APING DREAMS

We have been hearing leaders promising our state to be metamorphosed into Singapore. One BJP leader has even promised to convert Visakhapatnam into another Los Angeles. But how about Vijayawada into another Los Vegas. And how about Konaseema turning into a Madrid, where cockfights are the order of the day at the moment. They can perhaps transform it into the biggest haven for bull fights. I, for one, would prefer a bit of Paris in Tenali, a shade of Thailand in Machilipatnam, and Hay- on- Wye in Wales, Britain, a Mecca for every booklover anywhere in the world, where the book carnival takes place with Salman Rushdies, Chetan Bhagats, Arundhati Roys participating at Anantapur and last but not the least a Manhattan where theatre is in full flow at Vizianagaram and so on and so forth. These are the choicest places on the map of the world, where rosy dreams of different hues unfold each day for a discerning tourist. Perhaps these leaders are aware of the adage that if one aims for the stars, they will at least end up in clouds. Unfortunately, the commonest of common man, who walks into the polling booth of Tallapudi village, for instance, cannot afford these dreams. It doesn’t mean anything to him. Perhaps he has never heard of Singapore or to be more precise, never cared to hear. His priorities have been elsewhere.

In Singapore there are no “Phat-phatees’ the three-wheeler taxis as they are called in Delhi, run mostly by Sardarjis. They are a meticulously hard working clan and these vehicles are given to their offspring as their inheritance for generations. They are easily 20 to 30 years old and yet these wonderful drivers have all the genius to make them work at all times. They emit smoke like a cloud and the noise pollution is optimum. They can part with their spouses, but not their vehicles because they are the legacy of their great grandfathers. By contrast in Singapore you don’t find a taxi which is, say, ten years old. And they are all latest Mercedes. I enquired with one driver as to how they could afford to run a Merc as a taxi. He laughed and informed me that he had no choice. It was one of the stipulations of the government for getting a licence to run a taxi in that country. Every few years, he had to change the vehicle and it had to be in top condition. The foreign tourist, who travels in these vehicles, carries memories home, which was true with me as well. He confided in me and said: “Sir! It is easy to get a wife here, but difficult to get licence to drive a taxi.’’ In Italy, a country as big as, say, Nellore district you would have Mercs as taxis. When you land at Hul Hule Island in Male and travel exactly 20 minutes in a boat to its capital town nearby, which is about 220 acres of an island, where it takes 18 minutes to walk from one end to the other, you will find Merc taxis.

After making a purchase at a small wayside shop in Singapore, the vendor gave me a bill, which, as is my wont, I crumpled and threw on the roadside. The vendor, who was scandalised, ran to the road and picked up the ball to put it in the waste paper basket in his shop. He warned me that the luxury is punishable with a fine of hundred dollars and what is more, presented me with a T shirt on which the dos and don’ts were carefully categorised and printed, free of cost!

Some thirty years ago, I landed in Los Angeles in the wee hours of the night. The airport was almost barren. I could not find my friend, who had promised to pick me up from the airport. I panicked. Not knowing what to do in a foreign country, I was almost tearful. I found a public telephone nearby, but did not have the coins to dial the numbers. A lone walker- an African-American- was passing by. I approached him, pulling a ten dollar note and asked for change. He was shocked. He shouted in gruff voice: “Man! Is this the first time you are coming to this country?’’ I meekly nodded. He said: “Don’t- I say this again- DON’T-display a note like that anymore. People can cut your throat here for that money’’. He took out a quarter from his pocket and gave it to me saying, “Welcome to United States of America!’’ and left. I was stunned.

Every citizen in any country, town or village will have his own pride and dignity and he certainly would not like to barter it with anything else. There is a saying in Sanskrit that one’s Mother and Motherland are his veritable Heavens and his pride is not negotiable. Give an expensive three-piece suit to a farmer in Rayavaram, a small village in West Godavari, he feels insulted and could even feel hurt by misconstruing that you are pulling his leg. His standard of life is a small improvised heaven, and he would like to improve it, only on his terms. It is his known world. It is his ethos. It is his unique self-belief and importantly his way of life. His culture is not for barter.

While the enthusiasm of our leaders is laudable and appreciable- it does not ring a bell to the commonest of common man. If anything it reflects their total disconnect. How many farmers in this state know about Los Angeles and Singapore? They are overstepping into his personal world and individual pride and rupturing his individual identity in their quest to make their small world a better one. But let not this world be tarnished beyond recognition. Make it a better place to live in peace and dignity. Please don’t try to rehabilitate them into a more vulgar backdrop. The metropolises they are focusing on are what they are because their leaders, who could make the people living there, reorient their mindset. Try and see whether it is possible at their respective places. The common man would laugh, when his leader promises to make his village into Singapore because he can easily surmise that they are not in control of their facts and their priorities are misplaced.