We found this torn diary page at the corner of Tughlak Lane. Though it could not be established, it reads like a page from diary of Sh. Rahul Gandhi, Member of Parliament.
I have been had. Again!
I had been lulled into believing that good times are knocking at my door. I also believed in the BJP electoral battle cry, “अच्छॆ दिन आनॆ वालॆ हैं”. But I was thwarted. Again!
Let me go back a bit. 43 years, to be precise. Add a few more months. My future was decided the moment my existence became known to my parents. Not that they took a decision at that moment like the one in the movie ‘3 idiots’. Actually, as an ancestral hand me down, it was pre-ordained and they just announced it to the world. And to me.
I was to be a politician. I was not interested but the whole world conspired, schemed into making me one and I counter-conspired and counter-schemed to undo their shenanigans.
For ten years they left no opportunity to prove that I was a great politician & a worthy leader and I let no chance slip to showcase that I was not.
But they were smarter.
I would make a stupid statement, they would call me visionary! I would change the script of a photo op and they would call me people’s leader! I would try to completely twist & mangle a debate by uttering nonsense and they would call it a game changer! I would mouth inanities and they believed I was ahead of my time!
What nonsense! I could not even change a light bulb!
I did not attend parliament, committee sessions or debates, asked no questions but the indulgent partymen would not blink an adoring eye!
I was living a life I hated. I was forced to smile when I was seething with anger. I would be eating food in godforsaken places while all I wanted a Sikandari Raan at ITC Maurya. I was training the partymen, motivating them when I rather wanted to be jiving in a disco. I was mouthing phrases like ‘women empowerment’ and ‘threat to secularism’, while all I wanted to say aloud, what each young man of India wants to say, “चल यार, आज दारू पीतॆ हैं“.
In short I had a life I did not want and there seemed to be no hope for the future, no light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.
And then, this man arrived on the scene and like a messiah, showed me the way, inspired me enough to think that I could reclaim my life from the travesty called politics.
That man was, or rather is, Narendra Modi.
I saw in him a liberator who could free me from all the shackles of being a great leader, visionary or game changer by simply giving a crushing blow to my political party, thus terminating their plans of pushing me further into the alien life called politics. I could be I again, I thought.
And he almost did.
He reduced our party strength in parliament to a number almost my age. Physical one, that is. Many of our ministers did not contest and ones who did, lost badly. He delivered on every promise that I had made to myself on his behalf. Well, almost.
He did not deliver on the most crucial one. I still won from my constituency!
Et tu Modi!
The proverbial elephant’s tail got stuck and much to my chagrin and despite my best efforts, gullible voters of Amethi reelected me.
The hopes of reclaiming my life died in that moment of victory.
When I was standing there addressing the media, on the day of results, wearing a funny smirk which has been described as stupid grin in some quarters, my face reflected both the emotions, a suppressed glee at the rout of the party and my impending freedom and a cold fear that I was still leading in my constituency.
So, here I am. Back at the place I hate, in the position I don’t want to be in, living a life I don’t want to live.
Mom would appoint someone as leader of opposition (No, it would not be Manmohan uncle this time, but someone else) but the whole world knows who calls the shots and would pose the questions to me. And I would be as clueless as before.
Do you know how it feels to come back to Parliament, in opposition after losing your government? It’s like you failed in 9th standard and have to sit with students who were your juniors earlier.
And all this while, the loyal partymen are trying to find the numerical symbolism of leading 43 MPs at the age of 43, some of them even telling the world that I am a long distance runner, a marathon man. As if I want to become Prime Minister by 2043!
But I know. मॆरॆ अच्छॆ दिन अब नहीं आनॆ वालॆ.