Bengaluru, Dec 29: One fine day in November, India suddenly turned godless. 'Our' Prime Minister Narendra Modi asked us to part away with our money (or black money) for the greater good of the nation. We, the law-abiding citizens, could not refuse the diktat. After all, we are the footsoldiers of the nation, fighting against black money, counterfeit currencies and terror funding.
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All our sarkar wanted us to do is to stand in long queues in front of banks and ATM kiosks for hours on end. This is the least we could do for Bharat Mata. In those never-ending rows reside our nation's unity.
In case anyone's forgotten, we even stand in queues to enter public toilets. There is nothing new about being part of these serpentine lines for any of us; it is the great leveller of castes, class, colour and gender.
Thus, since the announcement was made, we forgot all our worldly desires and duties and ran to our nearest banks and ATMs. Some of our more adventurous brethren even travelled miles to get access to a working bank.
Like an ardent faithful we made pilgrimage to those crammed banks floors and oft times hidden ATMs; we religiously made queues and patiently waited for our newly minted lord to appear.
Thirst, hunger and fatigue tested our patience, but we did not give up. A few, however, unfortunately gave up their battle in midway. They (around 100 of them) died (or became martyrs) right before they could have a glimpse of the new notes.
These dead are the symbol of the ultimate sacrifice we are willing to make for our elected gods. The passion to prove our patriotism is at its peak now. Even if the government asks us to go and fight a nuclear war with public enemy number 1, we should be proud to do so, lest we wish to be labelled anti-national? We are the hyper-nationalists and gau rakshaks of our times. Our progeny (we know we will have billions of them as our leaders want us, especially the Hindu women to have 10 children at least) will take pride in their ancestors' efforts to turn the country from sickular to sacred saffron.
The chest-thumping netas have given us the prasadam of notebandi and we the bhakts now stand in queues of our banking temples. Unfortunately, as we rise from our stupor of heightened patriotism there is neither moolah nor maula, all we've is the illusion of money in our accounts.