For the past few years, August has been Anna Hazare Awareness Month. One way or the other, Ralegan Siddhi’s dear leader keeps finding a way every August to be part of a couple of news cycles. So, this year, we thought we’d give the guy a break and instead of having him do something drastic, we’d just let him tell his story, in his own words.
On a cold January day many years ago, as I sat outside my modest but comfortable cottage, one of my acquaintances brought a stranger to my evening durbar. As I solved the problems of my fellow citizens, the man quietly watched me. After everyone had left and I had gone inside to prepare to retire for the day, my acquaintance brought the man in. I didn’t know it yet, but my life was about to change forever.
“Let me stop you right there, son.” I said to him. “Firstly, that is a terrible metaphor. You’re going to need to work on that. Secondly, you had me at constant coverage on national television.”
I should have listened to my gut instinct and politely said no to his offer. But I succumbed! Can you blame me? I thought this was my moment. Throughout my life, all I’ve ever wanted is for everyone in the country to recognise my greatness and worship me. Even after going on more fast-onto-deaths than the number of meals an average person has in their lifetime, I was still an unknown. How could I pass up this opportunity for fame [DELETE] helping a large number of my countrymen?
The best days of my life
It was the summer of twenty-eleven. I was everywhere! On posters, billboards and front pages of newspapers usually reserved for advertisements of some other dubious product that wouldn’t live up to its promise.
Every minute of my life was being broadcast to the whole world. Public intellectuals spent their day dissecting my dietary needs. My bowel moments were reported on during prime time. Even big celebrity anchors would wait for hours in the unforgiving sun just for an “exclusive” interview with me. It was like I was the star of my own Truman Show. And it was glorious!
Even reel-life heroes queued up to get an audience with me. Everyone wanted to be on my team. I had a bigger entourage than Justin Beiber. Any merchandise attached to my movement was selling like tickets to a Salman Khan movie. T-shirts with my face on them became more popular than the ones featuring Che Guevara. In fact, there were some people so enamored with me that they even got Anna Hazare themed face-tattoos. I imagine those people looking in the mirror every day and feel nothing but pride in their impulse decision.
I knew I shouldn’t have done anything for all these ingrates. I should have just stayed in my little world and run it like it was my God-given right. Great people like me always get carried away by their ambitions. I should have learned from the mistakes of my heroes – Napoleon and Hitler – and quit when the going was good.
One big mistake of my life
I became desperate. I figured I had to do something to remind people of who I was. So, at the last minute, I threw together another huge fast-fest in Bombay. I was expecting a large crowd to show up. After all, this was the equivalent of a Springsteen concert in New Jersey. However, to my utter shock, no one showed up. My rally flopped more miserably than the Zune. My dream run was over faster than it began. I went back to my village, defeated and broken.
Please cry for me, Argentina!
Then began the spiral. I lost control of myself. I couldn’t even look at food without getting choked up. One day, when I was really angry, I broke every television set in the village. After that, I stopped leaving my house for anything. I began drinking. I became more intoxicated than Vinod Mehta during the Newshour.
I couldn’t hide my bitterness even if I tried. I was reduced to trolling everyone for attention. Then, I did the unthinkable. Two years after the peak of my anti-corruption crusade, I went to the NASDAQ stock exchange. That’s right. I went to the ground zero of crony capitalism. I visited the citadel of corruption and rung the bell to start the day’s proceedings. And I liked it! I f***ing enjoyed it more than beating a defenceless man with my belt. It gave me more pleasure than taunting a woman who was unable to bear a child.
She’s The One
Then, earlier this year, an angel came into my life. She was pure, simple and completely uncomplicated. Just like me, she was a maverick too. I still remember our brief courtship. The memory of our one long walk on the beach, where we both took turns to punch alcoholics and suspected Maoists in the face, is the only thing keeping me alive. What a happy day that was!
I attended a rally with her in Kolkata. It was overwhelming, to say the least. She spoke for eight hours and everyone sat listening to her, in rapt attention. It was like a spiritual experience. I sat by speechless while she needlessly yelled at everyone around her. I saw her berate industrialists, her political opponents and even her own party colleagues. I have never been more smitten with anyone else.
Too invested in my emotions and willing to prove to her that I was still a big draw worthy of her time, I promised her a similar crowd for a rally in Delhi. I was initially worried, but then I remembered that people in that city loved me! I was their messiah! They couldn’t get enough of me! Of course they would rally around me again! So I proudly told her to hold a rally at my old bastion, Ramlilla Maidan. What could go wrong?
