Imagination

Another leaf dropped from the tree that stood in the garden even as Suppandi attempted to keep the fallen leaves in a single pile. It wasn’t an easy task. I need to find a new job for myself, he thought.

The street, normally quiet and sleepy, was abuzz. The election campaign was on. He had heard his employer talk about it. The next two months are going to be like a carnival, he said. He was right. Everyone was on the streets, wearing facemasks and waving party flags. A cacophony of music, drums and political speeches blared from the speakers. The celebrations had just begun, as had the blazing summer heat. He remembered his master saying: “Whoever wins the elections becomes the Prime Minister of India.”

I should become the Prime Master (PM) of India, he thought. The idea excited him.

Two groups of electioneers had entered the street from either side, waving flags and raising slogans for their leaders. They were now right in the middle of the street, in front of the house where Suppandi worked.

‘Five years of a good gobharnance’ read one banner. If you couldn’t read, it didn’t matter. You were bound to hear the slogans that said the same thing.

Almost directly opposite this was one from another side: ‘Do you want five more years of hot air?’



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