Sunday musings
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| Image from panna.org |
In the classical story, the
vainglorious emperor is naked though he is made to believe that he is wearing
some supernatural fabric. The King in this blog post is blessed with the same
vanity though he cannot be accused of the same naivete. His sartorial sense is
as sophisticated as his political acumen is shrewd. He has his own brand of
jackets with colours that match the occasions.
His words have colours that
match the occasions. He can be a teacher or a butcher, a persuasive demagogue
or a deferential tea-seller. He longs for appreciation from the very people
whom he holds in contempt. He emulates the people whom he seeks to displace from
history.
He professes absolute love for
his country and its ancient culture and civilisation. But he will get foreign
writers to pen his biography. Andy Marino and Lance Price have written
voluminous books about his greatness though they knew him little until they
were hired to do the job.
Knowledge is not important in
his kingdom. Propaganda is. The King makes use of all the available social
media to tell his subjects that he has been adjudged the Best King in the world
by UNESCO or to photoshop the American President as watching him delivering his
monthly exhortations to his subjects.
He has put up selfie booths in
significant cities where his subjects can take their photos with a lifelike statue
of his with a broad grin on the lips. He has got his own statue installed at
Madame Tussauds museum. His court poets compose poems to acclaim him as “God’s precious
gift to the country” and “The messiah of the poor” and so on. They put words
into the mouth of prophets like Nostradamus: “A boy who swam with crocodiles in
the land beneath the Himalayas will grow up to be the greatest king in the
whole world…”
Another boy – no relation of
the Emperor at all – stood at a distance watching the poet laureate of the
country composing his latest poem by bending halfway down beside the King and
kissing his posterior…
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