Every season they say has its own flavor, not like the vanilla, strawberry, black forest, etc. but the other sensible kinds like- Love season, marriage season or the dull mango(aam) season. Here, the season has cooked up an altogether different flavor, putting all other flavors to quietus; it is the season of ‘resignation’. All of a sudden below my hovering eyes, all of my species in this cacophonic world are putting their hands up in unison before being fired.
About a year and a half back, 26/11 Mumbai massacre led to the resignation of the then Home minister, Shivraj Patil, cleansing and toning him off all his faults- it was hailed as a laudable step of transparent governance. Just when it seemed his successor, Mr. P. Chidambaram was getting his feet in, he howled, “I too resign” taking full accountability of the recent Dantewada shame. Thus resignation emerges as the new mantra to sainthood, the word itself tantamount to somersault in the holy Ganges.
Once, it was considered that responsibility and duty if taken should be obliged and that was how credibility was defined. But now, I envisage a world where soldiers would put down arms in the battlefield, saying, “I resign with full dignity”. Even my venerable Milkman became vulnerable to such artifice as his most fecund cow wagged its tail and ended their decade old barter bonding shooting, “Mooh! I resign go for Amul Taaza instead”. While, incidents like Dantewada and Mumbai carnages show chinks in armor, fleeing away does not exhibit bravado. Fight for the cause, delve into the casus belli, and prevent future battue by proper action. The ideal step for the home minister guy and my milkman’s gai would be to get back to work and serve their duties rather than developing cold feet during hours of adversities.
But as the epidemic has caught up big time, I too sneeze and resign from writing anymore.
The writer is a correspondent of Youth Ki Awaaz.
Every season they say has its own flavor, not like the vanilla, strawberry, black forest, etc. but the other sensible kinds like- Love season, marriage season or the dull mango(aam) season. Here, the season has cooked up an altogether different flavor, putting all other flavors to quietus; it is the season of ‘resignation’. All of a sudden below my hovering eyes, all of my species in this cacophonic world are putting their hands up in unison before being fired.
About a year and a half back, 26/11 Mumbai massacre led to the resignation of the then Home minister, Shivraj Patil, cleansing and toning him off all his faults- it was hailed as a laudable step of transparent governance. Just when it seemed his successor, Mr. P. Chidambaram was getting his feet in, he howled, “I too resign” taking full accountability of the recent Dantewada shame. Thus resignation emerges as the new mantra to sainthood, the word itself tantamount to somersault in the holy Ganges.
Once, it was considered that responsibility and duty if taken should be obliged and that was how credibility was defined. But now, I envisage a world where soldiers would put down arms in the battlefield, saying, “I resign with full dignity”. Even my venerable Milkman became vulnerable to such artifice as his most fecund cow wagged its tail and ended their decade old barter bonding shooting, “Mooh! I resign go for Amul Taaza instead”. While, incidents like Dantewada and Mumbai carnages show chinks in armor, fleeing away does not exhibit bravado. Fight for the cause, delve into the casus belli, and prevent future battue by proper action. The ideal step for the home minister guy and my milkman’s gai would be to get back to work and serve their duties rather than developing cold feet during hours of adversities.
But as the epidemic has caught up big time, I too sneeze and resign from writing anymore.