This time I really mean it. HAPPY NEW YEAR.
May 2016 never return. In any form. May its impact also vanish miraculously.
I pray for a 2017 where the Judiciary rules and rules fast, where the Executive governs and governs fast, where the legislature vanishes and vanishes fast.
I pray that the fourth estate doesn’t become like real estate. And real estate like fourth estate.
I am not so visionary as to pray for ANY growth in GDP. I am practical. I only want my money back. From the ATM. Only what I earned in the past.
I don’t want any endearments. Don’t call us Mitron. Call us by that word that rhymes with it, which we confirmed while voting in 2014 – at least 31℅ of us.
In 2017, I don’t want to equate Bharat with my Mata. Because my Mata either gave me pocket money or didn’t. But never did she snatch my pocket money and give it to her wealthy friend. Who certainly neither needed it nor deserved it.
I don’t mind singing the national anthem before during and after a movie, especially if the movie is about third rate rulers, but in 2017, I pray the words of the anthem come at least somewhere close to the truth.
I am so backward that I am still praying for a 2017 modelled on Gandhi and Nehru’s India, not digital India.
And I am so backward that this little piece is not a forward. It’s from me. Genuinely.
Happy new year to you and your loved ones. Be good and don’t switch on the TV at 7.30pm tonight.
Lots of love.