The lethargy of the Indian will become the stuff of legend. What was once a seething, dynamic population (that took a century to ferment their feelings the first time around) now sits still and twiddles thumbs after just a few minutes of burning and rampaging. Just like we couldn’t wrap our minds around sustaining the Annti corruption revolution (so much so that the man made us believe that it was intended to be a burst of energy) and now we’re done with the Neta cheek episode too.

Our half an hour soap opera attention is not anywhere close to enough to sustain a movement towards anything; let alone towards something positive and glowing and happy. But what we are now cut out for is passing the buck, spreading the word and little more than raising our voice from our sofas.

But the contrary picture that presents itself to the world is the India that turns away from the Gandhi they raise to the level of mortal God and reignite the flares of violence. Far from offering the other cheek (which is entirely the business of the slapee to decide, vis-à-vis the opinion slapper), Mr. Neta’s men have gone and exacted their revenge on all the things that he took the money away from—the buses and the roads and the quality infrastructure we have so much extra of. And then, Mr. Annti corruption, who exhibited his spontaneous side came down and lied his way through the situation that he then found himself in.

But screw all those bigger concerns. They’re really too vague and nebulous for me to handle or want to think of for too long.
I’d rather think of the ragpicker who smiled at me the other day. I found myself in a vicious mood, on a bike (and therefore more vicious than ever) and in a traffic snarl that was not making things any better. And that is when, this bald, toothless old fellow, very sprightly and somehow oozing energy managed to draw my attention. It’s impossible that he could see any more than my eyes. And the red, sore and itching eyes that looked back at him were very like his own. Only angrier. But the man just lit up. He smiled not just at his mouth but all over his tired, old face. That smile transformed his tanned and grimy features and seemed to whip the mood off my shoulders.

Less than an inspiration, but much, much more than a simple passing moment, this man has reminded me that there are a number of things that go around and come around; but the smiles are the best.

Stick to the smiles and keep the slapping for never. Please.