Turns out, everything!
There were more voices in my beloved’s head than the number of people attending the rally. I was so embarrassed that I realised that I could never show her my face again. I refused to attend the rally and silently said goodbye to her forever.
Everything ravaged, everything burned
Now, I’m back in my village. I tried to go back to running it with an iron fist, but the villagers refused to follow my diktats anymore. Turns out, they had gotten used to all the freedom my lack of attention provided them. There are Wine & Beer shops throughout the village now. No one bats an eyelid at wedding ceremonies serving an elaborate three-course meal. They play non-religious music at every function! There is even blasphemous talk of holding a real election for the village sarpanch. These are the same people who used to let me pick which Indian Idol contestant they should vote for. (You’re welcome, Abhijeet Sawant. Jai Maharashtra!)
Everyone on Team Anna was able to use his or her celebrity to get another well-paying gig. Everyone except me, of course. Even Kumar Vishwas, the Turtle of my version of Entourage, is more famous than I am now. I thought I was using all those people to make a name for myself. But those city slicker bastards Anna Hazare’d me.
No one comes to me for advice anymore. I am more alone than the main protagonist of Half-Girlfriend.
I used to get treated for free in Medanta. Now, even the local homeopath reluctantly fills my diabetes prescription. I used to get free air tickets to travel anywhere. Now, I can’t even afford a third-class train ticket. I used to have so many gadgets that I used to use an iPad as a serving tray. Now, all I have connecting me to the virtual world is a shitty Blackberry phone.
I’m even losing my will to hate. Just yesterday, I saw an unmarried couple walking near the river holding each other’s hand and I didn’t order a hit on either of them.
I don’t know who I am anymore.
* * *
Let my life serve as a lesson to everyone who seeks fame and fortune. First they praise you. They make you feel like you’re the biggest thing in the world. Then, just when you start believing in yourself, they pull you down. And before you know it, it’s over.
Forever.
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On a cold January day many years ago, as I sat outside my modest but comfortable cottage, one of my acquaintances brought a stranger to my evening durbar. As I solved the problems of my fellow citizens, the man quietly watched me. After everyone had left and I had gone inside to prepare to retire for the day, my acquaintance brought the man in. I didn’t know it yet, but my life was about to change forever.
Don’t mind if I do
“Annaji,” the stranger said to me, “Corruption in this country has wedged itself deeply inside our polity. Only you can save the country now. Mother India is trapped in a prison, and she is calling out your name. You need to . . . ”
“Let me stop you right there, son.” I said to him. “Firstly, that is a terrible metaphor. You’re going to need to work on that. Secondly, you had me at constant coverage on national television.”
I should have listened to my gut instinct and politely said no to his offer. But I succumbed! Can you blame me? I thought this was my moment. Throughout my life, all I’ve ever wanted is for everyone in the country to recognise my greatness and worship me. Even after going on more fast-onto-deaths than the number of meals an average person has in their lifetime, I was still an unknown. How could I pass up this opportunity for fame [DELETE] helping a large number of my countrymen?
The best days of my life
It was the summer of twenty-eleven. I was everywhere! On posters, billboards and front pages of newspapers usually reserved for advertisements of some other dubious product that wouldn’t live up to its promise.
Every minute of my life was being broadcast to the whole world. Public intellectuals spent their day dissecting my dietary needs. My bowel moments were reported on during prime time. Even big celebrity anchors would wait for hours in the unforgiving sun just for an “exclusive” interview with me. It was like I was the star of my own Truman Show. And it was glorious!
Even reel-life heroes queued up to get an audience with me. Everyone wanted to be on my team. I had a bigger entourage than Justin Beiber. Any merchandise attached to my movement was selling like tickets to a Salman Khan movie. T-shirts with my face on them became more popular than the ones featuring Che Guevara. In fact, there were some people so enamored with me that they even got Anna Hazare themed face-tattoos. I imagine those people looking in the mirror every day and feel nothing but pride in their impulse decision.
Et tu, Brute?
However, in a year’s time, everything was over. The first rats to leave my sinking ship were my friends in the media. They stopped taking my calls. Never replied to the heartbreaking voicemails I left them. They didn’t even poke me back on Facebook! After the cameras stopped rolling, the people began to abandon me too. The celebrities began to stop asking for an audience. Apparently, I had become “too toxic” for people to associate with me.
