Deve Gowda has done it again. Just when I thought our political leaders were digging new depths of boredom, Gowda, the old warhorse of clumsy politicians, shows us he’s still got it. Which makes me think, why do we expect our politicians to be honourable, respectable and genteel in their dealings anyway? Come on, they are humans too. They have egos, fight, and call each other “bloody bastards”. What’s the big deal?
I firmly believe politicians be left alone. Let them make asses of themselves, at least they will be providing their constituencies with comic relief. Won’t it be fun to listen to them go at each other? Compared to the usual tripe of “Yeh opposition party ki saazish hai”. Imagine the pleasure of listening to a politician go “Honourable Speaker, I would like to point out that Mr. Tiwari is a bloody asshole!”. It will be a sure-shot way to get the youth interested in politics. The other option is to have prettier politicians. I mean, Priyanka Vadra is kind of cute, but then anyone in the midst of Mamta Banerjee and Mayawati ought to feel like a princess.
But keeping boring politicians aside, the two words “Bloody, Bastard” do ring a bell. At one point of time, being able to say ‘bloody bastard’ meant that we had grown up. There was an unwritten law in our school. There was an accepted level of profanity for every stage of growing up. Till Class 2, we were not allowed to use any unpleasant words. Going to Class 3 meant that we could say “Shut Up”. We couldn’t be blamed. We were surrounded by spiritual vibes. We were protected from movies, with the only abuse being when some God would appear in the demon’s dream and say, “Moorkh!” or “Paapi!” or something like that.
Class 4 wasn’t much of a progress, with words like ‘ass’ being thrown around when someone was real bugged.
Class 5 was our coming of age year. We were allowed to bathe ourselves once a month, we were allowed to write with pens. It felt great to see our shirts’ pockets stained with ink. And we were allowed to say ‘Bloody, Bastard’. There was a dramatic transformation in the way we conversed. Even a small irritation would be met with, “Get lost, you. Bloody, Bum, Bastard!” The three Bs. The elusive three Bs. It felt like such an achievement when you could call someone that.
There was this classmate of mine, Nishant. Overwhelmed with his newfound adulthood, he once asked our classmate to “go, mind your own bloody business”. While everyone went “O” in surprise, our Chacha Chaudhry immediately came up with, “Check the dictionary, ma’am. ‘Bloody’ means smeared with blood. So actually I haven’t said anything terrible”. If only teachers fell for that kind of crap! Another guy, Shivram, believed in making maximum use of abuse. When he had a fight with anyone, he went on saying “Bloody, bloody, bloody, bloody” at a very fast pace till his opponent gave up, or put his index finger to his head and made the “mental” gesture.
But anyway, going further in our progression of profanities, it was kind of alright to use ‘fuck’ in Class 9. Of course, if a teacher heard you, you’d have to clean the toilets, or clean the corridor. Since profanities came at such a premium price, I have always reserved mine for the best moments. And the choicest of abuses. But seeing these politicians go at each other like Class 3 girls makes me go “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!!!!!!”