Any goon on the street has the right to protest, and no government, no authority can pre empt an action on whims. We have often heard stories of how the autocrats impose purpose to actions that seemed even remotely uncomfortable to the regime, early morning today (infact late night yesterday) police in the capital of the country started detaining people and on a rainy day in New Delhi when the morning walkers were still returning back to have there breakfast an old man who claims to be a Gandhian was arrested. He had planned to protest against corruption.
Another version, No government can allow its authority to die down, no government can allow the legislations to be dictated from a parallel moral authority. If a group of self righteous man however moral come together with the demand for a Frankenstein that may undermine every institution (however imperfect) we have nurtured for the last six decades, than somebody needs to put his foot down and say “this is not done.”
Damn with the versions, a day after the independence day, in fact the end of morality is here upon us was known right since yesterday, a ruckus was played on the streets of the country. Sadly the ruckus was played at the democratic values that we so gleefully wear on our sleeves. The government, spineless yet obdurate decided to prove that it matters, probably this was a statement for those who talked of the governance vacuum too often for the incumbent’s patience, or was the government undoing the supposed sins of the RTI? or was the Delhi police really deciding things for itself and for once they turned virtuoso and acquired the so elusive efficacy? In the peacocks den as the clouds came down, the police, the administration and there big bosses acquired the grace of the dancing peacock and the wings grew over their backs. The wings glittered with pride which reeked of adamant insolence, and could anyone ask the obdurate peacock to look down at its ugly feet? And the peacock did think hundreds, twenty five hundreds had fallen to it charm following the birds ugly feet into the masters cage.
Speculating again, from the whats to the whys. stop this shameless game of dart board in the dark, there's no board on the wall. There never was one. So when a former boss was picked for a drive to the place she had so much restructured, from right outside the Bapu's resting place, Bapu must have been proud, such equity, such freedom. Was she traveling to Tihar? Asked the peacock in soil and green, who knows? The caravan rolled rather lazily out of the peacock den into somewhere. The water came down heavier and the peacock covered its feet, folded it's wing as they got wet. And the dart board that didn’t exist had holes enough for quite a few swiss franc bills to pass. And whose francs? Oops stop those question, why, what, who. Who cares?
The game-plan for this legal ruckus with all its fathomable might must have been drafted with a lot of work and this morning in that rain feed city, the peacock with its dragon fire strolled through the parks and the river banks, through the surreal corners known for witchcraft and the into the peacock den it went. It screamed, the peacock, ever heard it scream? That foul cat in pain sound at distressing decibels, the sound of the baby under the knife, the grotesque murder of the baby who got up on his feet for the first time, just the last evening. Incidentally the peacock has denied the screaming and has blamed the frogs for it. The frogs? Oh didn't I mention them? The peacock police usually feeds on the snakes, to its credit it keeps away from the bigger and the more dangerous ones but on days of utter emergency, when induced by rains the are around us everywhere, they aught to eaten. They taste nasty, but then they must be eaten.
Anna and his friends share a pie of fault and that must be written about too,but the crisis of governance seems too large, an unimaginative government that talks all law sans sense had invited this from a group which seems adamant on subversion, more later
Another version, No government can allow its authority to die down, no government can allow the legislations to be dictated from a parallel moral authority. If a group of self righteous man however moral come together with the demand for a Frankenstein that may undermine every institution (however imperfect) we have nurtured for the last six decades, than somebody needs to put his foot down and say “this is not done.”
Damn with the versions, a day after the independence day, in fact the end of morality is here upon us was known right since yesterday, a ruckus was played on the streets of the country. Sadly the ruckus was played at the democratic values that we so gleefully wear on our sleeves. The government, spineless yet obdurate decided to prove that it matters, probably this was a statement for those who talked of the governance vacuum too often for the incumbent’s patience, or was the government undoing the supposed sins of the RTI? or was the Delhi police really deciding things for itself and for once they turned virtuoso and acquired the so elusive efficacy? In the peacocks den as the clouds came down, the police, the administration and there big bosses acquired the grace of the dancing peacock and the wings grew over their backs. The wings glittered with pride which reeked of adamant insolence, and could anyone ask the obdurate peacock to look down at its ugly feet? And the peacock did think hundreds, twenty five hundreds had fallen to it charm following the birds ugly feet into the masters cage.
Speculating again, from the whats to the whys. stop this shameless game of dart board in the dark, there's no board on the wall. There never was one. So when a former boss was picked for a drive to the place she had so much restructured, from right outside the Bapu's resting place, Bapu must have been proud, such equity, such freedom. Was she traveling to Tihar? Asked the peacock in soil and green, who knows? The caravan rolled rather lazily out of the peacock den into somewhere. The water came down heavier and the peacock covered its feet, folded it's wing as they got wet. And the dart board that didn’t exist had holes enough for quite a few swiss franc bills to pass. And whose francs? Oops stop those question, why, what, who. Who cares?
The game-plan for this legal ruckus with all its fathomable might must have been drafted with a lot of work and this morning in that rain feed city, the peacock with its dragon fire strolled through the parks and the river banks, through the surreal corners known for witchcraft and the into the peacock den it went. It screamed, the peacock, ever heard it scream? That foul cat in pain sound at distressing decibels, the sound of the baby under the knife, the grotesque murder of the baby who got up on his feet for the first time, just the last evening. Incidentally the peacock has denied the screaming and has blamed the frogs for it. The frogs? Oh didn't I mention them? The peacock police usually feeds on the snakes, to its credit it keeps away from the bigger and the more dangerous ones but on days of utter emergency, when induced by rains the are around us everywhere, they aught to eaten. They taste nasty, but then they must be eaten.
Anna and his friends share a pie of fault and that must be written about too,but the crisis of governance seems too large, an unimaginative government that talks all law sans sense had invited this from a group which seems adamant on subversion, more later
1 Comments:
completely makes sense...
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