I knew I shouldn’t have done anything for all these ingrates. I should have just stayed in my little world and run it like it was my God-given right. Great people like me always get carried away by their ambitions. I should have learned from the mistakes of my heroes – Napoleon and Hitler – and quit when the going was good.
One big mistake of my life
I became desperate. I figured I had to do something to remind people of who I was. So, at the last minute, I threw together another huge fast-fest in Bombay. I was expecting a large crowd to show up. After all, this was the equivalent of a Springsteen concert in New Jersey. However, to my utter shock, no one showed up. My rally flopped more miserably than the Zune. My dream run was over faster than it began. I went back to my village, defeated and broken.
Please cry for me, Argentina!
Then began the spiral. I lost control of myself. I couldn’t even look at food without getting choked up. One day, when I was really angry, I broke every television set in the village. After that, I stopped leaving my house for anything. I began drinking. I became more intoxicated than Vinod Mehta during the Newshour.
I couldn’t hide my bitterness even if I tried. I was reduced to trolling everyone for attention. Then, I did the unthinkable. Two years after the peak of my anti-corruption crusade, I went to the NASDAQ stock exchange. That’s right. I went to the ground zero of crony capitalism. I visited the citadel of corruption and rung the bell to start the day’s proceedings. And I liked it! I f***ing enjoyed it more than beating a defenceless man with my belt. It gave me more pleasure than taunting a woman who was unable to bear a child.
She’s The One
Then, earlier this year, an angel came into my life. She was pure, simple and completely uncomplicated. Just like me, she was a maverick too. I still remember our brief courtship. The memory of our one long walk on the beach, where we both took turns to punch alcoholics and suspected Maoists in the face, is the only thing keeping me alive. What a happy day that was!
I attended a rally with her in Kolkata. It was overwhelming, to say the least. She spoke for eight hours and everyone sat listening to her, in rapt attention. It was like a spiritual experience. I sat by speechless while she needlessly yelled at everyone around her. I saw her berate industrialists, her political opponents and even her own party colleagues. I have never been more smitten with anyone else.
Too invested in my emotions and willing to prove to her that I was still a big draw worthy of her time, I promised her a similar crowd for a rally in Delhi. I was initially worried, but then I remembered that people in that city loved me! I was their messiah! They couldn’t get enough of me! Of course they would rally around me again! So I proudly told her to hold a rally at my old bastion, Ramlilla Maidan. What could go wrong?
Turns out, everything!
There were more voices in my beloved’s head than the number of people attending the rally. I was so embarrassed that I realised that I could never show her my face again. I refused to attend the rally and silently said goodbye to her forever.
Everything ravaged, everything burned
Now, I’m back in my village. I tried to go back to running it with an iron fist, but the villagers refused to follow my diktats anymore. Turns out, they had gotten used to all the freedom my lack of attention provided them. There are Wine & Beer shops throughout the village now. No one bats an eyelid at wedding ceremonies serving an elaborate three-course meal. They play non-religious music at every function! There is even blasphemous talk of holding a real election for the village sarpanch. These are the same people who used to let me pick which Indian Idol contestant they should vote for. (You’re welcome, Abhijeet Sawant. Jai Maharashtra!)
Everyone on Team Anna was able to use his or her celebrity to get another well-paying gig. Everyone except me, of course. Even Kumar Vishwas, the Turtle of my version of Entourage, is more famous than I am now. I thought I was using all those people to make a name for myself. But those city slicker bastards Anna Hazare’d me.
No one comes to me for advice anymore. I am more alone than the main protagonist of Half-Girlfriend.
I used to get treated for free in Medanta. Now, even the local homeopath reluctantly fills my diabetes prescription. I used to get free air tickets to travel anywhere. Now, I can’t even afford a third-class train ticket. I used to have so many gadgets that I used to use an iPad as a serving tray. Now, all I have connecting me to the virtual world is a shitty Blackberry phone.
I’m even losing my will to hate. Just yesterday, I saw an unmarried couple walking near the river holding each other’s hand and I didn’t order a hit on either of them.
I don’t know who I am anymore.
* * *
Let my life serve as a lesson to everyone who seeks fame and fortune. First they praise you. They make you feel like you’re the biggest thing in the world. Then, just when you start believing in yourself, they pull you down. And before you know it, it’s over.
Forever.
