The dark, joyless world of the crown prince – Diary of Rahul Gandhi
Published on Faking News in Oct 13
We found this torn diary page at the corner of Tughlak Lane. Though it could not be established, it reads like a page from diary of Sh. Rahul Gandhi, Member of Parliament.
Yes, he can write.
Dear Diary,
You are the only companion in my dispirited, disheartened state. I dare not say to anyone what I am pouring out on your pages.
The seeds for my current mess were sown much before but nurtured over last forty years. It was only my stupidity which kept me unaware of my ‘clearly written on the wall’ fate. Let me explain.
I was around five or six year old when Mom called me and paraded me in front of her friends, asked me to give a speech on how I will remove poverty when I became Prime Minister. Too young to understand and frightened by the demands of a staged performance, I complied nevertheless. The giggles and comments at the end of it ranged from, “So much like his grandmother” to “Already speaks like a PM” but these did not frighten me as the ordeal had ended and there was a chocolate as bonus.
When Dad got active in politics and became PM, I was in early teens & suddenly, he had much less time for us. When I enquired about Dad’s frequent absences from home, I was told that same busy schedule awaited me when I became Prime Minister. I was still too young to understand what I was getting led into. During another party, I was in late twenties then, another friend of Mom told her, “See how grown up he looks, when are you making him Prime Minister?” But I stayed dumb.
I should have understood when I was given charge of youth wing, I asked the team to introduce themselves. The way they pronounced their father’s name before introducing themselves was weird protocol, I thought. I should have known better.
They kept on showing me the dreams and I, like an addict kept on. Performance after performance, speech after speech, hut after hut, drama after drama, a hug here, a pat there and all with media in tow. The strategy was tried and tested, they told me, over three generations and always worked in India.
But it was not to be.
When I look back, I wonder at the ignorance of those who told me what to say, do and what to expect.
I was told that the people out there are dying for a glimpse of mine! All of those few hundred at Sangrur?
I was told that every word I speak will be lapped up with utmost devotion! They had such deep, intensive devotion that I had to tell them to clap?
I was told that everyone would indulge me, love me, adore me for what I am! And they do it by calling me Pappu?
I was told that the country is desperately waiting for a youth Icon! And they support a sixty year old?
I was told that I would need a few words to impress all. Secularism, Minority, Inclusive, Poverty, Sacrifice, Family, Gandhi etc. would serve the purpose! Forget it. Even Science, Philosophy & Genealogy does not work with this crowd!
I was told that it need to commit only one day per fortnight to politics! Now they are assessing my attendance in Parliament as if I am a college student and they hold my admit card!
Today, when the dreams which were shown to me have turned into nightmares, when I have become a sad joke, a kind of caricature of what I was supposed to be, a could never be, I realize that one should never believe in what the politicians say.
Today when some of my party colleagues talk about removing poverty, I remember what some wise man said, “Loneliness is the ultimate poverty.”
