Sunday, July 31, 2011
Hello ladies and gentlemen, this is your Verappen crossed over with none other than the godfather himself, the patriarch Vito Corleone, making a Hindolotic confession. Perhaps that’s exaggerating it a bit, so shall we say and assume that the reference is to Tony Montana the Scarface? Telling the whole world coked out of his guts and still being street savvy enough to quip - “Say Hello to My Little Friend” before launching a mini-tank in his rough hands and powered nose.
Funny, that there wasn’t anything little about Tony Montana. So before the lights are switched on and before the curtains are about to fall down upon his fearless show, a colossal mayhem occurs where the metal meets the flesh in unapologetic fashion. And yet you can’t help but like that bad guy. When you got liners like “Even when I lie, I always tell the truth,” you gotta admire that instinctive gut, more so when it comes from a very fallible and flawed character growing up in poverty, in a repressed society, without education, minus a father, in circumstances where the only person who fends for yourself is none other than yourself, and maybe a rusty knife.
One can only imagine the utter look of bewilderment when such films, based on reality, were unfolding and were being retold in cinematic takes.
Closer home we have our own dons, doing business with the government, acquiring the works, making the cash and running like Dash from the Incredibles. But if indeed the substantial charges regarding that one symbolic emblem has been one Mister Martin, Santiago Martin. The name has a certain class and suaveness about it. A certain panache that somehow seems to command attention (and if a Bhutanese dada hung out muscling a black neighborhood in the US, I guess that would be pretty hilarious).
But Mister Martin is real and here and now as opposed to Mister Tintin who is a comical hero appearing in comics with associates such as Captain Haddock, the Thompson and Thomson Brothers, the bungling Professor Calculus. But Mister Martin is as real as this bowl of noodle still cooking in a brown varnished bowl.
I Googled the Martin, having never seen or met the man in person, the head said probably a Christian with nuts and bolts of Anglo-Saxon DNAs. The image that greeted me was just the opposite – outback bush moustache, suited and booted, almost a swashbuckler had it not been for the tie. It was a garish pink, leaving me pondering whether it was just personal eccentricity or a guise that jells and merges like so many silver-metallic teeny-weeny balls of magnet that roll towards each other and become bigger and bigger, apropos the Mercury Man in those Terminator movies. Nowadays they call him the Gropernator (and pretty credibly so).
Nick names are really tell-tell signs should one observe without judgment but with a discerning tack and guile.
The question begging a bang is very simple and straightforward – are the citizens of this country being taken for a ride? Has such a practice or practices been the established and institutionalized way of governance? As much as the next man nursing a jug of beer in a bar stool, the anticipation of how a ‘Don Dons himself and looks is absolutely necessary, if nothing at all than to take off the garb and basically show and tell.
The government isn’t demonstrating anything that would reassure the people. Accountability was preempted, and the matter is more or less just that, a matter that is more or less just another matter.
The epic here is one of corruption, nepotism, unilateralism and profiteering. If the truth, backed and upped by palpable evidence is produced, the consequences can be damaging to say the least. But the point here is, first and foremost, the admittance and acceptance of passing the barking dog and taking responsibility. Passing the buck is a circular merry-go-round with guaranteed headaches. Hence wag the dog or lock horns with that Expressway Bull and stand your ground - like a Matador toying with the bull with casual pinpricks.
Such men are made of elements that eventually reveal their inner nature, like precious jewels that glitter and sparkle in direct proportion to the thickness of the debris they are caked in.
If heads must roll, then heads must roll and as the government stated, roll with compassion. Now think about the 40 plus people trying to eke out a living to provide for their families. Now convert those numbers into actual people with faces and families, and ask just how just is our justice; and how forthright and frank have our legislators been?
There are a lot of MPs who smoke or chew the dusted tobacco leaves. When such spectacles are visibly flaunted, then really, we also have to ask ourselves the question. His Majesty the King keeps the country united, inspiring us by example; saying how each and every one of us can make a far bigger contribution in keeping our collective identity intact rather than anything else.
That said, the problem has always been the same – you see, it is indeed annoyingly difficult to see your own nose, and of course, when your head’s in the clouds, forgetting your feet are planted on earth might result in a fatal fall.