[Reader-list] The News of the World and Other Stories: Post 4.0 by Aman Sethi

[Aman Sethi]

Dear Parismita,

Glad u liked the peice.  Would be fun to work on a comic seriea
together.  interestingly,  the last post - welcome to nowhere was a
text attempt at creating an atmosphere like in frank miller's sin city
series.
a>
On 5/7/06, parismita singh <parismitasingh at yahoo.com> wrote:
> Hi Aman,
>
> Just a note to say I enjoyed reading your piece very
> much . I've often felt that one 'misses' out on the
> nuances of a political or other situation, when all we
> have is 'news'. And travelling through India( and
> listening in ) to people , I did wish there was more
> 'writing ' like  yours.
>
> And yes,  I could almost see some of the characters in
> pen and ink - it would make good comic book stuff!
>
> Regards,
> Parismita
>
> --- Aman Sethi <aman.am at gmail.com> wrote:
>
> > Dear All,
> > This latest post is in four parts, and is an attempt
> > to understand a
> > great vareity of things - principally "time pass",
> > information
> > dissemination, and intersections between the mandi
> > and the state. As
> > usual, its highly abstracted from my conversations
> > with construction
> > labour in paharganj.
> > Best
> > Aman
> >
> > Part I, The News of the World.
> >
> > Welcome to The News of the World: Time pass with
> > Mamu the drunk, Lambu
> > the philosopher and JP the lunatic.  Don't miss our
> >
> > pet special with man's best friend "Kutiya the
> > wonder-dog".  Also, in
> > "Ask Ashraf", the answer to our weekly poll question
> > – Sarkar Humari
> > Gaand Kyu Marti Hai?"
> >
> > The lunatic came early that day, and with him came
> > the news of the
> > world.  Five in the evening, and the working day was
> > winding down, the
> > sun was setting, and the world was slowly healing
> > itself in
> > preparation for a long, bruising tomorrow.  Slowly
> > the patchwork of
> > open wounds were closing into scabs, only to be
> > grazed open the next
> > day – shops downed their shutters, mazdoors downed
> > their tools, MCD
> > bulldozers burrowed their way deep into the remains
> > of the settlement
> > they had just destroyed, and the Judge adjourned his
> > Court – granting
> > the courtiers another night of uneasy sleep.
> >
> > "Deviyo, t-tha Sajjanno, bhen ke lowdo, Gundi nalli
> > ke keedon, Jago,
> > Jago, Jago"  "Mein hu JP Singh Pagal, aur mein laya
> > huan - Aaj ki taaz
> > khabar".  Enter the lunatic – an effervescent bubble
> > in a sea of
> > surliness. Weaving through the crowd of exhausted
> > labourers, the
> > lunatic pulled hard on his chillum, exhaling plumes
> > of bitter sweet
> > marijuana smoke: interrupting conversations,
> > pushing, shoving, joking,
> > bitching, shouting, and wailing out "The News of the
> > World"-complete
> > with analysis from our experts.
> >
> > Undeterred by the lack of welcome, the lunatic
> > plowed on, rattling off
> > events and occurrences in no particular order –
> > taking credit for most
> > stories, placing himself, and his viewer, directly
> > in the line of
> > fire.
> >
> > "Soft drink ke bottle me milla condom – Pepsi ki
> > lagi gaand- ek lakh
> > rupai jurmana.
> > Meerut mein lagi aag – voh toh kher, humne hi lagayi
> > thi, Lakhme India
> > Fashion Week mein kapade gayab - sunna tha badi
> > taliya bajji thi, hum
> > bhi the vahain, kyu? Sheher mein macchi khalbalee –
> > bhai sahib, ek
> > bomb ka dhamaka kafi hai."
> >
> > His audience, by contrast, was a study in stillness-
> > pulling their
> > belongings closer, and then still closer, every time
> > he passed by.
> > Inspired by KBC,  JP Singh Pagal was a firm believer
> > in the "fastest
> > finger first" doctrine, picking up anything that
> > caught his fancy.
> > Rumour had it that he prowled the mandi after
> > midnight, walking off
> > the effects of his chillum and stealing slippers,
> > tools and clothes.
> > But for now, he was tolerable as the fearless,
> > intrepid reporter –
> > jumping through rings of fire to bring his
