‘Mann Ki Baat’ from the ‘Pollution-Stricken’
I appreciate that Mr. Narendra Modi wants to ornament the state of Mizoram ‘Marvelous’ and his peripatetic travels for the state assembly elections 2023 have tried to screw the nut, otherwise falling off from the weaker wall of scurrilous concrete and the strait-laced motor joints. However, there is a bigger issue almost a scourge, protracted as a burning coal lithered in the throat which needs your attention. A vast plain of smoke up the heavens has inexplicably given a hoot & hell to our hubristic-self; our pretentions to be happy have been finally masquerade. We, the people under the umbrella of bemusing and stiffening air look distorted and in disbelief.
Now one would validate what is there not to be happy? The Indian team is enchanting and playing like a sledge-hammer knocking off the unspring, and the ‘Moon-Mantra’ is being chanted unapologetically in case we forget the ‘mysterious macula’. True! But, the harder truth perhaps is the burning globus sticking in the larynx that seemingly prohibits an enhanced smile. Above all, an assured throat clearing coating the trachea with pollutants slips miraculously in the lungs to attend to their own wicked terpsichorean.
A forlorn desperation to nip the toxity in the cauldron of whataboutery needs your attention Mr. Modi. It’s tiring to see ministers slinging mud at each other; Haryana and Punjab once at loggerheads on the ‘Chandigarh Catharsis’ now have ‘Pollution Pimento’ to dwell on. The melodramatic menace abjures us to either leave the city or country for greener pastures. Aren’t the farm fires from both the states like terrorist pummeling an incendiary issue of discursive politics; the coarse slander perfectly ignites a conflagration of mistrust and misgovernance?
The solutions, intuit or ratiocinated, look beleaguered; enervate stockpile causing a hugger-mugger to become an inure simulacrum of past negligence. Many debate if ‘paddy harvesting’can be supplanted with other variety of crops? But, what about the infrastructure to have other set of crops stabilized? Here, I would again give a clarion call to our Prime Minister; Why not be the ‘Atmanirbhar cause celebre’ to help farmers to overcome the quagmire of quizzical apprehensions.
“Help them build resources and provide the necessary equipment so that galumph of stubble burning finds a cul-de-sac.”
Hope survives, isn’t it? And this impassioned hope acts as a sander to see our cities pollution free. In paradox, one thinks if all this is possible? Does not look so; an awkward rattletrap of putrescent air awaits us every winter and we welcome it with the cack-handed masks and the comeuppances of the indoor dilly-dally.
Children become a compos mentis to television and video games, and above all a confounded education system. Their lungs entrapped in the felony of brusque misjudgments breathe the putrid and lour smoke; one is predisposed to think how there intrepid trespasses have been set to boundaries—cough, allergies and asthma have become their playmates. The breathing phenomenon a cadence in a Capella that a child is oblivious to is now required to tolerate the arpeggio of discordant breaths.
Mr. Modi, under your leadership,‘Sabka Saath Sabka Vikas’ is only possible if the children of this country breathe fresh air. If the youth finds its lung capacity declining year by year, you will have to build more ‘hospitals’ than ‘temples’. The new mantra to embolden the frazzled should be ‘Pollution Hatao’—a decisive step to tackle the casuistry among the political rictus and stop the faff and fatuous of ‘closing down schools’, ‘declarations to stop outdoor activities’ and a devilry of ‘Green Diwali’ when you and many have grown up bursting crackers on the auspicious occasion.
Why keep the kids and youth of today in deprecation of essence of realities?—the large swathes of playground are empty today and so are the hearts with a desire to breathe éclat.
The austerity around looks bitter caparisoned with pomposity of grey hues scattered evenly like a blanket over me
I look past the windows for hope; all I see is a charred furnace of incinerated dreams
The steps once full of pride acoustically followed a pattern; incautious and incessant
How is that the rhythm today looks frazzled, the feet running for a fail-safe?
An attempt to discern the ambiguity falls short of reasoning
I ask, if the toxic smoke is my future?
I either claim it or sustain what is left in me.
Mr. Modi, this is all what the ‘mann’ wants to say. ‘Pollution’ is lethal; scrutiny and sentience hold the key to solve the issue. It’s prudent for the center and state to work together in harmony to achieve the desired result.
I hope this ‘Mann ki Baat’ turns out to be ‘Pollution se aaram’ in the next season…