The Last Nail in the Coffin: The Presidency, the Iron Lady and the Meek Prime Minister

 **July 2007**

I heard somebody squirming with judgmental spasms and exclaiming, “So the last nail in the coffin has been struck in!”

And this diary entry is written on account of my discussion with him. These are predominantly the critic's views.

The scene in India, in all its aspects, has been politicised completely.

The President is now a political being, chosen through the muck and mockery of sleazy champions of political campaigning.

The more the election process becomes political, indicated by its increasing distance from consensus, the more the consequences—read the President's tenure—will become grossly, vindictively political.

Earlier, the head of state acted as an impartial check dam to the mightily gushing stream of unbridled politicians.

Now the first citizen of the land will be a tamed dam whose sluices can be used or misused to flood, or to deprive the land of water to the extent of drought.

The witty, Italian-forged Iron Lady, as the helmswoman—see how efficiently she has steered the ship from behind the scenes, so that not a single murmur of dissension and disintegration has arisen from the great jumble of interests—has added another feather to her crown of achievements.

After having appeased the Sikhs enough—the blood of Operation Blue Star runs too deep and perhaps has not yet been wiped away by the fallen Iron Lady's legacy—through the whitewashing and clearing-up job of appointing loyal Sikhs at the highest levels, she now sends another loyalist, a very staunch one, to the nation's highest seat.

The brave lady is taking revenge on all those supposedly staunch nationalists who scoffed whenever her tongue twisted towards an Indian turn instead of the Italian.

She got the job done despite a slew of allegations surfacing against the nominee.

I see the political mud being sprinkled upon the highest seat right into the next government.

If the BJP forms the next government in a year and a half, we must be prepared for the unprecedented gloom of an impeachment motion being brought in Parliament.

Whether she gets impeached or not, only the numbers will tell.

But the mere move will pull the presidency by the collar and make it look very cheap—a cheap political gimmick.

The arrogance shown by the lady captain will also give the future rulers a justification to display their own variety of political jealousy and revenge.

And in the same vein, we can discuss the Honourable Prime Minister.

The critics—this particular critic, in fact—found him poor, docile, barely audible, thoroughly academic, unassertive, uncertain, meek.

Well, the list could go on to include every term sharing some synonymity with the above-mentioned few in the vast repository of languages.

Maybe we ought to give him good marks on this account.

But then the field he has chosen to operate in—or rather, has been forced, bullied or persuaded to enter by the Italian-forged Iron Lady—is mercilessly unsparing.

Even the real highest seat leaves him at the disposal of pranks and puns.

And there are limitless ones which can be woven from the threads of such a persona.

He thus comes down to us as the meekest of meek Prime Ministers.

People do joke that even to choose the colour of his *pagdi*, he asks Madam's choice.

We wonder whether, during all these years at the helm of affairs, he has taken any decision independently.

Perhaps there is none.

So the people take pleasant jibes.

Our poor Prime Minister bears all the force as the stamp in the new Iron Lady's steely hands, while she stamps her approval upon one document after another.

What will be his fate by the time his tenure comes to an end?

We wish him the best of luck.