Skip to main content

Comrade

After much dramabaji, U.S. terrorized the world with its much hyped ‘fight against terror’ and attacked Saddam’s Iraq.
The world was astonished to see the fireworks of U.S. in Iraq. My stupid sister stopped watching saas bhi…, saying cnn is a much much bigger entertainer. My nephew, intelligent creature as he is, unearthed the ploy of his parents not buying him crackers and hiding the fact that diwali was on.

The news shook the world and nobody was shaken as much as Calcutta university’s student union. Some of our student federation members stopped shaving in protest until they became al-queda members lookalike. However, when they found the clolonial powers, the capitalist rascals, the bloody fascists are not going to leave Iraq in the foreseeable future and they are slowly turning into the mythical parashuram after crossing the rabindranath phase, they decided to walk for the barber shop.

But that was after months that our comrades in Calcutta decided to take over the colonials.

Soon after the news came that the bloody westerners have invaded iraq, we, members of the students wing of our party convened an emergency meeting in our university meeting room.
I was doing my post graduation that time. And my work was to write awakening speeches for the ignoring and sleeping students of our country which when uttered by our general secretary rudranil, became fiery words that would hit the idiotic, careerist students.

We, all the members of the student’s party of Calcutta university gathered at the union room. Rudra started (I wrote it in five minutes), “comrades, the fascist, capitalist powers of the world has put their bloody hands once again on the innocent masses of the world. We have tolerated enough. We have allowed them to invade Vietnam, because we knew, they would have to bite the dust, and they did, we have allowed them to show their vulgar red eye on cuba, which ultimately burnt their eyelids, we allowed them to bomb japan…we allowed them to bomb afganisthan, which has ultimately became a boomerang for them…”, somebody intervened “like in the case of Russia…” , suddenly he stopped, for citing the wrong example.
After a few seconds silence, rudra continued, “…comrades but this time we will not allow these demons to wreck havoc, we will not allow them to play with the modesty of our sisters in iraq, we will not allow them to blow up our children there…we will fightback.”
Moments silence, the hall burst into claps.

“comrades, we will crush the black hands of the oppressors, we, the students, along with the working class people of the world will show them that the world is with iraq. We will force them to leave our Iraqi proletariat brothers to their own fate…we will repulse the oppressors.” Again the hall burst out in loud claps.

‘comrades, to start with we have chalked out some plan…’ (yaa I know, all those plans were mine). “…we have ordered for two thousands rotten eggs and a dozen baskets of rotten tomatoes…” (hey hey hey…what do you mean). “…comrades, like America has invaded iraq, we, will invade American embassy…” (hold on…hold on…I didn’t write that, what the fuck are you saying!). “…comrades we will pelt American embassy with those natural missiles…” (holy fucking jesus!) “…and I need you comrades…we, the students of Calcutta university and other colleges, will march towards the american embassy, I need men-at-arms. Volunteers, comrades, raise your hands.”

And nobody raised their hands. “…comrades, I cant believe my eyes…comrades, don’t remain ignorant…comrades, comeon….” still everybody was reluctant. “…ok, its an order”.
And then somebody raised a doubt. “Don’t you think, there will be strict vigil? I mean black cat security. I have heard they are merciless.”
Rudra howled at him, “do you think they have the balls to touch us, under the chief ministership of buddhababu, just one phone call and they will be transferred to sunderbans. At the most we will go to the jail, don’t worry our leaders in alimuddin street will rescue us in no time, if at all.”
The hall again burst into loud claps. This time louder than ever. Everybody started chanting, fascist, colonists power go back…cpm jindabad, sfi jindabad. All the workers-farmers-proletariat unite…unite, crush the black hands of the opressors.

And so we marched towards the American embassy in park street. Our voice cracked defiling americans.

When we reached near park street, from a distance we saw black cat commandoes (looked like wild, hungry dogs, ready to pounce). And a cordon of machine gunners, besides a swarm of khaki wearing pot-bellied Bengal police waiting for any invader.

Our, including rudra’s voice mellowed down. Still then we marched towards the embassy (by then I have folded my red flag and put it into my pocket, I had already thrown away the stick near esplanade).

What was a chaotic procession turned into a satyagrahi one once we reached in front of the embassy gate. I looked back to see that eighty percent of our comrades had vanished by then.

We saw a six-foot tall sikh military man coming to us. “don’t you dare do anything…no fun today right.” His baritone voice chilled our spine. “…you understood?”

I had understood by then, I wasted no time to desert my comrades to the opposite footpath and disappeared in the crowd.

