Tag: politics

After a Year

I’ve spent the last year publishing a post every day. Today, it feels like a huge achievement, at least for me. When I started this blog, my brother — my sole supporter at that time — encouraged me to write a post every day. Whether I was sick or had an exam, I had to have a post out no matter what.

I couldn’t because I didn’t know what to write half the time. And when I took up the task in 2016, it was no different. Often, I’d have no topic sentence, no conflicting opinions, and no interest, whatsoever, in inflicting myself and others with bashful political stances. I couldn’t think what else I’d write about.

Some days, I forced myself to write something — a thought, a quote, or anything — because I had to keep going. Those were tough days; days I had to battle the block and doubt my abilities at the same time. So many days I wondered the purpose of my writing, and if people would bother at all to read. But when morning dawned, I came back to my computer and wrote. Because I just couldn’t do without.

However, for all the struggling, I didn’t write glorious pieces of prose. I just wrote a lot of crap, instead. I couldn’t help it. I even thought the bad writing was a result of forced writing, but I couldn’t help but write on. After three or four months of writing a post a day, it became a habit and I ached when I didn’t write anything in the morning. By midday, I panicked.

It pained me to put myself through what I knew was an ordeal that I didn’t have to. I knew people would understand if I just told them I’d had a bad day and don’t feel like doing a blog tonight. And yet, I’m glad I pushed myself. Today, looking back at the way I’ve blogged throughout the year, it feels rewarding. My blog has become a part of my being. It’s become my nature — my thing — to write something every morning. Even my colleagues know I come into work early just to write.

It came with a cost, though. Writing every day was taxing, and I had to give up a lot of other stuff. Like Facebook, for instance. I didn’t have the time to post pictures of myself pouting in front of punch bowls. I didn’t have the time to post quirky 140 characters, and my Instagram posts became so rare that my followers got notifications: “Your friend has posted something for the first time in a long time.” But none of that worried me too much. Sure, I would’ve liked a few likes, but I had made a choice to focus on my writing.

I wrote a lot of opinions. I figured out I had opinions over matters I thought I didn’t have opinions over. And since I knew people wanted to read what I wrote, I wanted to give them some sequence. I learnt to warp the chaos within to bring order — even if only for one post at a time.

The results were satisfying. I managed to hit a milestone of 500 followers. I know it’s a small number for someone who’s been in the blogosphere for a while. Despite that, though, I’m happy I’ve got a few people who I know want to read my blog. After a year of blogging, I’ve found myself out and I’ve found out how much I love my blog.

What’s the Point of News?

big-news

It was Wednesday, the middle of a wet, clammy, and death-filled week. The sun had almost set outside my window at work and I was too bored to continue. I opened a new tab and typed, “F” — the first letter that came to my mind. And trusty Safari pre-filled my most-visited website, Facebook. Scrolling through weather forecasts, sneaky confessions, Netflix trailers, and random acts of kindness, I paused at one peculiar post.

A news item about the chief minister of my home state. She died a couple of days ago, and ever since, people talk about nothing else, whether at work or at dinner. This post, an opinion piece judging by its title, suggested a conspiracy against the dead CM. And it had appeared on my feed, courtesy of my cousin. I stopped to read the headline; the author believed that one of the CM’s closest allies—we’ll call her S—had turned against her and taken over the party’s reins.

It’s absurd, I know. But for years, our media celebrated their friendship. The friend, S, was the CM’s trusted advisor and remained so until, one fine day, a news channel reported that S was corrupt.

The party’s tables turned too soon for their liking, and the CM cut all ties with her friend. The media went crazy and people wrote articles about how the CM’s decision favoured her in the next election. It was all about winning the election. The friend never came into the spotlight until at the CM’s funeral, where she redefined the word, “weepy.” Sound like House of Cards? Welcome to its creepy Indian version.

All these details rushed into my head as I looked at the article’s headline.

I remember thinking we’d never know the truth about the CM and S. Their friendship was a mystery to everyone outside their circle. Nevertheless, we had news pieces and opinions about them, we heard from young college girls who wanted to be BFFs like the CM and S. And now, a few years later, we have wild theories and 12 things we never knew about the CM’s death.

I felt repulsed. I understand the media’s uncontrollable urge to print sensational news, and yet, I can’t accept their proof-less allegations. All these newspapers flew around me hoping I’d buy the one that features the most exciting gossip.

And that’s why I couldn’t digest the article my cousin shared. My cousin doesn’t understand political talks. I know she shared it only because it has an exciting new thing to talk about over dinner. And that only strengthened my waning interest in politics.

