2010: Year of the Sleazy

Santa Baby, this is an SOS… hurry down the chimney… we need you. This has been a year of serious golmaal, and as 2010’s credit titles roll, the fate of the masala movie called “India” at the international box office looks khallass! When mega blockbusters bomb big time, everybody suffers. But those who suffer the most (apart from stakeholders) are the people — the all-important audience. Those trusting, optimistic viewers who come away feeling cheated and disillusioned.

We are a nation of “paisa vasool” types. We definitely want a big bang for our buck. When that doesn’t happen, we get angry… we sulk. Right now we are sulking big time. 2010 was supposed to deliver. India was on a roll. Good things were happening… the economy was expected to boom (Pranabda, you promised!). Overall stability was taken for granted, and no great upheavals were on the cards. But something went horribly wrong at some point. Script ka problem ho gaya, boss. And not all the so-called superstars of the political firmament could put India back on the track as 2010 drew to a close.

US President Barack Obama’s visit counted for little. It was a very expensive photo-op, that’s all. He came, sang and danced with school kids in Mumbai (Michelle’s moves were hotter), got his bheja fried by a cheeky student who brought up the P-word (Pakistan), and went off to impress Dilliwallas with his teleprompter oratory. We were expected to keel over backwards because the mighty US President knew who Swami Vivekananda was. Hello! But we were the bakras who ended up paying through our noses for his visit (he went back with billions of dollars committed by us — we got illey in return).

Our fashion designers sniffed at the First Lady’s wardrobe and everybody declared Mme France President Nicholas Sarkozy as the undisputed winner of this sartorial race (I thought Carla Bruni was dressed like a prim school marm and could have flashed more cleavage). Of the two Presidents, my vote goes to Mr Sarkozy, who was far more spontaneous, forthcoming and direct. Besides… we got something more than a vague promise of a permanent seat somewhere in the far distance out of the Frenchie. We are unashamedly crass in India — we only understand rokda (“Show me the money. In cash! Now!”)

Then came the Chinese Premier with a Wen-Wen agenda on his mind. Our reception to him was far more restrained, which is really kinda “stoooopid” given that we could do with some PDA (public display of affection, dude) with this guy who has designs on India and needs to be wooed with something more than just a traditional, thanda welcome. I wonder if someone was dumb enough (lots of Dilliwallas to pick from) to offer Wen Jiabao our second favourite national dish (after murg massalam) — chicken manchurian? And did Mr Wen puke at the sight of it? We excel at making such faux pas. And then we crib when Brit hosts offer us “Indian curry” (an astonishingly disgusting yellow paste) when we visit London. Perhaps, Santaji can help us to reclaim Arunachal Pradesh from China and sort out other highly vexing issues with the fire-breathing dragon next door.

But even Santa will forget his “ho ho ho” in a hurry and clamber right back up that chimney leaving his sack of goodies behind when it comes to domestic messes. 2010 stands out as the Year of Corruption. It wasn’t just Munni who got badnaam this year. And as for Sheila’s jawaani — well, the Delhi chief minister demonstrated she had a lot of it left in her when she took on all her detractors during the Commonwealth Games scam… and then sailed through without a scratch. In this Champions League, there were just too many top players vying for the Crook of the Year trophy. With the spotlight on former CWG chairman Suresh Kalmadi, most people forgot all about former Indian Premier League chairman Lalit Modi. And by the time Mr Kalmadi waddled back from the Asian Games, we were already busy with a brand new mother of scandal… the one that featured former telecom minister A. Raja. And a Rani! The timing couldn’t have been better. As more and more dirt emerged, and the Niira Radia tapes vomited out names (oooof! What names!), everybody was left shivering in their underpants, stripped off credibility, dignity, modesty — totally nanga in public! How many fig leaves can poor Santa carry in one sack?

As we sing X’mas carols next week, let’s spare a thought for the aam aadmi and the aam aurat of India. We have been conned big time by the very people we’d invested our faith in over all these many years — people we have been foolish enough to elect, people we have naively trusted. The scenario for 2011 is looking bleak. Politicians, bureaucrats, cops, journalists, Army men, corporate leaders… and, horror of horrors, judges, too, are suspect. Virtually everything is bought, rigged and finally sold to the highest bidder. Sleaze is the single common denominator dominating today’s India. But — hallelujah — there’s one small hope left as we get into the New Year. Santaji should hand over his garb to Manmohanji immediately. If Dr Singh wishes to remain the king (of hearts), he needs an image makeover — and fast! Oh oh — what am I saying — the best in the business of makeovers has just gone bust. Or has she? Only her Secret Santa knows for sure! Oops… Have I said something wrong?
Santa, honey, don’t bother to slide down the chimney this year… it’s clogged with soot. And India doesn’t have enough chimney sweeps to unclog it! Aayi baat samajh mein?

Merry Christmas readers, and a transparent New Year!