Can never be sure of anything these days, not even that two and two make four. You remember Do Aur Do Paanch, of course, don't you? They sang a song in it and while they sang they got flowers, leaves and petals and stem and smell and all, to sprout off stones.
That happens. Even so, it is all less magical than two plus two adding up to five. Sounds impossible, does it not? But that too happens. Hollywood later did a rip-off of Do aur Do Paanch, as they always do; it was called Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. It was not later, to tell the truth, but before. But such is Hollywood. They are so smart they can rip off what lies in the future. Which is what they have consistently been doing with Bollywood, with all their smartness and their technology and those sorts of things, and poor Bollywood has been getting a bad name.
Anyway, that's what life is. A bit unjust and unfair. And every once in a way capable of flinging a nasty thing at you. Or refusing to fling what you would prefer having flung at you. You know what I mean. It's like you going down to Mahadeb's and not finding anything coming your way at Mahadeb's. Not Mahadeb, not his haunch, not his hole-ridden lungi, not his hindalium utensils, not the scalding heat of his stove, not his bhnaars, not his soggy tea-dust, not his TEA!
Life's such. You feel like calling it a five-letter word beginning with a B and ending in an H which is neither bench nor beach although in certain geographies it may be the done thing to pronounce that unmentionable word in the manner of the latter: You beach! It's something you may often feel rather good saying: You beach!!
Life's such. What's one to do. We have TheBossOfAllThings. We elected him. With a majority. Life's such a beach. You get the drift. And once you get the drift, you'll also get the tide and the typhoon. You deserve it. Now face it. You chose it, now it's in your face. The Chaiwala's chai. Not Mahadeb's, which was brewed to order and served in quaint little bhnaars with petrichor ionised around it. This is The Chaiwala's tea, which they also call GST. Drink up.
Life's tough. And as TheBossOfAllThings said, if you wish to be a nationalist and a BharatBhakt, kuchh takleef to hoga, kuchh to sehna padega. So grin or not, but bear it. There's worse coming.
Or it has probably already arrived. In the room next to you. Where your child sleeps. Is your child asleep? Check. Because Jhakaas PaaonPhekKar has announced he could not sleep, and he is the man in charge of your child. Jhakaas is losing sleep, so your child must be too. And who knows, probably you too. Jhakaas said he couldn't sleep all night, poor thing. But neither could a few million others and their parents, not that he bothered to mention them. Millions of children, maybe yours as well; millions in homes and hutments across the nation, millions of ruffled children under ruffled roofs.
Thank God for small mercies, they held out and did not fall. When leaks happen, roofs are usually the first to fall. And this was a freaky leak. It leaked all across the second most populous nation on this planet. Can you imagine the magnitude of such a leak? There's no Richter for leaks, is there? Any how, it was a massive leak. And it leaked not once, but twice, and probably even three times, who knows, nobody can be any longer sure. And it did not leak economically. In fact, it leaked so much, no one could do the math.
It was bound to happen some day under Jhakaas, this leak. He has a record. There was a day, although quite a while ago a day, that he left home for some far shore wearing jeans and it leaked. Not his jeans, just the news that he was wearing a pair of jeans. He was summarilyordered to turn around, repair home and change and since then Jhakaas has never worn jeans for fear of a freaky leak. But such is life, isn't it? Every once in a while it is capable of flinging a nasty thing at you, as I sagely said just a few paragraphs ago. It happened. A FreakyLeak even when he had forsaken jeans and taken permanently to wearing pyjamas. Happens. To the worst of us. Happens. Like TheBossOfAllThings. Gulp it and go on. Unless you still want to cry.
You do know I trusted
That you would actually teach
But my child's now all busted
And you're lying on the beach?