I don’t care who killed whom or who’s conspiring against whom. Because at the end of the day, who knows what’s true? We all live in a society that thinks it knows the truth but knows only what others think is the truth. We may guess, but we’ll never know. There are more than 20 television channels in my state that political parties own. Whichever party (or individual) owns the channel has all the power to create, warp, or kill a news item.

And I don’t see the point of revelling in other people’s convoluted version of reality.

Flash news

“Hey, Jude! Did you hear? Hilary lost, Trump won!”

Oh hey, Jason. Trump won, you say? That’s such a surprise. When did this happen, anyway? I must’ve been living under a rock or something. I can’t believe I didn’t know he won. Well, it’s not like I had stayed up watching the three debates live or had discussed with my friends in the US about Trump’s chances. No, thanks so much for letting me know that Trump won the election. You’re my only news source. I wouldn’t have known otherwise.

By the way, how’s that project coming along? Do you realise that our client doesn’t care about the outcome of this election? How far are we on that?

Oh, we haven’t started yet? That’s brilliant. No, that’s fine, we can tell them it’d take a while. After all, we were busy watching the US elections and so was the whole world — our Russian client won’t mind at all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get back to my email.

What’s that? Oh, you just watched Trump’s speech on YouTube? Cool. Huh, the comments say he was high? Well, I don’t know. And you know what, maybe I don’t care. He was scary, you say? Sure, it’s not like I watched his speech live or anything but whether he smokes or not is his problem. Nope, I did not watch the recorded version. You think it was better than watching him live?

Anyway, thanks for the chat. I had been working for ten minutes straight and needed a fifteen-minute power break. By the way, since you know so much about the elections, do you know when Trump’s signing in as president?

Well, that’s weird. How come you didn’t know that there would be an official peaceful transition of power? You’ve been so religious about the election news so far today that I thought you’d know. Anyway, never mind. I guess it’s on the 20th of January. Well, it doesn’t matter anyway, check your mail. The client just emailed us asking for the report. Would you reply to them? And don’t forget to tell them you were busy with the elections.

The Lesser of the Two (D)evils

siblings

I don’t understand the American political scenario. Sure, I know Donald, and I know Hilary. As I typed their names, however, I realised that though Autocorrect knows Clinton it doesn’t recognize Trump.

Solace, at least I’m not the only one.

I don’t follow the debates on stage, and I don’t follow the debates behind the media scenes. From all I’ve heard and seen, both of them bicker at each other like siblings who can’t stand each other. And having an elder brother myself, I know that’s not pretty.

And to imagine they are representatives of the United States of America! From being a once-great country — looking at you Abraham — it’s funny how cheap US standards have become. Nevertheless, that’s how this pair is. You’d see sibling rivalry oozing between the two as they face each other, clinging on to their podiums.

I’ve tried and failed numerous times to fake interest in the matter, but I’ve failed every time. I just don’t care. Besides, the two of them only remind me of spoilt brats snarling at each other.

Donald Trump
He’s the younger sibling. Shouting is his way of handling an argument in which he doesn’t have a strong opinion (or a clue) about. He’s immature to engage in a conversation and has a lot of growing up to do.

If he takes his shouting it a little further, it becomes high-pitched wailing. He looks as if he’s ever-ready to start whining and moping. And when he’s not doing any of those things, he interrupts everyone else. He tries to override the other person by talking louder, harsher, and by repeating his weak statements.

And his idea of a healthy debate is to force people to hear him out.

Sounds to me like a schoolboy dying to get the world’s attention. And oh, he has incredible stamina. Hilary doesn’t have it, by the way.

Hilary Clinton
Going with the sibling theory, Hilary’s the older one. Compared to a six-year-old Trump, she’s a thirteen-year-old who’s just realised the power she exudes at home. Her parents trust her because she’s older than her brother, and therefore has more experience in society.

She just has to look them in the eye and remind them of previous occasions where Donald had been mean to her. And the best part — her arguments get stronger when she throws in real life examples of Donald’s bad mouth. It’s not that difficult.

All the girlfriends of the sister would help pick on her annoying, conniving, and thieving little brother. Remember, every woman Trump has insulted will vote this November.

And unlike little bro Trump, she doesn’t throw tantrums. She realises that by staying mute in the face of his outbursts, she’d come out looking good.

She never has to pull herself together to retort because when there’s a child such as Trump in the scene, no one expects the big sister to argue like a child, too.

Hilary is the mature one. She’s the bigger person. Trump makes a fool of himself even without her help. And she’s counting on him to ruin his candidacy.

—

Of all the people you could’ve chosen, America, you went for a pair of squabbling kids. Well done, and all the best with life after November.