The Emperor with too many clothes

Sunday musings

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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