Tuesday, August 12

And they marched on, the new freedom fighters!

His room was empty. Empty in the sense that there was nobody else in his room, except him of course. How would he know otherwise? One has to be in the room, to know who else is in the room. His laptop was also in the room but since the laptop doesn’t breathe oxygen and it doesn’t speak in the tongue we humans understand, we don’t count it in our decision making. So this non-living thing, the laptop was sitting on the bed with its screen lid open emitting a saffron and green. He was trying to choose which tiranga he’d put as his WhatsApp display picture. On the internet, he could only find the tiranga in one colour combination but he wasn’t satisfied. All his friends somehow had gotten customized tirangas. He took out his phone, opened WhatsApp and scrolled through the display pictures of all his friends. They had various shades of tiranga, some had it in red-blue-green, some in yellow-blue-orange, some in some other colour. He wanted to ask them how they got these unique tirangas. This one combination in particular was really nice but he didn’t know what colours they were. Midway in his text, he looked up who he was texting, he realized it was one of his girl friend. Because the 'everywhere tiranga' thing had now replaced the overly cute emo quotes, he couldn’t differentiate between boys and girls. Back in the day when things were normal, all the girls ever put were normal pictures while the boys obviously went for those overly cute emo pictures. When he understood the gravity of his actions and what this mistake could have costed him, his throat went dry, he felt as if all his courage had been sucked out and his fingers couldn’t type the remaining question. Internet wisdom had taught him he simply couldn’t ask a girl about colours. That’d open the encyclopedia of colours. This discussion he’d reserve for another day when he’d be all lonely and desperate for human companionship obviously after having tried talking to all the living and nonliving things around. In spite of the sudden distraction, his mind wandered back to the ever persistent question, how do I get myself a customized tiranga? He looked around his empty room only to find there was no one else in it, no one else who could help. He sighed. He literally sighed.

Mission Tiranga had started as an accident, when the head technician of a company named ‘We Produce Tiranga’ forgot the colour codes of tiranga and put in random colours. Some say he had watched Humshakals the previous day. The Board saw the new tirangas and immediately went to its marketing team, headed by two short bald guys in their 25s and asked them if they could be sold. The bald guys said yes, and said, they charge 750 bucks per night. Only after ten minutes, when they all looked at each other like they were evaluating, one of the Board Member coughed and broke the awkward silence, ‘650 and we have a deal.’ We don’t know the final price that cut the deal that day. Moving on, management decided to put their faith in these bald guys and gave them a thumbs up. They literally just stood there together and gave the guys their thumbs up. When at first, this one guy couldn’t sync the whole thumbs up routine properly, they did it again. But these loyal office workers gave their thumbs up all right. ‘Our office has not achieved this level of productivity in a long time, we should all celebrate it by putting this captured moment of human excellence as our display pictures’, the head of the company remarked. And this is how it all began…

The marketing guys, after brainstorming and other cool words they use for lazing around, asked the management to rent a secret room in the rough neighborhood of the town and thus it began, uh, continued…

Alone still in his room, this guy, our guy chose to finally risk it all and ask his friends how they got their tirangas. He thought about the consequences. Generally when people text each other, they look at the profile picture, their fingers bleed the message and they hit send. But this was the stuff of chaos, this could confuse even the Legends of Texting, yes, the ones who claimed they could type even if the phone was in another room. But this was a different ballgame, a text supposed for a guy friend could be sent to the girlfriend’s father, or a screen-grab of a friend you want to make fun of, could be sent to that friend himself or a rickshawwala. There were all kinds of things possible. This could turn into a nightmare. In spite of all the risk it contained, his fingers moved slowly and steadily over the touchscreen of his phone and after he realized he had to change his screen-guard, he messaged one friend and asked about the customized tiranga and if he knew any good screen-guard in particular. The response came in seconds, as if the guy was waiting for someone to ask, “the first rule of ‘We Produce Custom Tiranga’ is you don’t talk about Fight club, uh, forget it.”. There was no response after that. So our guy tried another friend. Same thing. He tried another. Same response. Finally, after sending it to 10 people, his green WhatsApp icon turned into a deep saffron, then white, then green and then it disappeared… He got scared. He switched off his phone. If he had waited for another two minutes, he could see the shop address his friend had sent that dealt with mobiles and accessories.

In the next ten minutes, a lot of things happened around the whole world, as they keep on happening. Our guy on the other hand was abducted by two bald guys who smelled of fresh paint and was being forced into a car. Only when the smell subsided, he asked ‘what are you people doing?’ To which the bald guys said in unison, ‘we are bringing a revolution.’ ‘That’s fine and all, but did you put my pepsi in the refrigerator? Man, it will lose all its fuzz.’ They turned back and put the pepsi in the refrigerator carefully amidst all the emptiness in the fridge so that it wouldn’t fall and cause havoc of an unknown degree. Right when they headed for the exit, one of the bald guy, rushed back in the house and reappeared after a while. He was just checking up on the pepsi, he said. There’s no mystery here, he really was just checking up on the pepsi. He might have taken a sip or two, but that’s fair.

The next our guy opened his eyes, he was in a dimly lit room which also smelled of fresh paint. The walls were carefully painted in different shades of tiranga. The bald guys grinned when they noticed his excitement and explained to him their idea of revolution, how it began, how it would never end and things like that. They also talked about legends in this field. They said they idolize the guys who started the Black Dot Revolution

Our guy, obviously, wasn’t paying any attention. When they were done he asked them if they knew any good screen-guards in particular. 

After a pause, the team of Bald Guys, started their well-rehearsed routine.

BG #1: You are here..
There was a pause again.
BG #2: You are here.
BG #1: We’re not doing this routine…
BG #2: We’re not doing this routine.
BG #1: Idiot, I am talking to you…
BG #2: Idiot, I am talking to you.
BG #1: Oh! forget it.

Getting annoyed and frantic, the BG #1, asked our guy to handover his phone. He switched it on, and plugged it in his computer. In seconds, thousands of tiranga pictures were transferred into our guy’s phone and his display pictures were changed on every social networking site he was on. New accounts were created on the sites he wasn’t on and then these new pictures were put there as well. This was the Tiranga Revolution.

After some chit-chat which included our guy telling the Team of Baldies that they weren’t really selling the product as much as just creating empty hype. He was dropped back to his place. Before leaving, the BG#1 put his hand on our guy’s shoulders and in a very dad like voice, said, ‘you’re one of us now. Do not panic, there’ll be many who will tell you how it is a stupid thing to do really and makes no sense except that you participate in mindless circle-jerking, they will also point out that it’s not only against the constitution, it’s also disrespectful to the Tiranga, our tricolour, but do not panic. You’re a part of us, you’re a revolution.’

‘...a revolution’, another voice repeated.  

‘We are the new freedom fighters.’

‘...the new freedom fighters.’

____The End____
or the beginning?

Author’s Note: Most of this incidents recorded here would sound pointless, and that, ladies and gentlemen, is sort of the whole point.

Also, I am a huge fan of these two books that are full with sarcasm and are considered by many as the best satires ever written. Animal Farm & The Hitchhiker’s Guide To TheGalaxy. (Sponsored links)

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