The Life of an NGO Activist

Attires can be illusionary and thankfully so. Not many professions in this   world other than the armed forces and a few others, require as immaculate a dressing sense as an NGO. Well-groomed short greyish beard, neatly combed pony tail, long over-sized kurta over a shredded jeans or trouser and a pair of worn out slippers are all that you need to appear as a copybook NGO activist. Nah! abhi bhi feel nahin aa rahi. Something’s still missing. Yes, the Chamber of Secrets, i.e. a Jhola probably bought from a handicraft fare, is an essential accessory. Now, we have our warrior ready to criticize everything under the sun. He toils in the sun, treads the road not taken, talks to the unheard and the unseen, speaks the unspoken almost on a daily basis.

With the light of day draining away and the dark shadows becoming longer than the entity itself, the warrior returns home. It’s time that our warrior  becomes a worrier. Today our warrior has collected an abundance of  evidence to support that the people of this country are indeed poor and  helpless. One advantage of being an NGO activist in India is that you will never return empty-handed. He has got a camera full of images of naked malnourished children, adults with withering expressions, and sites of some failed or delayed government projects. Just a little bit of Photoshop skills are required to drain the colours out of nearly colourless images to  turn them into complete black-and-white images. After all, why should the poor and disadvantaged have colour in their lives? And more importantly, how can these colours help our warrior paint a narrative to suit his whims? The earthy look of black and white images help strike a poignantly discordant chord. Such images are essential to make some of us believe that we did a blunder way back in 1950 by not becoming a socialist economy.

The next day our warrior-cum-worrier is conversing with some of his fellow torch-bearers of humanity sipping hard black coffee with a stimulating aroma in a restaurant, though fairly over-priced, provides a perfect breeding ground for his thoughts of upsurge and revolts. The ambience is perfect and the vibes of humanity are swirling in the air. But who can imagine that soon this serene place is going to turn into a graveyard where ‘irony’ will die a thousand deaths? Well, our warrior has been entrusted by his uncles (read ‘Sam’) to turn imagination into reality. This is what he is supposed to do for he is  an ‘intellectual’. How can we forget this universal truth? The chakravyuha has been formed, the first blow as usual comes from the JNU/DU educated damsel, in social media distress. Madam is pretty concerned about global warming sitting in a restaurant chilled by not less than half-a-dozen air-conditioners. If it was possible and also if she were not a girl, she would tear her heart out to show her immense love for mother Earth. But avoiding air-conditioners is a quite different thing altogether. After all India is a hot place, isn’t it? Our warrior nods his head legitimizing the girl’s concern.

The bleeding heart warrior-cum-worrier himself has a related point to make. He has a detailed report on how Koondakulam Atomic Power Plant, Sardar Sarovar Dam for Hydel Power, Thermal Power Plants at Simhadri in Andhra Pradesh, Niddodi in  Karnataka, Dabhol Natural Gas Plant etc. are a threat  to environment and in direct conflict with human rights. Power plants can’t be the only way to generate electricity, is it? Really, are we so lacking in ideas in a nation brimming with intellectually elite bleeding heart liberals?

“Let’s not mix science with humanity, such electricity projects must be opposed at any cost” was the unanimous verdict among the intellectual elite.

The warrior has a moment of concern about the burgeoning cost on their platter, but is instantly soothed. It was only a week ago that the bank account of their NGO was credited with a whooping 8-digit amount by another bleeding heart European ‘philanthropist’ organisation for the protection of Human  Rights and Environment in India. The operative point of their functioning is to oppose everything that’s right, seemed right or aligned Right; for their brains had been left behind pursuing the ideological Left.

The soothing music comes to a sudden halt. The excessive load shedding this summer has resulted in a revised roster scheduling of electricity supply. This was just a routine cut. The damsel by now is sweating a few drops, not a matter to joke or sidetrack!

“This is disgusting. The Government is of no use if it can’t provide round the clock electricity supply to its people”, the dude remarked in a clipped accent that makes him a darling of the NDTV studios.

Please note that the “its people” in our dude’s terminology refers to 1.21 billion Indians and a few crore Bangladeshis. These Bangladeshis are skilful athletes who are wasting their talent by playing Cricket. They are the masters, sorry world champions of “International Borders Kabaddi” which eventually transforms to “Hide and Seek” after entering into the opponsent’s half (not  exactly half). We have a long history of invaders and intruders. But why remember such minor details when humanity is at stake?

A drop of sweat rolling over the damsel’s forehead forced him to vent out his anger against the Government. The lady, on her part, couldn’t believe the Government’s inefficiency. A geek in her school had once made a prototype of gobar-gas plant which could power a 1 Watt bulb! If he can, why not the Government? Fossil fuels and their non-renewable nature seemed a lame explanation to her questions right now. Mademoiselle isn’t wrong either for there’s no dearth of people like her in this country, who have enough shit in their cranium to operate even the world’s largest power plant using gobar-gas.

By now, ‘irony’ has fallen down, injured his knees and is bleeding profusely. It wanted to confront the science graduate dude and remark “Et tu Brute”. Irony was experiencing a chain of broken breaths and experiencing drowsiness. The end was nigh, yet not here. The final minutes before death is more painful than death itself. It has to bear some more brutality!

Nevertheless, the A.C. starts working again after the diesel generator gets  switched on. Her grace wants to complain  about the noise-pollution too but cannot afford to lose the cool breeze again. Meanwhile, the lunch is ready and has been served. The  diet-conscious damsel has ordered a Roasted lamb salad. The dude isn’t much hungry either and ordered just a ham-burger. Our  warrior on the other hand is a gourmet (foodie is so wannabe and middle class!). Grilled Surmai Steak and Shredded Chicken with Schezwan Sauce, all eaten with Rumali chapattis served his appetite. What else could be a better time  to discuss atrocities against  domestic animals and wildlife protection, about Yulin and Gadhmai? So, they put their enhanced intellect discussing a new issue i.e. the endangered and extinct species (A true intellectual, NGO activist needs to constantly flit between issues and topics without making any sense anywhere or having practical solutions to even a single problem. A bleeding heart is a great substitute for a non-existent brain!). The lady’s lachrymal gland has already shed a few tears by now (She has no idea what lachrymal gland means, by the way!). For her innocent mind, it was  still a puzzle that why would anyone kill an animal for satiating their greed.

“Try  this”, she said. “The lamb tasted so good.”

Where is ‘irony’ now? It is dead. It is lying there on the floor murdered brutally, rather intellectually. Irony would have preferred to slit it’s wrist, consume cyanide, jump off Eiffel Tower into a sea of Sharks rather than die of such blatant hypocrisy!