Once upon a time there was a novice politician who liked to tweet. But the twits of Indian politics didn’t like him or his tweets.
This young politician (in a country where geriatrics rule being under 60 is young) and his tweets made them uncomfortable.
They didn’t like it from the moment he let it be known that he wants to dirty his feet in the muddy waters of Indian politics.
But he was the blue eyed boy of the queen mother and her son, who have learnt to float on this muddy water without getting dirty. So our young politico entered gingerly into the choppy and dirty waters of Indian politics.
People saw in him a refreshing change compared to the dyed in the wool politicians they are used to seeing. His high-flying diplomatic career gave him a squeaky clean image (presumably) and a glamorous edge over run-of-the-mill politicians.
Poor Mr Novice, he was more used to seeing Western politicos speak their mind living in the US of A most of his life in that hugely tall building in the Big Apple with flags from 191 countries fluttering on its facade.
He thought he could do the same here. But alas in a country where a politician’s idea of reaching out to the masses is giving a speech from a podium, his tweets challenged the tradition.
Our khadi-wearing or saffron-clad twits found his tweets seriously challenging the status quo. No one is allowed to disturb that.
Granted, in his over enthusiasm he did cross the line once in a while but give him a break he is just learning the ropes. He is just learning how to say things you don’t mean and mean what you don’t say.
They got him the first time when he chose to stay in a five-star hotel paying his own bills. No sir you couldn’t do that living in luxury when a quarter of the country goes hungry everyday.
Then there were more tweets and more noises but Mr Novice has been getting away all this while saying sorry here and there for his tweets and generally because he had the blessings of the queen mother.
But looks like this time the twits have got him. His girlfriend it seems has a stake in a newly formed cricket club that our man, a smooth-talking non-politico twit who shares his name with a monster says, helped her get.
Now don’t ask me how that makes our Mr Novice guilty of anything I’m yet to understand. All I know is that the country is choc-a-bloc with khadi-wearing twits who made their millions right from guns to coffins.
There’s even a twit who bulldozed his way into the Loya Zirga of Indian cricket when he saw that a bad-English speaking business man had filled its coffers.
No one challenges him. There are scores of such twits but they will continue to rule the roost while our man will pray the price.
Mr Novice should really get back to writing novels. The sharks in the choppy waters of Indian politics would rip him apart.