> > uninterested audience their
> > daily bulletin.
> >
> > The lunatic was not picky about his sources – far
> > away, in the nether
> > regions of the hinterland, news was on the move.
> > Stories hitched
> > themselves to the hemlines of sarees, stuck
> > themselves to the rubber
> > soles of countless Hawaii chappals and stealthily
> > made their way
> > across the vast countryside to Bara Tuti – the heart
> > of Delhi and the
> > centre of the universe.  Suppressed by Aaj Tak, cast
> > away by the
> > Dainik Jagran, termed irrelevant by the English
> > media, reports wormed
> > their way though the narrow gullies, seeking out the
> > lunatic – the
> > half-mad oracle of half-truths, the Zen master of
> > Chinese Whispers.
> > In his ceaseless quest for the truth, the lunatic
> > gave each story a
> > fair hearing - nothin was too sensational, or
> > boring, to escape the
> > glory of the evening bulletin."Lallo Prasad Yadav
> > has bought a new
> > house in Patna near Anurag Bhavan," "Manmohan Desai,
> >  (sic) the new
> > prime minister, studied commerce in college."  "Kala
> > Baba has
> > recovered from tuberculosis, he is now in
> > Nanital, cleaning up his act. Sources say he has
> > never looked this
> > good."  His audience suffered him as best they could
> > , "Aur kuch
> > nahin, toh sala time toh kat jata hai.  But saale se
> > bach ke raho, voh
> > pagal nahin hai, bus lagta hai."
> >
> > And then, as suddenly as he had arrived, he was
> > gone.  A puff of ganja
> > laced smoke, a small hand flashed out towards the
> > large plastic bag on
> > the floor, and with without as much as second
> > glance, JP Singh Pagal,
> > "Sadak Chaap, awara, deewana," was off in search of
> > the next breaking
> > story, humming tunelessly to himself, oblivious to
> > hunt for a missing
> > ten rupee note.  "Dekh tere sansar ki halat kya ho
> > gayi bhagwaan,
> > kitna badal gaya insaan."
> >
> > Part II: The Philosopher's Stone.
> >
> > The philosopher looked up at the sky, and then at
> > the grinning,
> > clearly stoned, face of his departing co-anchor.  He
> > cleared his
> > throat, and waited.  Ever courteous, the crowd
> > settled down– allowing
> > him the opportunity to keep them waiting.  He lit a
> > beedi, the crowd
> > waited, and waited, and waited, for the first
> > cryptic utterance. His
> > large hyptonic eyes panned across the sweating
> > crowd, his lips pouted
> > ever so slightly, and then he said, "Humme nazar aa
> > raha hai – ek
> > talab phel ke thanda pada ho."  The crowd shifted,
> > "ek kankar mar do –
> > ek kankar mar do , toh poora talab hil jayega."
> > Someone in the
> > audience cleared
> > his throat, the philosopher leaned back, watching
> > the metaphor ripple
> > through his audience. "Sheeshe mein dekh lo, safa
> > pani mein dekh lo –
> > chehra toh vahi hai." " Pur sheeshe ko pocket mein
> > dal sakte ho." He
> > added as an afterthought.
> >
> > While the lunatic was clearly not one to be trusted,
> > the philosopher
> > was a mysterious chap: tall, dark and given to
> > macabre allusions.  He
> > spoke rarely, but forcefully, and "jab voh mood mein
> > aata tha," he
> > could silence even the most loquacious lunatic.
> > "Kya tume pata hai,
> > ki Dilli toot rahi hai?"  The crowd nodded in
> > acquiescence.  Indeed,
> > Dilli was coming apart.  Not slowly and steadily
> > like an old leather
> > chappal, but with the force and fury of an
> > overloaded plastic bag.  A
> > jagging, ripping tear that threatened not just their
> > homes, but struck
> > at the very heart of the mandi's business –
> > construction.  A dark
> > force was gathering on the borders of Bara Tuti –
> > heart of Dilli and
> > centre of the universe. An insidious ploy that
> > sought to replace the
> > centuries old, "rule of thumb" by the brutal "rule
> > of law".  A shrill,
> > elite-middle class scream, urging the Courts to
> > "Judge
> === message truncated ===
>
>
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