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- Denis Giles
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As I see America’s Trump and India’s Modi blundering their way through their terms, I wonder why, and a thought flits through my mind;they don’t understand,democracy has no kings!
The only ruler democracy has, is Democracy herself, and she wants no rivals to her throne!
“Look at me!” shouted Modi as he wore a pinstripe suit on one of his earlier occasions, and as his citizens enlarged him on their mobile phone cameras, they gasped to see that what they thought were pinstripes were not ordinary stripesbut his name gloriously racing across yards of his suit!
Democracy shuddered and the people did too!
And Trump, as he sits in yonder Oval Room and tweets to the rest of the world his thoughts and feelings suddenly sees that instead of his citizens gathering same tweets and thoughts together and bringing them out in a book, called ‘Trumpeter!” or, ‘Kingspeak!’ or ‘Donald’s Quacks’ finds they are regarded as a schoolboy’s daily tantrums!”
Democracy brooks no rivals especially those who want to enhance their names!
The only one allowed on the throne of a democratic nation is Democracy herself! The rest including a prime minister or president or chancellor sit at her feet, along with the rest of their senate or parliaments and listen in awe to her voice, not to tweets and radio broadcasts froman elected representative!And that is only what they are; mere representatives of the people!
When the poor can afford only a loin cloth, oftimes no shoes, Democracy decries, their representative,like Gandhi did, bears the same simplicity.
He represents them, not himself.
When the people especially of the US are afraid of guns from schoolrooms and bombs from Korea, their representative doesn’t tweet derogatory words to the mad Kim Jong-un, like Trump did. He treads with caution.
“Come!” says Democracy to these two representatives, “Let me teach you how to behave!”
“No,” says Pinstripes, “You want me to ask Parliament whether demonetization is right or not? I won’t! I order it. I pass it!”
“No!” says Blondie from the US, “You want me to open my borders to everyone?My gates are closed to those I dislike!It’s an order!”
As I look at Pinstripes and Tweeter, I whisper, “Can you not see the throne in front of you?”
“What throne?” both shout.
“The throne on which Democracy sits!”
They look at me, and shout again, “It’s we who sit on the throne!”
Then, in the distance I hear the beginnings of Democracy’s roar. A roar of anger, and soon with a mighty voice proclaims, “There is only one ruler, Democracy has, and that is Democracy herself, and there is only one throne on which she sits; the throne of the Constitution of the Country!
Democracy has no kings, these two will soon realize..!
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- Denis Giles
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Is it my imagination that tells me there was an urgent call from the Prime Minister to the actress in charge of the Information ministry, “Madam minister what are you doing to the press?”
“Nothing honorable prime minister, just helping them memorize their lines! We all go through it sir, we forget our script and start saying fake things which has nothing to do with the movie!”
“What script, what movie?” I imagine a harried PM must have asked.
“Our movie sir we are directing together, and like I said sir, as Tulsi even I used to sometimes say my own lines and the director would get very angry!”
“You are talking about the television serials you used to act in?”
“Yes sir, and which you were very impressed by my roles and made me a minister!”
“I liked the impact you had on the women of India! Very powerful lines!” I imaginethe prime minister must have admitted.
“Powerful lines written by a script writer sir!”
“Script writer?”
“Yes sir, which is why I feel these media fellows need to understand that we are the writers of their scripts!Their job sir is only to deliver our lines to the public like I did as an actress!”
“You are saying those powerful lines of yours in ‘KyunkiSaasBhiKabhi Bahu Thi,’ were not your lines?”
“Ofcourse not Mr Prime Minister, you think I am capable of making such lines?Next you will say the press are capable of writing their own stories! But did you like my lines sir, the ones I delivered in the serials?”
“Yes, but..”
“Good scriptwriting sir, which the scribes are missing today! These journalists need us to set them right! You and me, then we can have the plot totally in control. We cannot have fake lines which is what I told them. If you do not follow our script, off with your heads!”
“Off with your heads, my god!” a worried PM, I imagine, must have whispered.
