Lemon Harangue: A Bitter Tirade
Before we get on with this rot, I find that it would be prudent to state clearly from the very beginning that this ‘article’, as it were, is based on unfounded assumptions and the disjointed ravings of a variety of unparalleled ‘drawing-room scholars’, which should nevertheless be treated as a conjunction of irrefutable facts. I say this, not only because it is true but also in an effort to safeguard myself from an otherwise unavoidable attack from the ‘triumvirate of terror’ that marches along, patrolling the corridors of this great educational institution, goose-stepping their way to the top, trampling as they go, on the ideals of a generation that has not yet given up the struggle to express their naïve but nevertheless opinionated selves. I will try to remain as apolitical in the course of this article as I can, even though our venerable overlords (Gornamunt) of the past eight or so years have not only made it impossible for the public at large to remain ignorant, it has also made political-consciousness almost fashionable! That, in my opinion, has been the single greatest service rendered by the Cycle Gang (an obscure and allegedly political offshoot of the famed Hell’s Angels).
Dr. Hunter S Thompson (the great doctor of gonzo journalism) attributed the very same virtue to the Nixon administration after the much publicized and frankly embarrassing Water-Gate scandal, which shocked the American public out of their collective reverie and forced them to question what the crazy man in the white house was up to. This scandal was, of course, mere child’s play compared to what we have witnessed taking place in our great nation.
Democracy had decided long ago to pack her bags and leave, never to return. But now the situation is such that she won’t even acknowledge the fact that once upon a time, we had met in a dream. The only consolation we have is this; just as Hunter prided himself in not having voted Nixon into the presidential office, so can we too be proud that none of us ever voted for Gen. Meriwether and thus, we are free from blame. Although, I would like to add -for seemingly no good reason- that the leader of a nation is the representative of the people of that nation, that is to say, if he doesn’t characterize your strengths, then he personifies your weaknesses. Whether you elect him or suffer his dictatorship, he is there because you decided so or were unable to assert the strength of character and achieve that level of industry as a nation, which would have prevented his rise to power. In other words, you are the idiot who rules you and therefore, shame on you! (If you interview an average American citizen, you would quickly realize why ‘Dubya’ is president!) This philosophy is somewhat similar to what Der Fuehrer speaks of in Mein Kampf and I think I agree with that fanatical nut job. It is actually kind of interesting to compare our country’s condition with that of Germany at the time of the Third Reich. The juxtaposition brings to light the unmistakable truth of Hitler’s sincerity to his cause and the lack of earnestness displayed by Meriwether. Hitler stated clearly what he was setting out to achieve, and then did it. Granted that he is by no means a standard or a role model for any human being, but it can’t be denied that he succeeded in unifying a nation riddled with discord, anarchy and political as well as social unrest under one -albeit mad- ideology. Our guy also set out with a few objectives which were eventually -and now it seems inevitably- lost and forgotten in the morass of fraudulence, that is, our political scene. If truth be told, Hitler was a true nationalist. Even though he was a lunatic of the highest order, he achieved what any self-respecting dictator can only ever hope to. And it was he who promoted the idea that if you don’t have what it takes to demand and obtain justice or whatever else you want or think you need, then you certainly won’t get it by sitting at home with your knitting needles…unless it’s a sweater.
I’m not much of a nationalist, per say, but I know this; when I waste a chapatti, when I burn fuel which I could have saved by using public transport, when I cheat on my exams, when I lie, when I steal a pen or a book or a car, when I buy drugs, when I leave the fan turned on in an empty classroom, when I waste my time reading junk, when I am unaffected by the socio-politico-economic state of my country, when I turn a blind eye to a felony, when I stop my students from thinking, when I condemn individuality in favor of a lifeless, redundant tradition; I am no better and indeed much worse, than the meanest criminal who lives in and sucks this country dry like a parasite. Finally, before I delve into the actual article, as a portentous end to this queer, bitter, and almost nonsensical tirade, let it be known that verily, those who do not repent are indeed the evil doers. And those who can’t admit that they are wrong when they are…are no better.
