Behold the era of unbridled mumbo jumbo and sheer drivel
We are the gullible sons and daughters of a twain that should’ve never met. But it did. Are now preached to censor every thought, for impurity, for foreign influence, for something that doesn’t fit the right and the just picture painted by elders we can’t name or must not name
One courtroom, two parties, one hearing, two understandings, one order, two interpretations, one truth, two versions. We, dearest sirs and ma’ams, are doomed. We are doomed to hear one thing, believe another and act on the third because nothing matters when nothing is known or knowable or worth-knowing.
I was there when the Lordships uttered the words. I jotted down the order he dictated to put chaos at bay so that the sanctity of Apex Court can survive another day. I witnessed the whole performance that Doctor Speak Strange, dressed in a burgundy coloured fancy suit with a matching waistcoat and sporting a cherry-sized medal of honour near his heart, delivered. I heard his earnest pleadings, the proclamations of innocence and uprightness, the reiteration of his freedom of speech that Constitution of the land promises.
We are the gullible sons and daughters of a twain that should’ve never met. But it did. Are now preached to censor every thought, for impurity, for foreign influence, for something that doesn’t fit the right and the just picture painted by elders we can’t name or must not name.
The new kid on the block says ‘Vini, Vidi, Vici’. He has yelled himself hoarse yet remains ensnared by the promise that if he calls himself Number-1 a trillion times, the prophecy will fulfill itself. Well, even this is but a smokescreen, a mere deception as the kid doesn’t want to become Number-1 that he already is. He wants to become the only one. The kid wants to get the whole ground to him, he is willing to go the extra mile, even a thousand to have it.
There are taboos and then there is Number-1 taboo. There are goals and then there is Number-1 goal. There are narratives and then there is Number-1 narrative. Now, dearest sirs and ma’ams, you know that taboo, that goal, and that narrative. All other numbers have to die and vanish into oblivion as the reign of Number-1 is in the offing.
Ask yourself this. What is our big lie? You know what a big lie is, right? Well, a big lie is a lie that is so mighty, so humongous, so Number-1 that everything dwarfs in comparison. So, our big lie is not to question the ‘why’ behind certain happenings, certain phenomena, certain accidents, certain mishaps.
Our big lie, dearest sirs and ma’ams, demands us to know our boundaries and remain within them. We all are Orwell’s Winston Smith, some being taught the lesson, some about to learn the lesson, some spared because they have to teach the lesson to the uninitiated (Disclaimer: I am not pointing towards Doctor Doom, Doctor Speak Strange and any other folks of their ilk).
We thought we’ve grown wise and masterful with age. Alas, we haven’t. Those who manipulated us in the past with frightful eventualities promised us fascinating future prospects have come to realise that they need to broaden their outreach. Enter Number-1. With all things Number-1. All shows Number-1. All content Number-1. Serving Number-1 to remain Number-1.
Our puppeteers want us to respect the partitions and the compartments, dearest sirs and ma’ams. For our own good, they want us to remain on the safe side of fence. Stay aloof from things that can’t and won’t be named
The Number-1, for those who doubt, is our well-wisher, our best friend. He cares for us. He really does. He makes us ask most important questions like; why he didn’t pick us up? Why didn’t we go missing? Why some need to be shunned while others to be followed?
Our puppeteers want us to respect the partitions and the compartments, dearest sirs and ma’ams. For our own good, they want us to remain on the safe side of fence. Stay aloof from things that can’t and won’t be named.
Every man Jack knows what every man who isn’t called Jack knows not.
Ask this from yourself, are you free to question the when, who, what, and where about whatever that happened to whoever by whomsoever? Fall in line, mate or, ahh, don’t fall in line at all. It doesn’t matter much, you know, until you try to create a separate queue. Then, dear boy, things won’t be hunky-dory. Rather, things will be anything but hunky-dory.
Do you know the no-go areas? Ever heard of Area-51? What about that bogus phrase ‘state within a state’? Why bother about urban legends and hollow myths, sire? How about keeping a low profile, enjoying the pleasures of the flesh, and mount the signature struggle we earthly mortals are famous for? No need to live in fear if you haven’t trampled upon the invisible line either, as all that is sacred must remain so, all that is revered, must not be questioned.
Since, all best conclusions have been written by greater beings, I present before you an excerpt from Soren Kierkegaard’s Either/Or: A fragment of life, “In a theater, it happened that a fire started offstage. The clown came out to tell the audience. They thought it was a joke and applauded. He told them again, and they became still more hilarious. This is the way, I suppose, that the world will be destroyed — amid the universal hilarity of wits and wags who think it is all a joke.”
