King the Con
There is almost a daily dose of comically simulated high drama animation on TV channels, especially in that cacophonic cartoon TV which claims to be ‘your channel’
Amit Sengupta Delhi
The irony about Arvind Kejriwal is that his propaganda adrenaline and ‘I am the only Prophet’ aphrodisiac are driven by panting television channels which are as ‘educated’ as this former Indian Revenue Service bureaucrat. There is almost a daily dose of comically simulated high drama animation on TV channels, especially in that cacophonic cartoon TV which claims to be ‘your channel’. Even some self confessed commodity ‘brands’ in the print media, either unilaterally driven by advertorials, or page 3 vicarious voyeurism or, by their self righteous, conservative Tam-Bram instincts, have been going gaga over Kejri – the King of Kong, in trade-mark half-shirt, his style statement. Even the cameras floated endlessly on the ‘I am Arvind’ caps, so uncritically replacing the ‘I am Anna’ caps which arrived as the Great God of the Great Indian Revolution that Failed.
Indeed, in trying to be one up in the competitive race on the pompous high morality brigade in the media, sometimes they publish not one, not two, even three pictures of the Kangaroo Court crusader, even while the ‘Gandhian messiah of the masses’, after a luxurious stint in a luxurious nature therapy centre in Bangalore run by a big business family with VHP links, has comfortably withdrawn to the de-addiction of Ralegan Siddhi where he once upon a time flogged or threatened to flog boozards, tied to a fascist pole.
So addictive is this new Harpic-induced soul-cleansing conditioner, that Kejriwal might actually start getting pathological stomach cramps if he chooses to stop his ritualistic bad mouth let loose in front of TV cameras, even as he chases the Limca Book of Records for the umpteenth number of press conferences held in the shortest era of Hobbesean India. After Magsaysay, and all the Ford Foundation etc., big money, this does not sound too bad, does it? No wonder everyone is singing that sexy cuddly-doodly-parody all over town: Kejri Kejri Kejri mujhe log bole… Hi Kejri, Hello Kejri kyo bolein…
Like the paradox of compulsively celebrating the lowest common denominator of the stuttering Indian salvation, you take away the salivating, flattering, hectoring TV cameras, and the parody goes dud, and so does the King of Kong. So if Kejriwal has Anna’s photostat picture stamped all over his heart (as he announced soon after the messiah decisively ditched him for the saffron pastures of RSS-front Ramdev), is Narendra Modi too stamped on his Xeroxed heart? Unfunny, uncanny, isn’t it? In the entire campaign from Anna Part I at Jantar Mantar and Ramila Ground in Delhi, to the super dud show in Mumbai, to the multi-dud box office super flops thereafter all over the country, did you ever hear a whimper whispered against the muscle-man with thick bloody red lips who master-minded it all in Gujarat 2002?