Today’s fashion update: I’m highkey in love with the Pashmina that Mr Thesaurus flexed today; not to mention the BVLGARI overcoat that Madam Motormouth minked. But that LV belt.. dude! That was legit show stealer, the leather stripe that Mr Thakkar tried hard, yet failed miserably at hiding. The fellow had just delivered his speech on using all things ‘swadesi’.
Boy! My premises are lit, won’t you say?
Just a few days ago our FM made headlines. For her Kanjeevaram saree. The common people of India, anyway give zero Fs and care two cents for the nation’s economy. They are like those housewives who are cool with being beaten, lied to, manipulated, their self-esteem trampled on; as long as they are ‘provided for’.
Bruhh.. let me not deviate and sound like a preacher. They are anyway, being framed in some files for all janky reasons these days, I hear.
So, they tell me I was founded by some Duke of Connaught in 1921. That poor firangi ‘couldnot’ estimate the capability of Indians to multiply at rocket speed in the times of yore. With each passing year I was becoming more and more populated and congested.
But back then, my halls used to have enough room for disagreements between the ruling parties and the oppositions; my corridors would accommodate so much reverence and courtesy among the members. My premises used to hold so much significance for meaningful talks, debates, even arguments on country’s internal and external issues, its welfare, its safety, integrity, and priorities. They would come clad in coarse whites, beiges, greys, and with their chisels and hammers of intellect, earnestness and loyalty for their country, carve its constitution; bit by bit.
Hey, they still sit together as friends and family. In my canteen area. Don’t let their uproar, hurling insults towards each other’s bloodlines, origins, imported accessories, fool you into believing that they are bloodthirsty gladiators. My cafeteria is the dank spot where they spill the beans after spitting venom at each other.
I’m not being salty at all; if you have formed such an impression, let me put it clearly that after getting my ‘vistas’ expanded, ornamented and revamped a few years ago, I have received my dose of amnesia from the mighty rulers of the country.
In fact it’s a kind of enesthesia just like the much talked about, much awaited, and much fishy, boujee trade deal that we have just locked with the world’s biggest narcissist. Issues of the nation’s internal conflicts,women’s safety, deaths due to pollution, adulterated food and contaminated water, unemployment, mob lynching, communism, fascism, will all be brushed under my pretty carpets. While people of this country struggle to pay EMIs, they will still boast of their fastest growing economy. Godmen, sprouting like mushrooms will keep them entertained with everything but real spiritual lessons.
I’m also told that my architecture was inspired by the ancient Chausath Yogini temple. The temple was built to commemorate demi goddesses who represented divine energy; Shakti. What noble thought it would have been to build the temple of democracy that would always celebrate and honour divinity in humans, their faith in constitution and above all, the hope for a better and stronger nation.
Please excuse my periodic bouts of conscience.But these pangs of loss, is there any remedy to them? I mean, I feel shrunken. A gradual shrinking in morals, virtues, conduct, conscience of the policy makers that flock my interiors. This grand expansion, this refurbishing isn’t doing much help.
Do they hear me?
I feel suffocated. Just like that lad must have felt, who, along with his car, drowned in an open sewage pit in an unfortunate dark midnight.
There, she finally arrives. Those shades and those heels are fire. If you’ll please excuse me now, I have some more serious issues to pay heed to.
*****
P.s. a lot of gen z slangs have been used in the story. They all can be searched on Google for their meanings. The facts about our Parliamen’s foundation and architecture have been extracted from Wikipedia.
