The Godman sat gesticulating and expounding loud wisdom from the “podium”, a ramshackle wooden structure, raised on rickety stilts, and pathetically festooned with garish, zari-bordered , strips of clothes. A large , dusty peacock feather duster, swung slowly , from one corner to the other.
The “baba” himself was adorned, as loud and garish, as an enthusiastic entrant to a child’s fancy dress competition.
Facing a forest of tired,dusty, deadbeat faces, upturned in abject indifference.
Periodically, a wave of enthusiasm would course through, as the crowds parrotted a slogan after a mike-wielding crony at the base of the stage. Most of the time however, the poor kept up their vacant stare. It was a farce , on a huge scale .
Or as Marx would put it , the people were drugged, with that “opium of the masses.”
The “baba” himself was adorned, as loud and garish, as an enthusiastic entrant to a child’s fancy dress competition.
Facing a forest of tired,dusty, deadbeat faces, upturned in abject indifference.
Periodically, a wave of enthusiasm would course through, as the crowds parrotted a slogan after a mike-wielding crony at the base of the stage. Most of the time however, the poor kept up their vacant stare. It was a farce , on a huge scale .
Or as Marx would put it , the people were drugged, with that “opium of the masses.”
Slowly, the sun started setting, but the show went on. People continued to chant, occasionally, roused by the mike-wielders.Large rotis and lukewarm, tasteless subzi, the gravy dripping everywhere, were passed in the name of” langar”. Preparations were underfoot, for another round of “show stopping ” rock-show, to be conducted by none other than the “baba” himself.
As the night fell,large speakers materialised, revolving disco-lights, tv cameras , huge screens swung into action. It was an entertainment extravaganza on an unbelievable scale .The dusty and sad looking arena transformed into a stadium of gladiatorial proportions. Although, it was being performed in the name of a person ,a human, venerated as a God, a religion of the most dubious nature.
The number of cronies multiplied. Now four of them appeared, at a stage of their own, dressed in shiny outfits, holding pages of rehearsed script. This was getting really serious now. To loud salutations and chantings, the “Lord ” himself made an appearance, as an Elvis caricature. White and gold tasseled and blinged , bejewelled outfit.Even the white sneakers were not spared the “gold-ness”. Apparently, the “Baba” himself, designs his costumes, writes his songs, composes music and rehearses them . Truly “god-like”.
Everytime the cameras swung in their direction, the “devotees” would go berserk, chanting and shouting the “God’s” name, jumping up and down. The enthusiasm was pronounced in the female enclosures. I, a mere bystander to the grand spectacle, was frequently being coaxed by my companion, an ardent “devotee”, to do the same .It was not just silly, but a positively, “out of body” (LSD-like) experience to see my friend, a qualified pathologist, dance to a “Baba’s”tune.
The hirsute “baba”, his every curly body-hair, enlarged million times on the giant screen, presented a very hilarious and entertaining sight, had it not been marred with sundry accounts from “devotees” about how the “God” had wrought “miracles” in their miserable existences.
The “God” himself , seemed more focussed on performing his rustic, raucous songs than hearing paeans of praise and dismissed every “miracle ” with an impatient wave of his tasseled hand .
All said it was entertaining, albeit unnecessarily marred with un-called for “religious fervour.”
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