Dear Shri Rahul Gandhi
I am angry and this is a serious letter. So I am not going to throw cheap banters at you. I have also consciously decided to not throw any personal insult at you. I will go ahead with this letter with an assumption that this country has to put up with you till some real leader is allowed to surface on the national scene from your party.
Positivity! Where art thou? Hope! Where art thou?
The country is debating Mr. Aamir Khan’s statements at ‘Ramnath Goenka Awards for Excellence in Journalism’. Irrespective of our political leanings, I am sure most of us would agree with at least one part of his statement where he says something to the effect of – “We are afraid to open the newspapers every day” Indeed, we are!
“That red one – is the Muslim, and that black one – is the Hindu!” – Thus announced the uncrowned leader of the group.
Daniel retorted – “How do you say that?”
Mr. Narendra Modi had just completed a year in office and ‘India’s National Newspaper since 1878’ was fraught with performance analyses, reviews, report cards and the habitual slander for Government’s first year. Amidst the chaos, a dormant voice tried to make the best of the opportunity. The newly anointed Captain of a sunken ship not-so-fondly remembered as CPI with an (M) wrote a column in The Hindu of May 24, 2015.
The young man giving finishing touches to the Ganesh idol wasn’t infuriated, he didn’t mean to offend me but that was his reply – simple and straight. He anticipated a reaction and waited for a couple of seconds before getting back to his work again. I kept quiet. I looked at his father who was friendlier. He was the one I had struck the conversation with before approaching the son.
There are fictions that give you a rush, a shot of thrill or an expectation of something unimaginable, and you go back to the book whenever you can cast yourself away from the world. You keep looking for that window of time to get immersed and continue your breathtaking journey, then there comes your way – ‘The Romantics‘ which draws you to itself when you want no such rush, no such thrill and you look to withdraw within yourself. The Romantics is a story that develops as a slow, indifferent painting on the chaotic canvas of the world.