Mumbai ki na Delhi walon ki; Pinky hai paise walon ki, went the song. For a moment he wondered who Pinky was -and if she had anything to do with him. After much contemplation, he gave up.
“Maybe I am trying too soon. I should observe some more before I try to make sense of this”, he thought.
This wasn’t exactly supposed to be a party, but over the years it had slowly turned into one – sans the alcohol, but the music was unmistakable. A DJ with his setup was on a truck, pandering to the live audiences’ demands and gesturing them to jump with him.
It wasn’t his birthday, he wasn’t getting married and neither was he being promoted on a job, but the crowd directly in front of his eyes, dancing like there’s no tomorrow, suggested otherwise. He wished he could travel back in time. Overwhelmed by nostalgia, he closed his eyes and reminisced the days of old – less pandemonium, more purpose. He liked it that way. But not all of his modern day followers necessarily agreed.
He looked forward to this short visit every year. Most of all, he loved his people. Welcomed in millions of homes around the world, he admired some of them for simply believing in him – he who could slay every obstacle there was or could possibly be. With a heart full of gratitude, he eventually left – promising his followers to come back whilst also keeping an eye out for them from afar.
Not everyone could let him stay for ten days, and he understood. Life was way busier now than it was more than four hundred years ago – when a career wasn’t as pressing a reality as it is today. He was first welcomed by a ruler in the early 1600s –the ruler who was loved by his people then, and is fondly admired by his people even today.
Time flew when he was here. Ten days felt like a few fleeting moments.
As he made his made his way to the sea on each of the immersion days, he wondered if the floating objects were offerings he could take along.
“I don’t really need those.”
As idol after idol was immersed, he followed the trail to each of them. Floating flowers would return to the shore at high tides and make the beach look like an eyesore at low tides, he knew. And although he wished he could clean it all by himself, he feared that taking it easy on his people would only encourage them further.
“I should let them see the filth and decide for themselves.”
He was proud of most of them for using eco-friendly idols. But some didn’t, and in addition to a little money, they paid a price that seemingly didn’t affect anything or anyone right then. Little did they know that it would all come back to haunt them some day. The planet’s predicament would soon be appalling. It already was, but there was more on the horizon.
The God of wisdom was surprised by the lack of it here – dispersing it among an educated few wasn’t anywhere close to being a quick fix. A change in attitudes was the only thing that would really work.
“There will be a day when these people will expect me to save them from a calamity more self-made than natural. What will I do then? Will my principles still hold? What if lives are lost?”
It was unusual for someone of his stature to be in a dilemma. But he was in one now – all thanks to his unruly followers. They had already ruined the very waters at their shores, but an end was nowhere in sight. It was something they clearly saw, yet chose to unsee. Karma loomed large.
He spent the next 365 days missing his followers and hoping that the next year wouldn’t be as messy as the one gone by. They were mortals after all. And they could take more time to learn – certainly more than the average God.
As the 366th day dawned, he awoke with renewed hope.
He could hear some music in the distance. Excitedly, he jumped out of bed and called out to his mouse. Halfway through, he still couldn’t hear it clearly but it was louder.
Straining his ears, he heard the words, DJ wale babu..
“Turn around”, he said, hitting his forehead with the palm of his hand.
“I would rather catch up on some more sleep.”
The Telltale Journal 