती है। गठबंधन सरकार ही इसका उत्तर है. एक सरकार अपने गठबंधन सहयोगियों के समर्थन पर टिकी हुई है। एक सरकार ने बहुत मजबूत विपक्ष द्वारा धक्का दिया और जाँच की और संतुलित किया। मेरा मानना ​​है कि मामूली बहुमत वाली गठबंधन सरकार का नेतृत्व कर रहे मोदी देश के बाहरी और आंतरिक लाभ के लिए सबसे उपयुक्त हैं। मैं जानता हूं कि वे विपक्षी दलों के सांसदों को तोड़ने की कोशिश करते रहेंगे। यह अब तक एक अच्छी तरह से स्थापित आदत है। अपने वंश को अक्षुण्ण बनाए रखने की जिम्मेदारी प्रतिद्वंद्वियों पर है।

मेरी विनम्र राय है कि आराम, निरंकुशता और अहंकार से परे, मोदी के नेतृत्व वाला एक इंद्रधनुषी गठबंधन भारत के लिए सबसे उपयुक्त है। विपक्ष तुच्छ धक्का-मुक्की नहीं करेगा। मीडिया में तथ्यों को प्रस्तुत करने और स्वस्थ राजनीतिक बहस में शामिल होने की हिम्मत होगी। अल्पसंख्यकों को कुछ भरोसा मिलेगा कि उनकी पार्टियों के पास संसद में उनके मुद्दों को प्रभावी ढंग से उठाने के लिए कुछ संख्याएँ हैं। संघपरिवार थोड़ा नाराज़ होगा और अतिसक्रिय होने और वही पुराने नारे लगाने के बजाय शांत रहेगा, जिन्होंने हमारे कानों में छेद कर दिया है। सरकारी एजेंसियों का नेतृत्व सरकार द्वारा किया जाएगा लेकिन सर्कस शो की तरह दिखने की हद तक हेरफेर नहीं किया जाएगा।

अतिभारित राष्ट्रवादी अंधराष्ट्रवाद और अपने संरक्षक संगठनों की अवास्तविक अपेक्षाओं से मुक्त होकर, श्री मोदी के बेहतरीन नेतृत्व गुण राष्ट्रीय और अंतरराष्ट्रीय स्तर पर चमकेंगे। हम सभी उस गति को महसूस कर सकते हैं जो बनी है और चाहते हैं कि इसे सुपर अंधराष्ट्रवाद के बिना जारी रखा जाए जो स्वाभाविक रूप से एक अटल बहुमत द्वारा पैदा किया गया है। मैं जानता हूं कि यह आदर्शवादी लगता है लेकिन मुझे ऐसे परिदृश्य की आशा क्यों नहीं करनी चाहिए अगर इससे मुझे लोकतंत्र और चुनावों में अपना विश्वास बनाए रखने में मदद मिलती है?

तो प्रिय पाठकों, मैं 2024 के राष्ट्रीय चुनावों के लिए अपनी राजनीतिक पसंद तय करने के बहुत करीब पहुँच गया हूँ। हर चीज़ को उजागर नहीं किया जाना चाहिए. यह कठिन समय है, इसलिए थोड़ा चालाक लोमड़ी की भूमिका निभाते हुए मैं अभी भी हरियाणा राज्य विधानसभा चुनावों के लिए अपनी पसंद को गुप्त रखूंगा। मैं जानता हूं कि मैंने व्यक्तिगत राजनीतिक पसंदों को गहराई से व्यक्त किया है। लेकिन अगर आपके पास देश के लिए सबसे प्रभावी नेता चुनने की जिम्मेदारी है तो गोपनीयता क्यों बरतें? और हमेशा याद रखें, देश के लिए सबसे प्रभावी काम व्यक्तिगत आवेगों, पसंद-नापसंद से ऊपर होना है।

मेरे लिए लोकतंत्र का अर्थ देश के लिए सबसे 'प्रभावी' नेता चुनना है। यह कभी भी हमारी पसंद, नापसंद, अपेक्षाओं, सुरक्षा, असुरक्षा के अनुसार 'सर्वश्रेष्ठ' नेता के बारे में नहीं है। मुझे लगता है कि राष्ट्रीय चुनावों में हम अपने लिए नहीं बल्कि देश के लिए चुनाव करते हैं। मेरी व्यक्तिगत पसंद और नापसंद स्थानीय चुनावों के लिए अधिक उपयुक्त हैं। मेरे पास पुलिस कार्रवाई और उनके अनुयायियों के गुस्से की कीमत पर, मेरे हितों के खिलाफ काम करने वाले एक सरपंच चुनाव उम्मीदवार पर भैंस के गोबर का ढेर फेंकने का पूरा अधिकार है। वहां यह प्रत्यक्ष है. इसे सीधे समीकरण रखने वाले दो लोगों के बीच एक आवेगपूर्ण लड़ाई होने दें। आप भगवत गीता के श्लोकों से ऐसे कार्य के लिए साहस प्राप्त कर सकते हैं।

लेकिन राष्ट्रीय चुनावों के लिए हम राष्ट्र के लिए चुनते हैं। क्योंकि पीएम ने मेरी भैंस नहीं चुराई है और न ही उनके कार्यकाल में ऐसा होने की संभावना है.' तो जब वह मुझे जानता ही नहीं तो मैं उसका दुश्मन क्यों बन जाऊं? किसी व्यक्ति और प्रधानमंत्री के बीच समीकरण में लागू होने वाला एकमात्र कारक देश के प्रमुख और नागरिक की संवैधानिकता है। बिल्कुल कुछ और नहीं है. इसलिए देश के लिए चुनें क्योंकि आप वह देश हैं। जैसे बूंद ही सागर है।

इस पैमाने पर मैं खुद को आवेगों, सनक और सनक के आधार पर नफरत के नारे लगाने वाले किसी भी कागजी शेर, इंटरनेट देशभक्त से कहीं अधिक बड़ा राष्ट्रवादी पाता हूं। सिर्फ इसलिए कि मैं अन्य धर्मों से नफरत नहीं करता, इसका मतलब यह नहीं है कि मैं तथाकथित धार्मिक-सांस्कृतिक-राष्ट्रवादी संगठनों के कार्यकारी अध्यक्ष धारकों की तुलना में कम सनातनधर्मी हूं। मैं जो हूं उस पर मुझे गर्व है। और मैं अपनी राजनीतिक पसंद को लेकर आश्वस्त हूं।