In the fifth month of the two thousandth and fourteenth year of our lord Beyoncé, a miracle happened. A group of people – long denied their rightful place in the spotlight –finally beat the odds and emerged victorious. These brave souls withstood ridicule, hostility, harsh weather conditions, backstabbing, broken bones, and yet they stood tall. Not only did they manage to outshine the competition, but they left them far behind, without a way to catch up. They made their naysayers eat their own words. But enough about Arsenal finally winning the FA Cup!


It Was the Best of Times, It Was the Worst of Times
That wasn’t the only earth-shattering event that took place that week, though. We were also witness to the elevation of the greatest prime minister the world has ever seen. His supporters began celebrating even before he was officially declared the winner of the election, and the country’s newest lord and saviour and master of all its realms. However, they kept in mind the traditions of our ancient culture and didn’t celebrate too vulgarly, like a person under the influence of the west. They even came back home at a decent hour. You could tell they were excited because a lot of them threw caution in the wind and allowed themselves to consume a celebratory glass or two of non-pasteurised milk.

However, for all those who weren’t big fans of their new Dear Leader, it wasn’t the best day. They were in for a world of hurt. Most of them probably went out with their friends to commiserate and got wasted, staying out as late as they could, just to show the new regime that they weren’t the boss of them. However, even after drowning themselves in their favourite poison, when they were trodding home early in the morning, reeking of their own vomit, they still couldn’t believe what had just taken place.

In With the New, Out With the Old
It wasn’t a confusing time just for non-famous people. Even the smart ones we rely on to explain the world to us were flummoxed. But that didn’t prevent them from making stuff up. There was a deluge of op-eds, open letters, think pieces, panel discussions, Google hangouts etc. to explain the events of that eponymous day. There were more theories being bandied about than there are in a trigonometry textbook. There was also a lot of of myths being paraded around as factual conclusions because in our country, most of the time wishful thinking is passed on as incisive political analysis.

The biggest one of them was that Modi personally choked the life out of dynastic politics by holding its head under water until it went limp. People paid to analyse politics pretended with faux earnestness that personality cults masquerading as political parties had given up the only thing that they have known their whole lives after one election.

That would have been true if we ignored the fact that the election actually strengthened most of the existing political dynasties and created a couple of new ones. Even the dynasty, the one that this election was supposed to obliterate, ended up consolidating its position on their party’s levers of power. In fact, that dynasty has spread its tentacles on Indian politics to such an extent that the man who promised to eradicate them ended up inducting one of its estranged members into his council of ministers.

The Walking Dead
Modi’s victory also doesn’t signal the end of the Congress party. The Congress has been in the process of becoming, what political scientists call, a zombie party for many years now. They don’t have a coherent governing philosophy, are out of touch with the needs and aspirations of the populace and are allergic to doing any introspection. Like a character from a Paulo Coelho novel, they are destined to roam around in the political wilderness for the next few election cycles, until they find a leader and an issue that connects them with the electorate. Or if their opponent screws things up as badly as they did. You see, the Congress is just like Nirulas. They still have the same crappy menu they had in the ’80’s, the staff is so entitled they feel like you should be grateful to be in their presence and they serve inedible food. Despite this, you still go back there once every few years because of a misplaced sense of nostalgia.

It’s Deja Vu All Over Again
Most of our media mavens expected that their turning into cheerleaders for the new government would change Modi’s attitude towards them. That he would start courting court them instead of just barely tolerating their existence. However, no one besides them was shocked when once the results were announced, Modi removed them from his life with the same swiftness that a gold-digger leaves a newly bankrupt spouse.

But Modi replacing them with his Twitter feed hasn’t deterred their spirit. They still think that maybe one day the impossible will happen. So everything Modi does gets applauded as the smartest and bravest decision ever taken and is turned into a hashtag. #ModiMakesMondaysMerrier #ModiAteOatmealForBreakfast #ModiMadeEyeContactWithUsTodayThatsSomethingRight.

Since everything needs a positive spin, the Prime Minister’s deliberate silence is considered “great strategy”. Putting a gag order on ministers and bureaucrats is an “impressive attempt at adopting discipline”. Inviting the prime minister of Pakistan to his swearing-in ceremony was an “unprecedented attempt at bridging the gap between the two countries”. Because if there’s one thing no prime minister in India has ever tried before, it’s attempting to bring peace with Pakistan.

Hell, even cancelling talks with Pakistan was something to be rhapsodised over. Apparently, it was a signal that the new government wouldn’t stand for “business as usual”, even though this is how our talks go with Pakistan. The two delegations meet each other, talk for a while and both sides issue a press release calling the discussions “constructive”. Then Pakistan releases some fishermen they had initially denied arresting. A few weeks later, they do something terrible and we’re back to square one. India and Pakistan are like the Ross and Rachel of needless death and misery.

Bal Narendra Has a Boo Boo
In the same week in which we were all regaled to tales about how hard the prime minister works, the man took to the internet and wrote a blogpost claiming that unlike other governments, he had been denied a honeymoon period by the mainstream media. Apparently, blogging is such a dangerous activity that it makes even the most powerful man in the country sound like an emo teen. If he’d ended his screed with “haters gonna hate” he’d have been legally bound to open a Tumblr account and populate it with quotes from the movie Mean Girls and GIFs of One Direction.

Modi has got a comfortable majority in the Lok Sabha. His opponents are running around like headless chickens, singing Kumbaya while sitting around a bonfire, trying to form a grand alliance with each other. His most trusted aide keeps an eye on his political party, protecting his interests. The media is more subservient to him than Gungadin was to that racist solider. He’s the most powerful man in the country and is answerable to absolutely no one. (Except maybe Mukesh Ambani. But, to be fair, who isn’t?) Yet, the man’s sadder than a PETA activist visiting an active slaughterhouse.

Et Tu, Brute?
The messiah-in-chief isn’t the only one full of ennui. A lot of his supporters share his malaise. In fact, a few of the friends he made before the election have already abandoned ship. They’re not happy with his Manmohanesque demeanour, his finance minister’s Chidambramesque budget, or his Jairamesque World Trade Organisation stand. Some of them even accused him of committing the worst crime that a human being is capable of: channeling the UPA.

There have been murmurs of dissatisfaction even among some sections of the faithful: those who were into the then chief minister of Gujarat before everyone else. They’re not worried about rising prices or inflation or foreign policy. They know Modi will handle that. They’re disappointed that he hasn’t yet found the time to do the one thing that they elected him to do: give them the heads of the Gandhi family on a metaphorical pike. He was supposed to remove the Vadras from the airport security exemption list, send Rahul to jail on drug charges and cancel Sonia’s passport. But he hasn’t done any of these things. And he isn’t going to.

So, to keep his base in line, he has to behave as if he’s permanently under siege. He has to pretend that he’s doing his best to save the country from his traitorous opponents who have sold their soul to the ubiquitous foreign hand. When your political identity is based on playing victim, you can never stop pretending to be one.

Welcome to the Hotel California, Mr. Modi. We’re all just prisoners here, of our own device.

Now please excuse me, I need to go back to my unmarked cabin in the forest so that no one can find me.