“I mean off with their accreditations!”
“May I ask you a question madam minister?”
“YesMr Prime Minister, it is your right to do so!”
“Who wrote this script for you? This off with your heads script?”
“You did sir!”
“I?”
“Yes sir, I have the script somewhere. Here it is! See these are your lines sir, about the press and fake news!”
“Oh no!” I imagine the prime minister sighing as he looks at the script the minister holds up to him, “My dear madam, you have mixed up the pages!”
“Mixed up sir?”
“Yes, these lines you’ve gone and read out come later in our play. It takes place after the Karnataka elections!”
“Oh I’m sorry sir!”
“No it’s okay, continue rehearsing them, meanwhile I’ll tell the press those lines are withdrawn!”
“Thank you sir, thank you, I think we nearly lost the plot..!”
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- Denis Giles
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The mobile shopkeeper at the cell phone shop nearly jumped out of his skin seeing the Aadhaar card in my hand, “Sir,” he whispered, “Put it back in your wallet!”
“Why?” I asked, “I’d like to link my Aadhaar with my cell phone number!”
“Ssshh!” whispered the same shopkeeper, looking at his other customers who were either buying SIM cards or buying new phones, “Sir, please don’t say that name too loudly here!”
“What name?” I asked, looking confused, as the shopkeeper pointed to my card, “Oh this, why not?”
“The Supreme Court has said it is not necessary!”
“That’s okay!” I said, “But I would like to link it!”
“Sir, but did you hear what the other lawyer said?”
“The Aadhaar lawyer?” I asked.
“No sir, the other lawyer opposing the Aadhaar lawyer! Okay let me put it in my own words sir, suppose you were to blow up a bridge or a train in the country….”
“Whoa! Whoa!” I shouted, “Do I look like a terrorist?”
“Sir, I only used the word suppose!“ said the shopkeeper as he found a readymade audience now of all the others in his shop, “So sir, you blow up the bridge and you run away and hide somewhere, and then after some days you want to purchase a TV!”
“Why should I purchase a TV after I’ve blown up a bridge?” I asked.
“In case you want to see whether the police are catching up with you or not!” explained a customer, as the others in the shop nodded in approval.The mobile shop owner looked gratefully at the customer and continued, “And when you purchase your TV you have to show your Aadhaar card, and within a day the police know where you are, your name, and wham-bamyou are behind bars!”
I looked at my Aadhaar card as the others in the shop looked at me, “Do you want to go to jail?” asked a college student as she looked at me sternly. “Do you know how terrible it is inside?”
“And terrorists, especially bridge blowers are treated mercilessly!” said the mobile shop owner as the others agreed. “Please keep your card sir!”
I took the card and put it back in my wallet and left the shop, I walked down to finish my next chore at the bank, the manager greeted me with a smile, then frowned as I pulled out my Aadhaar card, “Are you mad?” he whispered, “You want to link your card to your account?” I nodded. “If you don’t pay back a loan or you take letters of credit you don’t honour or are involved in a scam, do you know you may not be able to leave the country and land up in prison?” he asked angrily.
I left the bank, shivered as I stared at my Aadhaar card, and with tears of gratitude thanked all those who wanted to keep me out of jail..!
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- Denis Giles
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Grown men don’t cry, right? And not cricketers; tough guys with wrists of steel and muscular arms! But this morning I looked at pictures of the Australian captain, vice-captain and also their coach, tears flowing from their eyes, ashamed at what they’d done! Sad, how they had humiliated their country, and weeping for a mistake they regretted.
They were broken and repentant.
And then I look at pics a few days back of our Lalu, sentenced for fourteen years for a fodder scam where he had stolen money meant for the public.But what was the look in his eyes?
Anger and dismay on getting caught!
The act of stealing, of cheating, of killing is not what many of us are repentant about but the fact that we hadn’t covered our tracks better, that we didn’t have a better alibi, a better cover up, or a better lawyer!