But rudra, didn’t understood. After five minutes standing there in silence, he realized his prestige is at stake. “comrades…” he tried to shout, but his voice cracked.
“lets come to our original agenda, he pulled out an egg from the van, that we were pulling, comrades…what are you waiting for…this is our golden chance, this is the hour of justice…” he tried to motivate his fleeing army.

Again ten minutes passed. As a true captain he shot the first missile. A slow one though. It just managed to land near the sikh’s left foot. Near the boundary wall of the embassy.

The sikh military man, along with his accomplices ran to rudra like madmen, raising their lathis high above.

The remaining comrades ran in a frenzy for their life.

Thaaappp… the lathi hit rudra’s fleeing butt. Before fainting he managed to utter “bande mataram, jai hind.” Police threw his unconscious body into the van like they threw a haystack.

Rudra spent the next seven days in police station. Nobody called the police. Nobody was transferred to sundarbans. His poor worried parents, with all their savings hired a famous lawyer and bailed him out.

I went the third day to the police station to meet him. It seemed police had given him some welcoming notes after he gained consciousness. He was badly bruised with dark eyes. And he couldn’t sit also. His ass was paining like hell after that lathicharge.

“deserter…” it was the first word he uttered after seeing me. “no I am not, belive me. I swear…see my left calf, its swollen, they also beat me,” I showed him the blackened spot that I received when that bastard madhu fouled me while playing football evening past evening.

He glee, “so they have beaten you also comrade…”
“yes comrade, they spared none…”
He was happy, grinning he said, “so we managed to show them what is the result of showing big-brother attitude.”
“sure comrade,” I said.
“you will see, I will soon become the district-level member of our party, then will go to the politburo, than mla-ship, then I will be the chief minister one day…well at least police minister, and I will transfer that bugger to sunderbans.”
“sure comrade, you will. We will not spare them for their barbaric attitude.”
After much deliberation I browsed the topic, “comrade, we have decided after you are released, we will raid the british deputy commisioner’s office.”
Rudra shriekd, “why?”
“No that was your agenda…,” I reminded him.
“No, no, no… one was enough.”
“but our brothers in iraq are dyeing…”

Suddenly, it seemed to me, his butt pained, he grimaced in pain, “let them die, let them die, bloody bomb is better than lathi…” then he corrected himself, “let me get out first, we will chalk out another plan. Attacking british commissioner’s office is not that good idea comrade, we will try out some more drastic measures.”

Relieved, I came out from the police-station.

There were no drastic measures taken. Except organized meeting and more public meetings which was limited to our university compound (police cautioned him not to give speeches outside university campus). And in every meeting rudra bore an expression as if netaji subhas is addressing azad hind fauz. He was a hero overnight.

We organized a nation-wide bandh. it was very successful. Life in Bengal, kerala and tripura halted to a stand-still (we really don’t care about other states. They have not awakened yet.)

Rudra got a promotion in the party. He is now the in-charge of gathering awakened mass-crowd from the interior villages. The awakened crowd gets a free tour-de-calcutta on a van, besides bread-egg-banana for breakfast, hodge-podge for lunch and a 100 rupee note. Those who are not awakened yet, rudra and his volunteers go with pistols and bombs and make them awakened. He is a well known public figure by now. Elections are empty without his watchful eyes. He is a master of rigging votes. Its an art, that he has mastered. I respect him. He is my hero.

I want to be a rudra one day.


P.S. this is purely fictional with no affiliation to anybody. all the characters and incidences are imaginative. discretion of 'awakened' readers are requested. kindly adjust.

Comments

Pip Squeak said…
Am assuming that although purely fictional as you claim, fiction is based on reality, so something might have happened on the same lines.... of course, i'm not referring to the laathi charge....

but hey, why do us calcuttans have to worry so much about what happens in iraq or America? we're indians. we're calcuttans.... not that i'm too proud of it really....

