A Neta's secret diary

" Bhaiyon aur behnon. It's hot. By that, i don't mean the mercury rising mercilessly around us. I mean the anti-politician venom spreading in society, as sour as lassi gone bad. People are breaking into fasts on every available street corner, or lighting candles at national monuments before making anti-politico statements. Why just grown-ups, even children seem to stare with hatred at my white Ambassador with its lovely red light and posse of personal security. It's almost like we politicos don't have feelings!But we do. You may not believe it, but we're hurting pretty badly right now. Don't let our blank countenances, our sarcasm-laden comebacks or our topi-topped blitheness fool you. Deep down under we too have hearts which, as the great Diana Ross sang, can be broken.

Ok, i grant you, this 1G, 2G, haan ji, na ji business over scams and skims has been rather heavy this time. But don't blindly believe grossly inflated reports of this scam exceeding the annual health budget, that swindle topping the education budget. Considering these sectors get peanuts anyway, what's the big deal if a con does exceed them?And hey, with every larceny comes a grand time. Which other kind of political animal gives you all the fun we do, with our crackling nightly TV debates, our escapades on motorcycles through Uttar Pradesh, our line-ups before swami-bearing jets in Delhi? Be fair, not square. You're blessed with the world's most colourful entertainers as your politicians. The more vivid among us, like Lalu ji, entertain each time we open our mouths. The subtler of the species, like Sushma ji, say it with a shake of the hips at Rajghat. And the thrilling, like venerable home minister PC ji, simply sign with a stick. How much we toil for our electorate, i.e. you. We stepped in and stopped Anna Hazare from fasting to death, even if it meant listening to all that silly Lokpal blather thereafter. We then wisened up and took the next potential faster-unto-death for a lovely five-star ice-cream. How were we to know he'd turn round faster than you could say 'pranayam' and bite the hand that fed him chocolate sauce! And then, for all our efforts, we take your shoes too. At press briefings, so they're not even remotely designer. Yet do we complain? But we still get animosity. It's not fair. Imagine, if instead of us, your khadi-buddies, you had a bunch of sour jholawalas or dour generals ruling the roost. What kind of TV would you get? Long lists of statistics with debates over what Tolstoy said to Marx in 1922? Or some deadly army-type whose reply to questions would be, "I could tell you. But then, I'd have to kill you." Therefore ladies and gentlemen, while cussing also count your blessings. You'll find we're part of them.