Today khed (regret) is everywhere—railways, politics, social media, even obituaries mistaken for wedding photos! Leaders cultivate votes with garlands and khed, newspapers sell ads with khed, and doctors, police, and babus hide behind khed while work rots in files. VIPs get instant condolences, while the aam aadmi gets seasonal sympathy during elections. Truly, in India, if nothing else works, at least khed will always be available on demand.
In today’s world, simply being human isn’t enough—you must be somebody’s man. From jobs and promotions to ration and awards, everything belongs to those stamped as “our man.” Without a “man” tag, you’re just a number in the aam aadmi crowd. Whether rubbing noses, bowing flat, or squeezing into ribbon-cutting photos, the rules are clear: survival requires patronage. After all, licenses, favors, even tea—flow only to somebody’s man!
“Being first is our birthright—whether it’s buying the first iPhone, overtaking an ambulance, shoving in temple queues, or even rushing ahead in a funeral procession. Indians don’t just live life; they race through it with sabse pehle syndrome. Mount Everest can wait—our summit is the top of every line.”
Forty years ago, happiness was cheap. A stick could be toy, antenna, and mango-harvesting tool. A single roll of cloth dressed the whole family—eventually turning into bags and mops. Doordarshan’s Ramayan was a divine weekly event, while sugar toys were both playthings and sweets. Today, despite endless gadgets and choices, smiles feel mortgaged. The old equation still rings true: fewer resources, more joy; more resources, less joy.
The hunger for awards has turned into a literary disease—treated at roadside “Purushkaar stalls” like quack clinics. A writer without an award looks impotent; with one, even neighbors doubt it’s genuine: “So, where did you pull this off from?” The real nightmare begins with the Thank You Speech—who to mention, who to skip? This, indeed, is the philosophy of Award-ism.
In our home, “Can you pin my saree?” is not just a request—it’s the official ceasefire declaration after a husband-wife war. Pinning sarees for 26 years has been my marital duty, peace treaty, and constitutional right. Without it, even Swiggy feels like punishment!