We knew they had not come in term with what they were going through; the crumbled empire which was now packed in bulging suitcases and worn in bright suits ,which they would never get to wear at home. How could they wear those Bombay-tailored suits in Liverpool!
Anyway, the Brits were leaving and soon they left people started slaughtering each other as though they couldn't do that when their masters were around. According to our "brave" forefathers " Manipor" could decide its own destiny: either to join Nehru-gang or be an independent princely state. The ragtag princes tried and they could retain but that lasted as long as the Nehru-gang hadn't interfered in the affairs. Very soon the fat-arsed regent of of our free land was summoned to Shillong and there he was kept under house arrest. Now most people think he should have braved the gang, but he squeaked and signed an agreement, agreeing to the condition that " Land of Gold" would be merged to a bizarre land managed by Nehru-gang.
We started with Lee rifles, some we snatched and some we smuggled from " his divine's" palace. The revered blue-blooded regent perished just like us startling everyone. We all thought he would just fizzle out like those invincible characters from fairy tales and his heir would pop up with a haloed-head. Few years later the revered man's little ones were seen jetting across and soon they began to regard themselves as some classed-people and to make themselves different from the rest they even took queer names. It would surprise a Rajasthani man to learn that the heir to his regent had come up with " James Wannabe" as the new enlightened name.
The sensible us started the revolution with Lee rifles; mind was instigated by what was happening then in different corners of the world. We thought what Mao and Fidel had achieved would fall upon us after few shots. That thought was more emboldened when the Americans withdrew from Vietnam. We knew everything about what had been happening then, and we always thought we should spread those words so that our illiterate comrades could stay prepared.
People in every villages gave us support, every child wanted to be us- those men who could cut a thread from a kilometre's distance with a bullet. We were the teetotalers, the macho, the smart and everything.
Decades after some of us were shot dead, some incarcerated for years and later on released only to retreat, but very few of us hung back with the baton and the Lee rifles to reshape and shake up our strategies. Now we can boast of what we say of what we can do and what we have. We do real things, actually; what we say is what we people think. If there is a request to all the people for a rampant strike throughout the state no one comes out, not even curs. It doesn't mean that few are shot and the entire population of dead scared; they have responded in the most democratic fashion to a call from socialist organisations.
We understand that it comes as a bit-of-too-much when our other parties come up with similar appeals, so, let's say, in a month we, a dozen groups, appeal to our comrades as many times as we can. All that we could feel is only to admire the revolutionary spirits they possess that keep us going. What's more fascinating when it comes to putting up with us is the fact that they give moral as well as financial support and we reckon that these will never cease as long as we are under the colonial yoke. When we talked about this stuff the other day, a senior comrade of ours jokingly said, " should it not be better for us to be under the yoke so that we can enjoy the unceasing comforts thrown at us?" He was just joking.
Decades later our revolution evolved and it was metamorphosed to the form of a dozen of mischievous headless chickens running about. It was our comrades which were caught up between the colonial army and the headless chickens. These days we are often exposed to remarks "they are bleeding us", " you can't even buy a bag of rice in public", " houses can't go up." We are infuriated by what we are exposed to and we wish they had made those remarks before us so that we can give them a piece of mind or " pieces of them", that's what our senior comrades would say.
Only a few weeks ago a group of old men and women read out a statement asking us to start peace talks with the colonialist. How could they dare such a thing! Have they forgotten that we started this and who on earth as these old and young to tell us what we should be doing! The same senior comrade was disturbed by it that he suggested , " we should gag them in the name of revolution."
So, we shot back saying " how could you dictate us to negotiate with those colonialists?" They have gone quiet in the fashion we expected. Things, however, have not been that quiet, though; now more Kalashnikov-wielding headless chickens have popped up and started calling shots right in front of us, and what surprises is their modus operandi: the chiefs in the hearts of Indian cities getting everything done through mobile phones. They have no socialist spirit nor any idea of what could be done to foster our movement; they say what we say , they extort just like we do but the "sacks of dough" seems to disappear just like dust in the wind.
