I have never really been one to celebrate small victories. A small win, a short stint, absolutely nothing. Even when I first started cycling, one solitary 50-kilometer ride only felt like a true achievement a feat a mere 5% of cyclists in the entire world have ever claimed in their lifetimes. And then came these spineless cockroaches, scurrying around to demand the resignation of a person who was right in the thick of things and didn't even try to curb the rot. Students died, parents cried, the crowd grew utterly disheartened, while the nation sat in deafening, spineless silence. The nation, by the way, only ever asks if Rhea killed Rajput; beyond that pathetic spectacle, the country just sits comfortably on its throne, surrounded by yes-men nodding along to the misery. I digress, but that is my writing, this is my raw story, and this is precisely the way I am going to tell it. #ThingsToLearnFromTheOdyssey
We are the people who watched Rang De Basanti on the silver screen, felt the cinematic fire ignite in our veins, and instantly knew it was time to take to the streets against the broad-daylight, cold-blooded murder of Jessica Lal. Yes, that one striking woman with a big red bindi in her photographs who was shot down in cold blood merely because Manu Sharma was refused a drink. Male ego can’t take rejection, they whisper behind closed doors… yet even then, society is somehow ready to forgive them, shouting apologies to the world even when it's a fabricated lie. Manu Sharma eventually served his sentence, fittingly enough, possibly tucked away in a plush cell equipped with air conditioning, accommodating conjugal visitors, and attendants casually feeding him alcohol and cigarettes, before seamlessly walking out a free man. ONLY to launch Indri whisky. For those of you who live under a rock, Indri Whisky is produced by Piccadilly Agro Industries Limited, a company where Manu Sharma, now operating under the sanitized alias Siddharth Sharma, is a major stakeholder and proudly listed as the brand's founder. So life, as we cynically know it for the absurdly rich, always finds a way to write a sickening script. The passionate march we staged at the Gateway of India while dramatically emulating the celluloid heroes of Rang De Basanti now feels like an absolute, hollow waste as I gulp down a second glass of Indri. They did a brilliantly twisted job masking it, though no, I am not wasting my hard-earned money by flushing this poison down the drain just to satisfy some idealistic moral compass. I kid, of course… I’d never touch the whisky that metaphorically mocked the red bindi of Jessica Lal and practically turned it into a trademark corporate badge of “remorse sentiment.”
# i killed jessica and am reloading
We did it all over again when the poor villagers around that mega lake city called Lavasa were ruthlessly exploited, cheated out of rightful compensation, and forcefully evicted simply because Hindustan Construction Company wanted to erect a utopian dream city for the elite. Thanks to the echoing roar of us college students and, more importantly, the indefatigable spirit of Medha Patkar, the “Lavasa Wapas Jao” chants shook the establishment. Permissions were frantically re-evaluated, stop-work orders were formally issued and enforced, and eventually, construction did grind to a halt, though only because HCC catastrophically lost funding and the wealthy investors pulled their money out of the sinking fund. Aghast at the fallout, four sprawling cities were originally planned, and only half ever saw the light of day. But I digress; the impoverished villagers never received their due compensation, lost any future opportunity to earn a fair price for their ancestral lands, and the few who were forced to abandon their homes or chased away never received an ounce of dignity or respect.
#lavasa drowned with more money than people
Oh, and we didn’t stop there; we orchestrated a massive, earth-shattering upheaval for the Lokpal Bill, legislation that finally passed purely under the sheer, suffocating weight of public pressure. And we all know the tragic screenplay of how that blockbuster climax ends: with public slaps, with democratic authority being breached from within, and with a crusader having a righteous cause eventually surrendering wholesale to dirty politics. True to the cynical adage, the hero lived just long enough to morph completely into the villain of the story.
# eggs kejariwal is better on the plate
In all three instances, and countless other dramatic interludes, we blindly celebrated the grand emotional peaks and the eventual temporary downfalls of the mighty, all without ever pausing to understand the gritty, manipulative reality behind the scenes.
This entire CJP protest, charged with raw fury and unbridled chaos, feels far less like a structured, purposeful pursuit of cinematic justice and more like a tragic echo of systemic frustrations boiling over into madness. True civic accountability demands strategic, intelligent resistance, not a chaotic public spectacle defined by aggressive narebazi and gutter galigaloch. When a movement inevitably descends into unparliamentary noise, it completely forfeits its moral high ground, alienating the very masses it desperately seeks to awaken. Shouting cheap obscenities and stripping away basic human dignity reduces profound societal grievances to a chaotic street brawl, perfectly mirroring the shallow, performative outrage of a nation that chronically prefers flashy melodrama over substantial substance. The true impact is lost entirely in translation when the method of protest becomes just as reckless and undisciplined as the injustice it fights against, leaving behind nothing but a bitter, unforgettable taste of absolute futility.
#aam ka patta kadwa hai kisiko nahi hamari parwaah hai.
History solemnly reminds us that legendary icons like Mahatma Gandhi, Bhagat Singh, Lala Lajpat Rai, and Jawaharlal Nehru also defiantly took to the streets, but their dissent was immovably anchored in an undeniable, righteous cause and unyielding ideological discipline. Even amidst their fiercest, most revolutionary disagreements, they innately understood that crossing the line into unparliamentary vulgarity against any leader whether virtuous or deeply flawed cheapens the struggle for freedom. Resorting to gutter language doesn't project true strength; it bankrupts the intellectual discourse, eroding the ethical foundation required to demand actual, lasting systemic change. If a modern movement demands that we abandon basic civility and spit on the profound weight of our own historical sacrifices, then count me out. I’m sorry, but it's an immediate, unapologetic unsubscribe from this hollow, performative brand of outrage.
# inquilab zindabad
In the end... let me spell it out for you guys, Bollywood style: kuch nahi hoga iss desh ka, jo jaisa hai waise hi chalta rahega. A much bigger, darker climax awaits us behind the curtains. Let the boiling water finally overflow its banks, because every blind andh bhakt chanting slogans simply refuses to comprehend the sheer gravity of this brewing sentiment. Look around the script we’ve written: a full-scale Civil War, a violent societal revolt, and a real, unfiltered Quit Democracy finale proudly awaits us all, echoing the haunting, disillusioned reel of life where Rang De Basanti meets the heartbreaking reality that No One Killed Jessica, because in this tragic drama, justice is just a staged illusion for the masses.
#delulu
Disclaimer: The views expressed herein are solely those of the author and owner of this blog. This is intended only as an opinion, satire, and expression of the author’s views, and should not be construed as anything else.
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