Thursday, November 11, will go down as one of the greatest days in Indian history for two reasons: One, Prithviraj Chavan was sworn in and then sworn at as Maharashtra’s 371st chief minister; and second, my son Mikhaail learned how to tie his shoelaces by himself. These two events, ladies and gentlemen, are not as removed as they may seem.

Let’s look at these two events in great detail, so that you and I can years later recall this historic moment, this epic time, this monumental happening, when what’s-his-name Chavan resigned and the other fellow, also sharing the same surname (what’s in a name), ascended the Maharashtra throne.
It all started at 8 O’clock in the morning of the 11th. Mikhaail sat on the chair with a pair of Reebok shoes on his lap. At the same time, outside “Sahyadri” (arguably Malabar Hill’s ugliest monument), thousands of Chavan supporters started collecting. Which Chavan? Well, it really doesn’t matter as politics is not about details, it’s more about pomp and show.
The supporters were an example of Maharashtra, nah India’s finest hirsute men, with round paunches, unshaven and unkempt. They were an instant hit with the ladies passing by. In the history of Malabar Hill there is no recorded evidence of women running faster. The men exhibited the best on offer in Indian culture, spitting paan liberally over India’s costliest square foot. (Where else will a paan stain cost `80,000?) Digging noses, ears and other familiar orifices, shouting and gesturing frantically and always, always returning hands to their groin areas, where perchance springs all their liberal philosophy.
At the same time, Mikhaail lowered the Reebok shoes onto the floor and beckoned for his father to fill the shoes with his feet. Even as his father declined the offer, Chavan’s supporters were now doing their bit for traffic management. This they did by parking cars all over the Malabar Hill landscape. Jeep upon jeep was parked everywhere. In a secular gesture, no one area was targeted, instead pavements, main roads, taxi stands, bus stops, private parking, were all seized. And by doing so they encouraged the local populace to go slow, reflect on their lives, and stand transfixed at the same spot for hours. Even as the humanitarian horde broke for lunch, which they promptly scattered everywhere, my son Mikhaail in a great moment of sheer courage, on his own, without any prodding whatsoever, put his foot inside his own shoe and even as he observed that half the foot was out of the shoe, he seemed to make a mental note of the role the shoelace, that innocuous looking thing, was playing in his endeavour.
Simultaneously, outside the Sahyadri building, the police made a mental note based on sheer numbers (1,000 supporters per policeman) that interfering would be an exercise in futility. And you and I and the entire world know that if it’s the one thing our police don’t like it’s exercise.
Post lunch, Mikhaail picked up one end of the lace and put it over the other. Outside Sahyadri, meanwhile, the supporters took one poster of Chavan and covered it with another poster of let’s say another Chavan.
As the afternoon deepened, suddenly fresh supporters arrived. Unfortunately, as they hadn’t had time to rehearse, they weren’t so cocksure or hirsute as the other Chavan supporters. This was primarily due to the fact that these supporters belonged to a new politician who until three hours ago the very supporters hadn’t heard of. The politician in question was a Pawar, but some other Pawar.
At 6 O’clock some other Chavan, and some other Pawar got ready to take the oath. Outside Sahyadri the celebrations had started. Firecrackers reigned supreme. Sadly, forgetting the alliance, some other Chavan’s supporters blatantly lit some other Pawar’s supporters. Besieged by numbers and more importantly burnt by fire, some other Pawar supporters started losing interest in the goings on.
As the new ministers started swearing, my son Mikhaail started wearing his shoes. Somehow or the other in the last couple of hours, using a lace technique perfected by elderly lingerie models in Victorian England, he managed to rotate, then tie his shoelace on both shoes.
In Sahyadri, some other Chavan hurriedly stepped on some other Pawar’s shoe whilst walking back to his seat. A sign of things to come?
Back home, I wondered, now that Mikhaail can tie his shoe, have I become redundant in his world? Outside Sahyadri, as some other Pawar passed Chaggan Bhujbal, Bhujbal with a shudder felt the same thing. And so a new chapter was written in the history of our great state. What’s-his-name has come to power and a young lad has learnt to tie his shoelace.
A few critics wish it was vice versa, but who cares for critics. “Jai Maharashtra.”