If we were to analyze recent history, we would find ourselves personified by that singularly retarded peasant who tries to flog his horse into pushing a very heavy cart up a hill. Midway through this ongoing insanity, as it were, what is actually achieved is this: the horse, fully aware of his own helplessness and the disparaging circumstances in which he finds himself -after concluding that there is no alternative- decides to blow himself up in protest! And if he can’t take the damn peasant down with him, then he’ll die with reasonable confidence that the cart will automatically roll back over his master and crush him to death and thus, avenge him of all that pointless flogging.
We, as a nation, suffer from a collective ‘Cart Before the Horse’ mentality (CBH). This phenomenon can be observed in action as the essential base of all our dubious, subconscious and seemingly wanton acts of self-destruction, which we commit as individuals, members of various groups, tribes and eventually as members of a country.
The phenomenon, with which we are dealing, is a deep-seated, firmly ingrained way of life, a code of conduct, a societal norm, which we inherited from our colonial masters who renounced it as quickly as they passed on the sickness to us.
The CBH is a dangerous concept to flirt around with and should be approached, if at all, with utmost care. However, we are a reckless bunch of mutant apes that obstinately refuse to see reason. It is no surprise then that the year 2007 ended with a bang, actually with quite a lot of bangs and yet…here we are, still just as oblivious, still going strong, living out our lives whilst neotenous coprolites feast on our shameless apathy and aversion to resistance. Indeed…and why not? We are in it for the long haul. One that is so fruitless and futile that it’s almost funny. Except that it’s not. Not when you know that sooner or later…bang!
Once upon a time, Indian movies were made to tell a story. This story would always be accompanied by songs -if necessary- to help move the plot along and aid in the money making process. Contemporary Indian cinema, on the other hand, seems to function on the principle of throwing together a dozen, random and illogical songs, all in a sequence with sporadic intervals, not so cleverly disguised by applying the merest hint of a plot in between. This ‘plot’ then functions as the Fevicol of madness that keeps the whole naked gig together till the very end, even though, to all intents and purposes, it fell apart the moment we saw three thousand, obviously deranged crazies, dancing on the streets, singing one English word or phrase enveloped by Punjabi gibberish or vice versa. All this foolishness is accompanied by an invisible band of continuous noise. And yet people gather in swarms and hordes, under the influence of some unseen force, to subject themselves to this sort of depravity and mind numbing soul strangulation. The whole concept of a movie has been turned inside-out and has been on its way down the grim slide from Art to Scatology ever since…and yet, it’s working perfectly! People are still being drawn like moths to a flame and somebody is making a lot of money. Why is it that we cannot use this inversion technique to our advantage like the Indians? Not that I want us to develop our ‘film industry’…indeed not! That is something which should be abandoned altogether…buried somewhere far away, out of the reach of children. It’s just disappointing how when we apply the CBH theorem, the results are morbidly stupid.
Recently, I awoke from my stupor whilst editing a periodical -that shall remain unnamed- teeming with articles, which not only failed to make sense, but couldn’t even be regarded as works of either abstract, intentional absurdity or pure bilge. They were a class hitherto unknown to man or beast. That, however, was not the real shocker. It was the editorial in particular that raised a series of questions in my mind. I paced back and forth in my room, beads of sweat trickling down my furrowed brow. Casting quick glances at the window…I was genuinely worried and in panic. This strange sensation at the back of my neck…seemed to be an ominous indication of being watched.
Is this a cruel joke? Did a real human being produce this queer concoction of -what seems to be- words? Is the criminal responsible for this lunacy still at large? Should I alert the authorities or wait and watch for something about it on Geo?
In the end I decided to investigate the matter further and found out to my great dismay that ‘editors’ in schools and colleges have all come to the same sordid conclusion; that ‘philosophizing’ until blood seeps out of the eyes of the average -and to an extent sane- reader is the best way to hide their own undeniable incompetence. I stared with disgust and loathing at my study table upon which lay the unholy matrimony of unrelated fancy words culminating in the birth of an illegitimate composition of pure nonsense, which seemed scholarly to the untrained eye but was in fact, gibberish in disguise. I sighed and thought of how the editor of a magazine/newspaper was the person who used to make the most sense. Now it’s the other way round. These unstructured regurgitations of human thesauruses who would be hard pressed to explain what they had written, are no doubt indications of a grim future or a massive intellectual regression of epidemic proportions. We have stopped using words to explain what we mean…we use them to hide what we don’t. Unfortunately, we’re not very convincing…
Of course, there are still some soldiers left, fighting tooth and nail to preserve what little remains of editorial dignity.
