The dream and the doodlebug
Posted on April 28th, 2020

Laksiri Warnakula

The other day I was having a nice snooze in my reclining chair, my mind wandering around in a no man’s land, now and then crossing over to my childhood-past, which lay on one side and then to the other, my adulthood-present. It was a balmy afternoon, and I found it hard not to fall asleep. Finally, I did and then I dreamed.

 I was kneeling down with a couple of my childhood friends around me all looking down intently at the little funnel-shaped pit on the sand, my right index finger going around the rim of it in circles, while I kept on chanting ‘bin kundo, bin kundo….’ I can’t remember the rest of the rhyme. And suddenly there it was. It popped out from the basement of its sandy castle, hung around there for a minute or so and seemingly disappointed that it was not something, which would fit into its menu hurriedly dived back into the sand.

Eventually, I came back to the present regrettably leaving my childhood past and this thought suddenly jumped into my mind the only god knows from where: a striking behavioural similarity between that doodlebug and our present-day politician, particularly the ones, some of whom are now out and about more or less, criticizing, demanding and becoming more and more verbose and vociferous.  

Up until now almost all of them were in hiding except the President and a very few. They knew that the ‘Corona’ sees nothing except ‘ha ha here is one from that species called human, let me be your guest please’. And they heeded the advice of the health officials to the letter, which was exemplary, though not exactly synonymous with their general behaviour and conduct. But they knew very well that the Corona is made of different and sterner stuff unlike the public. So many of them did not want to take any chances and stayed put behind the closed doors.

And suddenly they felt the tremors like my childhood acquaintance, but of another kind: the election tremors. Sometimes greed can be so overwhelming that it can make one forget all around him, the mind focussed only on how to get there and grab. So now we can see some of them are already popping out, sliding into the right mood, talking to the media pointing at this and that in their customary eloquence and tone with probes, promises and proposals.

Like my tiny childhood acquaintance, they are also predators, though of a different make and mould. And instead of ants, they prey on the gullible public, who keep falling into their pits every five years or so to be mercilessly devoured by them lying in wait behind a wall of promises as loose as the sand of my doodlebugs’ castle.

We saw some endearing examples of true patriotism coming from few foreign leaders, who decided to cut down their own salaries. Then some of our own doodlebug-politicians probably taking their cue from those foreign leaders were also asking for a cut-down too, but alas, of an altogether different kind. They were requesting to consider cutting down the minimum number of years required for them to be eligible for a lifelong pension. We all know that these predators are master fishermen too (my sincere apologies to the real ones), who are well versed in the art of fishing in troubled waters. 

Then going by the fact that the election will have to be held sooner or later, the requested cut-down would surely be welcome and supported by the rest of their kind too irrespective of what colour they wear.

Now it looks like the election-tremors are getting weaker though temporarily for sure, losing the fight to Corona-tremors, which might prompt many of those doodlebug-politicians to dive back into their dens. But I am sure it won’t be too long before they will feel those election-tremors again. Then they will be ready and eagerly waiting for you down there in their pits to devour you. Don’t fall for the dazzling lights of several colours (you can guess what they are) decorating the tops of their pits beckoning you to ‘please come and have a closer look’. Don’t go near them and be their prey. Let them starve till cows come home. Many of them have been on a feeding-frenzy, far too long.

Laksiri Warnakula

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