but the gradual transcendence from a raging mob to a funeral procession was hilarious dude.
The post "awakened" me to the fact that you are a first grade deserter! Just kidding. Hilarious post, comrade.
Tridib said…
Another rib-tickling, gut-busting masterpiece! Lal salaam, comrade!
Anonymous said…
I have never been a part of any demonstration as I consider them to be....
Anyways after reading ur piece I wud definately go to one as I have also been awakened by your piece!!
Yes I have been awakened as I have realized that such demonstrations can be more fun than watching a David Dhawan flick.
Wow! u have done it again. Yep! U have tickled our ribs which otherwise are becoming quite insensitive thanks to the poor dinner in teh office canteen!
It was a nice satirical piece with all the right elements. But why the PS????
vadahole said…
i was having real fun and thoughts reading ur post untill i reached the PS. though i am not sure whether i would also have fled seeing the charging blackcats...i don't think i would ever ditch my own writing by tieing a bell, like ur PS, to my tail and allow any bloody hunter to spot me and shoot me down. u r in the free world of blogging, so be the king and don't sound apologetic. man i loved reading ur post...
ace of spades said…
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ace of spades said…
now that we know where you stand with respect to the red brigade, can i also ask you to consider the pink (as a background color to ur blog)as a possible affiliation to a sex other than yours...???
bloody hilarious post man btw!!!
Roshomon said…
Good one!
Pip Squeak said…
oh yeah! Do you know all this "comrade" camaraderie in your post is very reminiscent of a character called Psmith created by Wodehouse?
Ghetufool said…
pip, we have to indeed care about what is happening to the world. even if that means ignoring what is happening in our backyard.
that's what we have learned all these years isn't it.
if we have thought the way that you underline, we would have been a far better state. with lots of employment, infrastructure and less bastardly politics.

and thanks for the pg wodhouse thingy. i will hunt for it and surely read it. only if you would have told about the name of the book.
Ghetufool said…
fool,
i am always a first grade deserter. i go upto the point where the fighting would start. than as usual i always run away to save my ass. and thanks for the appreciation.

tridib,
comrade tomakeo laal selam.
Ghetufool said…
anon,
yaa, a rally is always funny unless and until it is held in noida.
Ghetufool said…
again anon and vadahole,
i have kept given the p.s. just to save my ass. you know as pip squeak said. there is some element of .....in it. so just to save my ass once again, and not to anger my comrades. just.
Ghetufool said…
ace of spades,
i have changed it. even if it meant a lot of sacrifice on my part.
Ghetufool said…
roshomon,
thanks. do come again.
Pip Squeak said…
Psmith has three novels to his name. like- Psmith Journalist etc etc

Popular posts from this blog

Let it rain hard

About a dozen years back, I started writing blog posts out of sheer boredom in office. The work was repetitive and the bosses were menacing. Not the fault of bosses as much as the systems put in place. It was a real-time world and you perish in seconds or become a hero. No, I was not a stock market trader, but close. I was perhaps in deep agony. I had left my family members, my root, my friends and my culture. Those years were the most important in my life, the early twenties. I was free for the first time. Free to do whatever I wanted to do. It was a lot of pent-up sexual energy really looking for an avenue to be released. I found my moksha in creativity, especially as my office colleagues started appreciating my writing, albeit with no hint of grammar in it. Slowly strangers came to my blog and I visited theirs and we became friends. And then I started connecting with people far away from my place, across oceans. With one I became friends for life – Ian Vincent Mulder. But that’s ano…

On Mithi

I became a father on 18 November, 2014. At that moment when fatherhood embraced me, perhaps I should have been elated, jumping up and down and doing all sort of activities that new fathers do, at least, that's what most sane people do. But nothing of that sort happened to me. When I heard my baby's voice, first like an angry cat and then a mild wail wafting across the operation theatre to the waiting area where we all were pacing up and down, the first thought that hit me was how was my wife? It was a C-section and she was partially unconscious. I should not have read Internet too much, for I was reading all sorts of horror stories, of mothers not waking up or recovering etc. I was petrified as I was not hearing my wife's voice. The doctors and sisters inside the operation theater must have been very busy with their other procedures. In fact, after bringing out the baby from the womb, they were busy closing the cut, I later got to know.
The realisation of becoming a fathe…

Kaun banega karorpati...dwitiya

--Namaste, satsriakaal, aadab, mein amitabh bacchan aapke samne, leke hajir hua hu, phir ek bar, kaun banega karorpati dwitiya.
(audiences in dark start clapping along with a music as if crusader king Richard of England just captured the castle of a jehadi king)
Aaj, mere samne beithe hai Jarshad kakiara…kakku…cuckoo…
(a club-shaped man intervenes, with a child-like smile, “Kakkrakandy”)
Ji haa, kakkara (“kandy”, the man again intervenes with a shy smile)
-Yes, Jarshad kakk…, whatever, aiye aap aur hum khele yeh adbhut game, jiska naam hei …(looks at the club-shaped man)
Jarshad Kakkrakandy, answers “kauun banayega karrorrpatti”

Amitabh shows Jarshad the seat, adjusts the seat for him. Jarshad sits, the chair shrieks.

--aur abhi mere samne baithe hain Jarshad n. k., from Chennai, who is a journalist with reuters, loves reading dilbert, unka favourite movie hai “chandramukhi”. And he is the self-proclaimed ‘king of PJ’.

--Haan to Jarshad saab, aapne likhe hein ke apke naam hei Jarshad n.k. now …