Moody Fellows All!

There was great consternation in the Revolutionary Party headquarters.  At 11 that morning, the pronouncements of an entity called Moody’s had sent the mood of all the Revolutionaries into a tailspin. After sulking for 13 years, the Moody’s chappie had decided to upgrade the Indian economy.  And as the morning wore on, and it became increasingly clear that the Moody pronouncements had placed a feather in the political cap of the ruling dispensation, the mood in the office became increasingly hysterical. Stock market analysts lovingly spelt out the contours of what it meant to go from Baa3 to Baa2. News channel anchors belted out endless sentences – some of which made some sort of vague sense, most did not – about how the Moody’s guy had finally done the right thing by India. Blah, blah, blah. But tiresome blah, considering the party had just celebrated the success of the anti-reform narrative, that they religiously believed people had begun to buy into, in larger and larger numbers.

“I tell you, these guys are all hand-in-glove. All these right-wing non-intellectual types – basically the ones who control the world markets. “

“No doubt about that. Look at the timing, na. Just when an election is around the corner. They want to make sure their man continues to win.”

“Comrade, we can’t let this go without a fight. We need to tell that Moody guy that we’re wise to his antics.”

“Seriously. Call Cybernath. He’ll take care of the social media bit.”

Within minutes, Cybernath was on the job. And in no time at all, he had hunted down the pesky Moody on Facebook.

As the name Moody swam into his vision, Cybernath took one swig of chai, and let his fingers loose upon the keyboard — magically transmitting the angst of all his comrades into Moody’s corner of cyberspace.

“How dare you say our country’s economy is on the road to recovery? Do you know anything about the way economies like ours work anyway? We know you have taken money from the right-wing leader. Shame shame…”

“Long live the Revolution…” he signed off with a flourish, and hit Post.

Two minutes later, when it became apparent that he had hit the wrong Moody, Cybernath felt pensive. For all of two seconds. After which he rebounded, with characteristic vigor. “What does it matter? Anybody who calls himself Moody is suspect anyway.”

In his dressing room, someone alerted Moody the cricketer that there was an inexplicable outpouring of venom against him on his Facebook page. Moody gave him a blank look, before going back to strategizing for his team for the upcoming tournament.

In another continent, ghosts of the Roman mob tittered, as they gossiped in the bye-lanes of Rome. “Remember the time when we lynched the wrong Cinna?” one asked.

“I am Cinna the poet. I am Cinna the poet.” One of the spirits simpered, mimicking the hapless bard.   

“Tear him for his bad verses!” The rest of the ghosts shouted, reliving that moment of pure glee.

Mother’s Day – From ‘Boohoo’ to ‘Buyhoo’

Wake up this morning to the sound of two grown-up men serenading their mother. Rush to figure out where this is coming from, and realize it is DD National on TV, which is playing Bollywood numbers dedicated to “ma” on Mother’s Day.

The ongoing number talks about how pointless it is to look for God, since ‘he’ (she?) is unlikely to look very different from ‘ma’. Two decidedly middle-aged sons, in a boat, with their mother…telling her she is ‘God’.

(At this point, special effects play to indicate a dream sequence.) I’m the woman in the boat, with two grown-up sons telling me I’m God. I smile. For a tiny second, I feel powerful, and then I gnash my teeth, and scream: “You scoundrels! You think I enjoy being this blasted wish-fulfillment tree that you guys have turned me into, all your miserable lives? Now, get off my back, for heaven’s sake, and let me live the rest of my life as a human being.”

(Special effects) – I’m back on my couch…until the next song starts – this time, it’s an adolescent boy singing to his mother, while his sister hovers in the background, maintaining a diplomatic silence.

“How sweet you are, how good you are, how lovable you are…’ and on and on. Even as an ego-boost, that’s pretty lame. If you’re a mother, there’s only one question these words can trigger: “Cut out the BS…what do you want?”   

The next number knocks me over completely. It has a little girl standing on a stage and singing, “I’ve seen mother, but I haven’t seen mother’s love.”

“How sad for you missy! Maybe you didn’t look in the right place. Or perhaps, like the eight-armed mother in the instant breakfast ad, the poor hapless woman is just too busy running around all day to let all the ‘love’ hang out.

By now, I’ve had enough. So, I turn off the TV, and pick up the newspaper. Only to be greeted by Mother’s Day ads – get her this, get her that – the front page, the page after that, and the one after that. They’re all just teeming with ads – about what sons and daughters should be buying for their mothers. I smile. This is a world I’m comfortable in. No airy-fairy mother-worship here…if you want to be all theatrical on one hand-picked day of the year, and declare your love for your mother, get her STUFF… a little materialism never hurts anybody, does it?  Especially, mothers….!!!