Story

I discovered the following among my notes, written a year ago. I must have been really livid!

The story must be told. Of how a bunch of cretins, burning with hateful jealousy at everything around them, finally had their day, and mounted a project of wanton destruction, now celebrated as progress and revolution.

Perhaps of more interest as a story is the graceful submission of the representatives of intellect and art to this power, and their skilful, adroit and adept forging of ties of privilege, so as never to be left out, out in the cold, out on a limb, out of power.

But perhaps the best story of all would be that of all those nameless and faceless souls - citizens too - who could only suffer the circus of overt-turning that engulfed and overwhelmed all, and hope, until hope too seemed futile.

The mouth-frothing carnage of idiocy by the hideous votaries of revolution; the pride and glee, the smug arrogance and conceit of the lapdogs of power; and the never-say-die struggle to survive amidst extreme adversity; yes, together they brought to life the national tri-colour.

Image: Saturn Devouring One of His Sons, by Francisco Goya.