If ever an intelligent extra-terrestrial species cared to observe human behaviour, one thing that would strike them as the epitome of human ingenuity would be the way Pakistani politicians devise clever loopholes and then figure out a way to garnish them with some sort of a law to make the whole arrangement appear complete in itself. The only reason or excuse for their doing this –at least to my mind- is that when they indulge in illegal activities, it would appear as if they are quite clever, what with having ‘found’ a loophole. What they devise is actually something completely ridiculous, which can only fool a layman into believing that it was a ‘rule’ of sorts, one that has now effectively been sidelined or ‘broken’, even though it was actually, from the very start, just a break that had a rule around it, if that makes any sense…
Similarly, I am fairly confident that when our great ones sit around and begin to devise an interpolation for the constitution of the country, they often discuss –and at great length- whether the people who produce Swiss cheese, make the holes first and then put the cheese around it or vice versa. Either way, they all agree on it being done with the aid of magic wands.
If truth be told, all politicians can be exemplified by a teenage boy, who, when caught with his hand in his pants, claims with an indignant expression of self righteousness, that he was just ‘tucking his shirt in.’ Pakistani politicians, however, belong to that rare breed of pervert, which can be portrayed by a similar teenager, only this one doesn’t have any pants on to begin with. His assertion of tucking the shirt in is so absurd that it’s almost funny…except that it’s not. Not when they’ve set your country on fire and nobody can afford to cook anything on this free stove of corruption and chaos.
What it all comes down to is that we’re all a bit confused about who we are and what we’re doing here and why. Even the school where I study is accused of being a university; a fact that is a source of mirth as well as boundless sorrow to all of us students. I use the term ‘students’ loosely…we are like serfs really or Benedictine monks. Obedient and subservient to an unholy trinity, as it were, that monitors all our movements, lest we step out of line…or think. Fortunately for us, we have the best library any human could ask for under the circumstances and that one precious source of information and knowledge makes this suffering worthwhile. In any case, I think a student should have the right to complain, because that’s just about all he can do. However, around here it’s just not allowed, it does not behoove us, apparently. How could we do something that vulgar, that common? Don’t we know who shared the air we breathe?
Once, long ago, a man went to a toilet. That man became incredibly famous, later on, as an orator, writer, poet and philosopher, as a scientist and an exceptionally altruistic humanitarian political/religious figure. Then all the people started using that same toilet in the hopes of becoming just like him. The caretakers of the toilet, puffed up with a feeling of self importance and soon began harrowing the masses with instructions such as: ‘This is how he entered the toilet, this is how he opened the door, the correct way to sit on the toilet is as follows…it is how he did it!’ Just before that great man died, he had the following engraved on his tombstone: ‘In this world I was insulted by people who ignored my hard work of so many years and attributed my achievements instead to a short pit-stop in a toilet…may God avenge me by cursing them with incurable constipation.’
But enough said! My coherence is declining at a very rapid rate and I don’t know how to end this rant. What with the horse being dead and the cart on fire, the peasant squished and blown apart, all I can say is that, ‘It’s a wise child who knows his father.’ An orphan nation that’s not very wise is what we are. I’m not wise at all though I wish I were, but alas! I am a failure in every other aspect of life as well…including poetry:
I heard shots being fired, by hands fairly tired;
Multitudes of martyrs and terrorists being sired;
A country cloaked in darkness that could shame the night,
Would tomorrow be gone and then all would be light.
For this evil deception cannot possibly endure,
The heavy hand of time will purge it for sure.
So let Nature restore balance and devour everything,
Built by this new Ozymandias, this new king of kings!
posted by Duck @ 9:23 AM
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