Ever since the electoral code of conduct kicked in, every one of our political parties is on its best behaviour. There are no posters or graffiti disfiguring walls and no cutouts and hoardings line the routes the leaders take to office. Of course, the Man from Madras Musings is fairly certain that these people must be sorely missing these eulogies and panegyrics but then that is the price to pay to have a job that requires a renewal of contract every five years. There is otherwise very little otherwise to complain about these modes of ‘gainful’ employment.
The police are in full swing checking all cars in the city. MMM too was stopped in a dark thoroughfare and asked to open the boot of his vehicle. MMM’s friend who is of a cheery disposition asked the force if they would care to take a selfie with MMM and himself to which the lady officer in charge smiled graciously and said that would be done anyway if cash was found in the car. MMM duly opened the boot to find that this was the day when his good lady (also known as She Who Must Be Obeyed) had placed what appeared to be a hundred different bags in the boot, including her handbag. Now MMM’s wallet is never known for containing anything more than small change but with his good lady it was an entirely different matter altogether and so it was with a silent prayer that MMM watched the officers search. But the number of bags proved too much of a deterrent and having taken one look at MMM and friend they opted to shut the boot and wave the car on.
There are many hopefuls doing the rounds for a party ticket. So too did a neighbour of MMM’s who happens to be the local Lord Bountiful, practising his charities with an eye on popularity. For several afternoons he set up a water and buttermilk dispensing pavilion that also featured a high decibel music system that belted out songs in praise of the One Great Leader. The thirsty hordes flocked to the pavilion and drank to their fullest. But then when the party list of candidates was published MMM noticed that his neighbour was not on it. The pavilion was taken down and the services dispensed with. MMM presumes that the buttermilk of human kindness had turned sour.
Sour reminds MMM of fermentation and that in turn brings to his mind the stuff that cheers. It appears that all parties in the fray have decided that imposing prohibition is going to be their chief electoral promise. It looks like the State is all set to go dry no matter who comes to power and by that MMM does not mean the water crisis. MMM wonders what will happen to the vast populace that has come to look upon its daily tipple as a matter of right. Perhaps they will all go on the wagon and once on it will direct it towards the erstwhile French colony that is our neighbour as they did in the past when prohibition was imposed. MMM is sure there will be lot more material for this column in the months to come.
But if the fluid that oils electoral machinery goes dry, what will aid the digestion of the other electoral offering – biriyani?