Ekyimo Shitirie
Who says the seat of the chief minister doesn’t come cheap? Show me a man who doesn’t hesitate to strike a cheap low blow and I’ll show you a man knocked off the seat and sent flying. When the cheapo gets the hots for the hot seat he needs merely pull the rug. Whoosh! – in the blink of an eye the bottom drops out of the seated man. A quick and dirty installation follows even as the dazed and falling man is still in the air. Now, that’s cheap.
It takes some strength to pull the rug. The strength comes from some number in an idea called democracy. This democracy is given to different understandings; some call it democrazy, others call it kleptocracy - the sphere of the kleptomaniacs in which they operate and steal the show. And believe me, this is the inescapable truth - you and I are subjects!
The numbers, like sub-atomic particles, are in a constant state of agitation. They combine or pull away from each other at will and in unpredictable ways, sometimes giving shape to a hulking figure called opposition-less apparatus and sometimes splitting down the middle and then individual numbers going any which way. Thud or bang. Some people just love to play Russian roulette.
Dark energy control and define the murky world of kleptocracy. The scion of kleptocracy, clothed in greed and powered by dark energy, rose to rule this arcane world. Did I say greed? Oh yes, that’s the enduring weakness and depravity of man, made manifest by dark energy. Nothing less than the top job could appease the greed of the head kleptomaniac.
At the dawn of the coalition era there was a nebulous community called Dan. A semblance of peace prevailed for thirteen earth years until the dark energy prompted the community leader to seek new frontiers and broaden his horizon. The elders told him not to go but he couldn’t be restrained. He had worked hard to build an empire and wanted to crown it with one last colony. His objective was to terra form and colonize a distant planet among a galaxy of MPs. He fashioned a CM out of some rugged politico-man, handed him the power and left. But things turned out terribly wrong. His expansionist policy backfired. Leaders of inhabitants of quadrant NE rose with objection to his selection as master of the colony as he had infringed on others’ territory and clashed with followers of the masters of the galaxy. How could someone who had hit where he shouldn’t have be made the master of a planet? He could stay but he as the master of the colony wasn’t to be. He wanted to come back. Earth control communicated to him otherwise. But he would have none of earth control’s nonsense and thus the conflict ensued.
It was speculated that the swashbuckling voyager, whose middle name could well be “Comeback”, engineered dissent, split, revolt and showered negative energy on Dan. So that he might come back! Split and bond, couple and uncouple, bed down with a stranger one night and wring his neck on the next, juggle the numbers. Can you trust anybody in kleptocrazyland?
Mr. Comeback thinks, so they say, the way to a CM seat is through a CM created by him. Create a CM first and then take him by the back of his collar between your thumb and finger, lift him off the seat and … sit on it yourself. Bingo! You are the new CM.
A created CM, though, once seated squarely on the hot seat, is melded to it by a process called “taste of power”. He wouldn’t budge. He is no longer the pliant clay; he claims himself to be a potter. Yet big brother CM creator is watching like a hawk. Some speculate it’s a matter of time. You know, it’s a dog eat dog world. And it’s perfectly legal, sworn by the book called constitution.
Did Mr. Comeback cheapen the seat by going away when he did? Yes, say some. No, say others because bigger is always better and you don’t cheapen the smaller by wanting the bigger. Again, it’s perfectly lawful to want to have the seat. So the seat remains in perpetual state of contention.
Greed isn’t the only motivation incited by dark energy. Fear is also one. Fear of being found out where you were sitting, fear of where you went, fear of what you brought, fear of what you took, fear of what you gave and to whom, fear of tweeting teenagers, fear of WhatsApp, fear of making the headlines, fear of acronyms such as CBI, NIA, etc, fear of confined spaces, fear of four steep walls and a single high window, fear of everything.
They might start fearing a piece of rock. Well, some people have unusual fears and it’s for the silent majority to understand them. But why do they want the hot seat when they are afraid? Hey, don’t start it. But then, well, you already knew it.
One day, when the people rose against the voyager’s creation for “betrayal”, the community was forced into action. The seated man must get up and go, to a designated corner. They then cast a lot to find the man who should sit on the seat. The lot fell on the elder man among them, almost by default. The outcry went silent. Days passed into months and one day some of them, including the created dynamo, developed a strong sense of fear. Added to the grip of fear was greed. “This is the right time”, they said among themselves. Silence of the people was also construed as a past act forgotten. Created dynamo’s partners in fear fanned the flame of fear and together they approached the man in the seat to forget any dealings with acronyms. “Clean” said the man on the seat. “Consider our fears”, said the fearful lawmakers. “Hmm, we need to be clean”, said the seated man again. “The man is a fink, he’s bullheaded”, said the trembling lawmakers. The going got more and more fearful and tough. When the going got tough, the terror-stricken toughies got going. To flood-bound Kazariland (Crazyland, according to workers of Dan). There’s a nice and cozy hidey hole in Kazariland where one may mix business and pleasure, and also hatch a plan.
The numbers flew and pitted on the face of Dan till the larger of the numbers took form and was ready to shed stubborn parts. “Treason” cried the still seated elder man and co. “Numbers” howled back the newly formed unstable body. “Numbers”, echoed the commander sent to kleptocrazyland by rulers of the galaxy, “according to the idea called democrazy “. Period.
The numbers arranged themselves to form a shape and a figure popped out at its top. Holy cow! It’s a CM and it’s the same old creation. “Evolved”, countered the figure at the top. “Hurray, the cow is no longer meat in kleptocrazyland”, shouted the inhabitants in joy from across the galaxy. “From now on there shall be no acronyms in kleptocrazyland”, bellowed the master of the galaxy. “But, sir, didn’t you launch the second Swachh Bharat?” asked one of his subjects. “Pros and cons, you piece of crap”, boomed the master, “the cons weigh more”. And the people of kleptocrazyland lived happily ever after. In their dreams.
