This has been annoying me for a few days now and as usual, my 'busy schedule' has prevented me from typing my ire out. But finally, in between pandering to my first world existence, here goes.
Arvind Kejriwal and the newly formed India Against Corruption (IAC) party have raised a few issues over the last couple of weeks. These issues focus on corruption related to various members of the ruling political establishment as well as those connected closely to the establishment, and Kejriwal seems to be pricking the tough hides of the accused. Just the other day, one headline quoted a politician saying that it was a daily thing for Mr. Kejriwal to accuse members of the ruling UPA. You know, like a common housefly, just buzzing around and being a nuisance.
And that headline brought home to me the point once again--that my country's leaders have institutionalized corruption. They, with our hapless and not-so-hapless aid, have injected it so completely into our bloodstream that there is no escape now. In fact, the joke is on anyone who points out that corruption exists. Corruption is one with the system and one does not exist without the other.
For some strange reason, the cavalier attitude and the media photos of the political establishment over the past few days, make me think of Mr. India, a 1980s children's movie with a common-man turned super hero (minus the underwear on the outside), who fights corruption. In particular, I keep remembering the scene where members of the mafia that siphon off food grains from India's Public Distribution System, are forced to eat the little pebbles that they use to adulterate rice and dal (lentils), while scrawny beggars get to feast on the mafia's lavish dinner. And how similar real-life smug Salman Khurshid and his fat wife, Louise Khurshid, accused of siphoning funds from an NGO that they run, are to these fictional characters.
It says something about how India has changed that most of our indie cinema today is about the lives of the urban upper middle-class youth and their supposedly rampant extra-marital affairs. While popular cinema celebrates the exploits of corrupt Chulbul Pandey in the super hit Dabaang, the rulers of our country raise the price of cooking gas and severely limit access to this basic requirement. While the Khurshids and the rest of the political establishment take trips abroad (the Assam chief minister was in Japan while millions of people in his state were left homeless by unprecedented floods), the aam aadmi (common man), also referred to jokingly by our rulers as the mango people (aam is hindi for mango), is left to fend against the wolves of inflation, FDI and most importantly, the kings and queens he 'voted' to power.
Arvind Kejriwal and the newly formed India Against Corruption (IAC) party have raised a few issues over the last couple of weeks. These issues focus on corruption related to various members of the ruling political establishment as well as those connected closely to the establishment, and Kejriwal seems to be pricking the tough hides of the accused. Just the other day, one headline quoted a politician saying that it was a daily thing for Mr. Kejriwal to accuse members of the ruling UPA. You know, like a common housefly, just buzzing around and being a nuisance.
And that headline brought home to me the point once again--that my country's leaders have institutionalized corruption. They, with our hapless and not-so-hapless aid, have injected it so completely into our bloodstream that there is no escape now. In fact, the joke is on anyone who points out that corruption exists. Corruption is one with the system and one does not exist without the other.
For some strange reason, the cavalier attitude and the media photos of the political establishment over the past few days, make me think of Mr. India, a 1980s children's movie with a common-man turned super hero (minus the underwear on the outside), who fights corruption. In particular, I keep remembering the scene where members of the mafia that siphon off food grains from India's Public Distribution System, are forced to eat the little pebbles that they use to adulterate rice and dal (lentils), while scrawny beggars get to feast on the mafia's lavish dinner. And how similar real-life smug Salman Khurshid and his fat wife, Louise Khurshid, accused of siphoning funds from an NGO that they run, are to these fictional characters.
It says something about how India has changed that most of our indie cinema today is about the lives of the urban upper middle-class youth and their supposedly rampant extra-marital affairs. While popular cinema celebrates the exploits of corrupt Chulbul Pandey in the super hit Dabaang, the rulers of our country raise the price of cooking gas and severely limit access to this basic requirement. While the Khurshids and the rest of the political establishment take trips abroad (the Assam chief minister was in Japan while millions of people in his state were left homeless by unprecedented floods), the aam aadmi (common man), also referred to jokingly by our rulers as the mango people (aam is hindi for mango), is left to fend against the wolves of inflation, FDI and most importantly, the kings and queens he 'voted' to power.
