Mushtaque B Barq

By All Appearances

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Chalk is poles apart from cheese, so is a politician from a polite man. The finesse of a politician is no match with tosh polite man. His politeness is just a bogey that drags him out to face the polished politician. Prudent is a politician for his electoral subjects. But his blood brimmed goblets serve him up in confidentiality where a polite man’s access is restricted. Restrictions are our common narrative. A Saga with numerous scenes. The scene of a catastrophe followed by comic relief. What disturbs a disturbed mind is not a politician’s sophisticated and sugar encrusted verbal vibrations, but a polite man’s incapacitation. A politician speaks and speaks too much at times, but his silence in hard times evokes dudgeon to a polite man. Silence serves none when the violation takes over. Anger is anyway dreadful to wellbeing, but what else an ordinary man in the disguise of politeness shall do save brandishing. Cutting the thin air with the sharpest razor has never ended up beheading a head that knows how to save his headless acrobatics shouldering a cause.  Well! To cart a cause is a valid effort, but once the cause is to smash up general aspiration, the impetus must be Himalayan in response. Every skyscraper that is towered to lower the status of a roofless hut must be dashed down to be the dirt of common man’s campus.  A polite man is a piece of art. He reacts when his head is shaved and in the rest of his life, his priorities are polished. Politeness is worth millions, but how long one can live behind the silhouette of fancies. Stand and deliver. No one is going to snatch your politeness. Be polite to be recognised. Once you are ignored, politeness must offer you a hammer to beat the nail head to fix once for all what otherwise are tagged as ‘Split’. Better are the hands that hammer a nail than saving a plank.

Beneath the demanding breast of a politician, (if it is safe to say) lives a polite man who loves to lure the flock of the same feather to meet the needs whenever he requires and employs a hunter when the need arises. Once this so called courteous man in the wool of a wolf is promoted as a representative of the subjects, the politician takes a lead and misleads the nation. As long as a gracious man dwells within his hut, he behaves like a social animal and once this well-mannered man is buried down the debris of power, anti-social animal takes over. What pleases a common man is not the way a politician at times brings to fore the polite man to encounter the might of a common man. Once he beats the current, he preserves this man for under the garb of a politician. And occasionally tweets to keep a common man guessing. Our guesswork is tricky too. We guess what even the one who puts his verbal farts on the social media better than others. And in guessing things our polite race along with political pundits many a time is taken back for we shock one and all for we are meant to do so. And we as a common man too hide our polite man beneath the fur coat of opportunities, for we are the best opportunists. We cry when we are crushed. We vote when we are lured. We raise slogans when we are charged. We beat the bush when we have nothing to do. We try to propel our ship when the waves are no more available. We enjoy the luxury of waves on the bays when we the waves are favorable to push our boats.

A polite man is chivalrous as long as he keeps his hearth of generosity blazing. Once the flame of inclusiveness is compromised, a politician in him takes a driver’s seat. He starts charging the visitors thus squeeze the jugular vein to control the visitors for his future use. And on the other side of the room, we have sympathizers ready to misuse our needs and in reciprocity, we are labeled as integral part of their needs. A polite man thus prefers a luxurious and cozy couch to get pleasure from easily available comforts. And once his conscious is put on the razor edge, he starts a ‘Movement’ and politicians migrate to safer areas, leaving their vote papers at the mercy of the Lord. After every summer when the tulips from our gardens are no more available, they come and visit our graveyards to attract the attention. Our polite politicians know how and when to address us. And we know when to listen to them. In this race of transition, our polite man has turned into a prudent politician. He too knows when to make a ‘move’.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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