The run up to a differently similar rule

Now that Didi is safely back from the back of beyond of Bengal called Lalgarh, literally meaning the “Red Fort”, which grew raddish for donkey’s era and have now, for the past few years, become quite blood red, the quintessential Bhadrolok has sighed his deep sense of relief, more due to the scare created by the last minute intrusion of an ordinary truck in the Supremo’s unscheduled tea party near Kolaghat and less due to any remote chance of the Maoist sympathisers creating a rucus there. 

When asked for the true reason of Didi’s visit to Lalgarh, one of her ardent followers, who did not wish to be named “with no content and out of context”, most respectfully admitted that since Didi has all the greatness of the Great Dictator and as her word is the last word for everything that is anything as far as her supporters are concerned, who is he to think of any reason other than the fact that She must be knowing the true reason and that is enough reason for others to follow her to the little red fort. He fondly recalled the story of the Pied Piper and his followers and became rather ecstatic, almost went in a trance, while he visualised himself as one following his own Great Piper. I left him in his own ratty world and quietly left without a rattle towards the neighbouring Left office.

And lo and behold, they still have that bearded German hanging right above their main entrance with the other duo of the Holy Trinity, the gentleman from Russia and the eternal Angel, all duly decked up and in their rightful prominent places, this one set almost looking like an alter, getting me foxed enough to search for the telltale signs of Indian worship in an un Holy terrain. I even searched for a small framed photograph of beloved Buddha, who could have become Mahavir as well if he had the courage to face the brigands of his own brigade, but found none, not even a whimper. The great “Karat” (i.e. hacksaw in Bangla), him neither. The Chairman, aptly known as Biman (i.e. airplane in Bangla), grounded too. What the heck is this yaar, I thought. Do they still think that the Holy Trinity, long gone, buried and ousted from their own chambers, will bring them back to rule the hapless proletariat again (thereby help them become richer bourgeois)? Where have all the home grown ones gone, who could have done them less harm at least?  I just could not find anybody in that well lit office to clear my doubts and I was told by a neighboring chaiwalla that no one has really turned up ever since Didi last celebrated her Sahid Divas, choking the city like a dog on a choke chain.

Wandering, I was wondering if I could find the BJP office but no one seemed to know the exact whereabouts! Sometime back, I was forced to experience one burly gentleman, who, on assuming office of the State President, suddenly decided to have his, rather their presence felt, and created havoc in the already chaotic Kolkata. As I had watched him on local news that evening, I tried to recollect where have I seen this one before? Back home, as I flipped through the rags, riches and conniving homemakers on primetime, my thumb automatically grew numb when I hit upon The Grumpy-turned-Gorgeous Ms.S extolling the virtues of   live marriage bids (sic) on air. I stopped. I watched. I realised. The resemblance, that is.