“Daddy!” cries the scamster as he is taken from courtroom to jail, “I regret not having forged the cheque better!”
“I feel sorry!” say the man to his friends as he is led off on a rape charge, “That I didn’t give the girl a few lakhs more to shut up!”
The list goes on. But as long as one is not repentant, there is no forgiveness from a God above!
On Easter, we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus, who died that anything we have done in our lives, any wicked deed, lie we’ve said, even murder we have committed is forgiven, but only if the one who has committed the deed feels sorry about it. And if you are sorry, then the punishment for that deed has been looked after by the death on the cross.
Just imagine a scene where a murderer is hanged and after death walks down to the fiery furnaces of hell, but as he nears those gates, he hears footsteps behind, and looks back to see an angel, “Where are you going?” asks the angel.
“To hell for what I have done on earth!” says the man sadly.
“You don’t belong to hell, but to heaven!” says the angel, turning him round and leading him to the celestial gates of heaven.
“Heaven!” whispers the shaken murderer, “There must be a mistake!”
“Didn’t you pray for forgiveness?” asks the angel.
“Yes I did!” says the man, “But what about my punishment for the crime I committed?”
“That punishment has been looked after by the man who died on the cross,” says the angel.
“Can I go to the cross and thank that man?” asks the happy murderer.
“That man paid for your crime with his death, then rose from death on the third day!” says the angel.
And that’s what Easter is all about, the rising from death of Christ who took the punishment for our lying, our cheating, even our killing, after we are repentant for what we have done..!
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- Denis Giles
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With the world hearing India is banning the eating of beef and trying to change its people into vegetarians, my neighbor in London, a diehard meat eater, and who was planning a trip to India decided he would become a veggie. “I don’t want to be thrown into one of their jails. So am practicing to be a vegetarian before my holiday,” he said as he looked at a picture of a mango tree, “I have told my cook to cook those leaves for lunch!”
“That’s a mango tree,” I said, “You eat the fruit, not the leaves.”
“You can’t put anything of that tree into a curry?”
“Only the raw mangoes,” I said, “you eat the ripe ones raw and cook the raw ones!”
“This is very confusing,” said my English neighbour as he scratched his head and stared at the pictures of ripe mangoes on the tree. “What happens if I eat the leaves?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“What happens if I ate the raw mangoes raw and put the ripe mangoes into a curry?”
“No idea,” I said helplessly.
“What about cauliflower?”
“What about it?” I asked.
“Do I eat it cooked or uncooked?”
“You can’t eat it uncooked,” I said disgustedly.
“I’m sorry I didn’t know,” said my neighbour, now beginning to look a little worried, “What about this fruit?”
“It’s a carrot,” I said, “it’s not a fruit it’s a root, which is eaten like a vegetable!”
“A root eaten like a vegetable but not a vegetable?” asked my neighbour, “so its allowed isn’t it. I mean as a vegetarian I can eat it?”
“Sure you can,” I said patting him on the back.
“This vegetarianism business is going to be a long journey,” he said. “is it okay if I eat this vegetable?”
“It’s not a vegetable,” I said looking at the onion he was holding out to me.
“It’s a fruit?”
“No,” I said.
“Let me guess, it’s a root?”
“No,” I said, “it’s a bulb!”
“Whoa! Whoa!” shouted my neighbour throwing the onion away, “dammit I don’t want to get electrocuted chewing a bulb! I thought being a vegetarian was safe?”
“It is,” I said.
“And do you eat the bulb cooked?”
“Raw,” I said patiently.
“I think I need expert advice before I go to India!” he said.
“I agree,” I said as I watched him go to his phone.
“Do you know a good lawyer?”
“Lawyer?” I asked.
“Yes, I don’t want to be lynched by the gestapo for eating the wrong veg food!”
“There’s no gestapo in India!” I said stiffly.
“Then what’s this?” he asked fearfully, showing me another picture.
“Ah that!” I said, “that’s the Prime Minister’s men, though they don’t wear khaki shorts anymore..!”
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