What with Cauvery Draft and Karnataka election, it’s a wonder that a south-based journalist got time to breathe, let alone write his personal diary.
The Cauvery draft shown the green signal by the Central government does not let settle the dust left in the wake of the hard fought legal battle between Tamil Nadu and Karnataka. This century-old wrangle over sharing Cauvery water does not seem to be heading towards an amicable solution anytime soon. While both the states were fighting over their water rights, BJP thought it opportune to make inroads into the southern bastion of democratic India by winning the Assembly election. While the party managed to win and become the largest party in the State, it fell short of absolute majority. Then began rounds of constitutional abuse and redress and the matters went to the well of the Assembly, where an embattled Yeddyurappa resigned two days after swearing in, and moments before his might was put to test. Had BJP been accorded more time to prove its majority, it would have passed with flying colours. Politics is a funny profession. People proclaim from the highest pedestal their ideologies and leanings, but are not burdened with the responsibility of actually living up to them. After years of slow and sustained brainwashing, people have bought into the idea of their having a say in the state of affairs; they believe that it’s their vote that actually makes a difference. If votes were sacrosanct, as these politicians would want us to believe, then every five years they would not have sought it based on same promises and assurances. However, when the dance of democracy starts, people get entranced in its fervour and all that is left if their demands, which they hope someone else would take care of.
Was too busy to write anything. Used to return home tired like a dog only to sleep like a log. I don’t think the stressful times are over. In office, the work pressure is mounting, while at home there’s no respite. Duke and Caesar have combined to give the definition of evil a new dimension. The rascals are becoming unmanageable by the day. However, the small relief that graces my life is the availability of beer. Drank Japanese Super Dry beer named Asahi. Tell you frankly, after surviving on the abominable fare they pass as beer in Tamil Nadu, Asahi was a revelation. The last time I drank anything close to potable in Chennai was Carlsberg. I suspect the water they use for it comes from the highly-polluted Noyyal and it’s a wonder that I’m still alive to tell the tale. My junior at the office gifted me The Glenlivet. The box itself is mesmerizing. I am yet to open it, but the last time I drank a single malt was Glenkinchie. If The Glenlivet is anything close to what Glenkinchie was, I think I’m for a treat. I think I have cultivated a taste for Jack Daniels, which is why I stopped drinking blended scotch. The last time tasted a blend was a couple of years ago, that is before Mr. Jack Daniels came calling.
Have started reading G K Chesterton's Father Brown stories. I think Father Brown is an antithesis to Sherlock Holmes; there is no scientific sterilization of emotions taking place here, but a perfect manifestation of deduction based, again, on human predictability. While Sherlock Holmes is a man of few words, not inclined to spiritual discourse, Father Brown is a study in contrast. While their methods are polar opposites, they converge in the purpose behind their deductive skills: seeking the truth. A detailed review is must as both the books have got close to heart. Moreover, I remember I bought Father Brown book at Allahabad from the A H Wheeler book shop. That’s a story in itself which merits a detailed treatment.
Anyway, need to be mentally prepared for the churning in Karnataka and be sharp for the Cauvery agitation on cards. So it’s time for sleep.