While we are busy keeping an eye on the "new headless" a new politics has swept across the hills where everyone who is willing to be against those in the valley are classed with a Sanskrit title. The new title is handed out to everyone and he/she is made to say it at some congregation many a times till it has got into their blood and popped up as screen saver. You don't ask for it, they randomly drop by with that title and instruct you to memorise it and change everything so that you can be the particular shape that can fit in the slots they have carved.
When you try to ask some stupid questions they lift their hands and say " it's HIS decision, don't question, dammit!" It's true that religion goes pretty well with politics and the mixture could be quite a useful malice. With the mandate from HIM and power from the barrels , they have started throwing cannon balls to declare their supremacy. Each time they want something from the puppet government, they simply block the highways cutting off supplies, another words, denying food to million of mouths. Whether you perish because of starvation or lack of medical supplies, they simply " dont give a fuck." In fact it's one of the biggest FUCKs.
There everyone is told to burn any vehicle carrying food or medical supplies towards those mouths. With the sacred mandate and the barrel-power, everyone is stimulated or driven; even a toddler comes out holding a matchbox with his/her professor father. Even a professor with a PHD in philosophy from a prominent university can come down to torch good-carriers. Some say they are completely silenced, even those men of HIM who feast on the flesh of HIM and get drunk on HIS blood.
They are told that HIS flesh is not enough and HIS blood is running dry, and to resurrect HIS spirit an unceasing Halloween should be maintained to draw strength and unify peoples. Few days ago some of the most-educated were spotted in Delhi holding placards. When those most-educated were asked why they had come out, they replied, " We are told by our apex body to protest, whoever is against our apex body is our enemy. If our apex body asks us to get their heads we would do so." You know, those things were just the stuff people learn in colleges and universities in 21st century. What is most impressive is that, they explained the whole thing in impeccable English. Awesome!
Now we understand that the children of COMPASSION and Professors with toddlers are busy trying to get the issued-humane messages across. Noticing that those whom we have been bleeding now are not getting enough food to eat, we now sit back and watch till the day they start getting food. It's been months that haven't got anything to eat and yet they still are alive.
This makes us lose our plot; whether to give them self-determination or food, in this thoughtful mode we have scratched and done some damage to our rifle butts. Just to test the mood of some of the we sent some of our boys with "demand letters" to some of the richest families in the valley. They have left the place, now settled in big cities and get to stand in front of shopping malls wrapped in Prada, Louis Vuitton, etc,.Now, how could we bleed those feeble-looking battered bricklayers. We need the money, our is a vehicle in need of fuel.
This makes us lose our plot; whether to give them self-determination or food, in this thoughtful mode we have scratched and done some damage to our rifle butts. Just to test the mood of some of the we sent some of our boys with "demand letters" to some of the richest families in the valley. They have left the place, now settled in big cities and get to stand in front of shopping malls wrapped in Prada, Louis Vuitton, etc,.Now, how could we bleed those feeble-looking battered bricklayers. We need the money, our is a vehicle in need of fuel.
We have found a way: construction, water supply, planting our men in the establishment we have long hated. All can be fair for us, for we are for them. This mean another kind of just place we have long fantasized.
Years later, still clutching those Russian pieces bought in South-East Asia we stroll the place with grand new ideas, you know, those ideas that can change the world. What we were going to say? Shit!! Age has done this. Now we can hardly walk for long, this can't be reversed, you see. But the Russian pieces stay as shiny as they used to be when we first saw them in South-East Asia. Even those boys who had come to follow us at 13 have grown old. They bring in news once a week that the place has turned a Green Desert and now they have a new New Delhi-appointed Chief Minister flown in with a Mumbai Governor. The Professor-burners and their kids don't get to see much excitement these days since things are hardly cool on the highways.
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