Kamal Ghorui
Notes on the VIP varnish of a neighbourhood
The first suspicion was aroused when there was a convergence of painters and cleaners, with plenty of govt cars on their heels. Soon, it was confirmed that the CM would visit.
Still, there was doubt. Because the residents had begun to believe that their neighbourhood had fallen out of the authorities’ jurisdiction. For instance, why had the horrific bump in the approach road existed for so long? And the unmarked speed-breakers that sent vehicles flying, dirty water in taps, electricity that went out with the first gust of wind? Then, the open sewers, cavernous drains with missing slabs, and the perennial companionship of mosquitoes? Was the CM coming over to take stock of the situation, in the wake of recent accidents and deaths caused by negligence?
Maybe the residents’ complaints list had magically got into the hands of the authorities. What else could explain the arrival of cleaners and painters, who started putting white borders on the road, pavements, and road-dividers? Their enthusiastic work was a sight for sore eyes. Road construction workers arrived soon after. The neighbourhood was getting a makeover!
On the morning of the visit, a fog cannon truck came by, to wash the road, and do the impossible – clean the air. A govt ambulance and a fire brigade truck also drove in. The police arrived in such numbers that people feared something had gone wrong.
Finally, the CM drove in. Eager residents rushed out with their lists, but found barricades, which locked them up in their area, just like the Covid lockdown. A small price to pay for the makeover, some reasoned. As soon as the sirens sounded again, they rushed out, like little children keen to open their gifts.
Just then, someone noticed that the new white lines were drawn only up to the point where the CM had turned into a lane. Only one inside road had been reconstructed, and the road-dividers were painted only on one side – the CM’s side. The stormwater drain had got two stone covers, on the CM’s route. Elsewhere, drains were still open, roads were still the same, and the market floor was caked with dirt. By night, the wet white paint was once again layered with dust, and a picture-perfect setting had relapsed into its old state. We went to sleep marvelling at the skill of the authorities, in masking reality and creating illusions.
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