All the din and a magic lamp

If there was Aladdin, if there was a magic lamp, if there was the Djin. What will they look like? I can only visualize a deeply frustrated Djin cooped up in a dingy lamp. The lamp itself would be a worn out one, having been rubbed to its bare bones. And Aladdin would be looking out a better tenant at a higher rent, perhaps. What has that got to do with the happenings of the 15^th Aug 2011? The day that we turned into a 65 year old Djin trapped in what is by now, a lamp creaking and croaking under its own weight. And we have our very own Aladdin, who seems to have lost his magic rub. He perhaps has vigorously used a sand paper in place of a fine satin. Did he take this lamp to the ramparts of the Red Fort for his historic ramble? He did. While at the august ramparts, I can only imagine the Djin, squirming inside this lamp. Pleading and imploring Aladdin to either rub the lamp properly and let him out, or stop scrubbing and spare him of the corrosive properties of the sand paper. But rub, our Aladdin did. And rubbed and rubbed. Sadly not the lamp he could or should have. And he did, with a drone that went on and on about the long path to salvation, the challenges facing the hand that rubs and the fight for supremacy that parliamentary decorum should be.

Cut to the later part of the day. We saw the din escalating from an earlier puerile rant from the motely, disrespectful and cacophonous crowd of clowns like Manish Tiwari, Kapil Sibbal and Ambika Soni. Little did they understand that there is something called an echo? Their noise came right back them and the others of their ilk. Only more amplified without Dolby noise reduction. It was Anna Hazare’s calling - to the plethora of Djins residing in various lamps. Jail Bharo, he thundered in the event that he himself gets bottled in a lamp. And it will most likely happen. For all that din that our folks of a now-obviously petrified tribe of politicians have created, there seems to be a larger retaliatory reverberation – one that is emanating for hordes of djins locked up in lamps waiting for an honest-to-goodness scrub. A scrub that will deliver unto them, a life free from a cramped, overbearing and stifling existence in a corrupt lamp. We seem to have got our Aladdin to do that, or Anna-ddin shall we say? Anna ka haath, aam djin kay saath looks to be the order of the day. So, happy rubbing!