Corruption is good for us commoners. I am normally a law abiding tax-paying citizen who considers it her duty to swear in disapproval at the slightest violation of a traffic rule, and I vehemently opposed corruption some time ago. However, my volte face is an unprecedented fallout of the recent elections- and all because our neighbor of the lower floor once removed was elected a Member of Parliament (MP).
On my way to office one fine day after the election, I found that I had to pick my way through a swarm of semiautomatic-toting-mean-looking guards who were milling about the staircase of my apartment block. Of course, I figured out the reason when I saw a swarm of starched-white khadi-clad men holding yellow flower garlands at the gate of our building, not to mention throngs of well wishers beating drums. And so were sowed the seeds of my change of mind, through the tiresome saga of living in the same building as an MP.
For starters, my weight loss program, consisting of repeatedly climbing up and down flights of stairs, went for a toss. The stairwell started to be full of the above mentioned guards plus a couple of police dogs, who were keeping an eagle eye, a trained ear, a wet nose and sometimes even a wagging tail out for everything that transpired in the building. These incidental additions to stairway traffic not only considerably hampered my speed of ascent by dint of making it akin to the 10,000 meter steeplechase, but also made the fear of being at the receiving end of the canines of a canine very real. In balance, I figured it was better for my figure if I lived to fight the fat another day.
Now, they set up a sandbag-protected security post outside our gate, and the entire guard changed twice daily (including on weekends, would you believe that?). Inevitably, with each change came the same questions, all delivered very politely- can we see a photo ID (I always produced my ration card, never my PAN card as this post of mine will tell you)? What flat number do you live in? How long have you been living here? And last but not the least, the veto question- Caretaker, can you verify please? For once, I thanked my propensity to inadvertently convert balances from our utility bill advances into generous tips for the caretaker. This kept us in his good books, which he demonstrated by beaming at us while answering the security questions in the affirmative. He also managed to push through a circular to the residents of the building, demanding that he be paid fifty rupees per month per house extra- apparently some kind of ‘security deposit’.
Out on the street, what was once a sleepy lane parallel to a busy road now became an unauthorized parking-lot. Aspirational sedans with darkened window glass, menacingly bright SUVs that proclaimed “Reddys” and “Vennela” in what is the web equivalent of ‘Font size 72, Bold, Blinking red and green’, the quintessential chrome fitted white ambassadors, and of course the occasional Merc, began taking root in and around our building. I could not help wondering whether the owners of the vehicles were victims of a mortgage crisis, treating our parking lot like a camper park.
Apart from time consuming security clearance, our visitors bore the brunt of the fated election of the MP other ways. Directions to our home included an appropriate turn at a statue of a certain prominent lady leader and martyr. A visiting friend called me to confirm which statue of the lady leader I meant - the one with the Pallu flying, the one in which she stood with folded hands, the golden coloured bust, or the black one? And this confusion arose not one week after the MP took oath! Having failed to make the substantial evolutionary connection between statues and mushrooms, we spent a long time trying to identify alternate landmarks and only succeeding in getting my friend further lost. I was then forced to enlist spousal pick-up-and-drop assistance.
To be fair to the incumbent, he was apparently not responsible for most of those statues. I presume some were put up by his supporters to express….um….support. With time, we pinpointed the one statue that was commissioned by him, by dint of the fact that it was the only one that stayed relatively clean, got garlanded often, and actually grew- sprouting a wrought iron fire-escape-kind-of-appendage to facilitate easy garlanding and (possibly) cleaning. I guess this is what they mean by the phrase ‘growing in stature’. The fire exit has its merits, though. I am now sure that my friends won’t get lost on their way to our place.
So you see, as a commoner, our choice is between an accessible VIP, with all the concomitant day to day challenges, or VIPs living in ivory towers, inaccessible and surrounded by security, our interactions with them limited to the functions that they come habitually late to. It’s a no brainer, this ages-old choice between a daily struggle and more predictable inconvenience. I claim no credit for this, the decision was made when humankind moved from hunting-gathering to agriculture.
And this is why I am all for corruption - so that our MP might get rich quickly and move to the upmarket side of town, thus letting me get on with living and losing weight. The last I looked there were several empty suitcases in the corridor on his floor. Either he is shifting, or he is getting rich. Either way, praise be to God.
