India Shining

As narrated by a friend:

Sometimes, its all about grassroots. Amidst the bonhomie of frivolity, sometimes, a sojourn to the basics can be refreshing alike a spring gushing before a parched throat.

Deepika was your everyday copywriter, with an admirable command over the language and the vanity to match. Hailing from a flourishing, and traditional Rajput family, she was your archetype Indian youth, caught between two worlds - One of a plagiarized lifestyle of the West, and the other, of her own, most of which she couldn't make sense of.

All of that mattered little to her as she revved her hatchback to overdrive on a solitary Jaipur street, emptied as much due to the heat, as owing to the weekend that consigned everyone to their abodes. Content writing could be demanding, with the best of the efforts falling flat on the quirkies of the client. Deepika, a psychology major, remained unfazed by the demands of her job. She was one of those rare few, who enjoyed her assignments, for her creations allowed her the luxury of the illusion that her writings were, in a small way, a contribution to a nation that was, in itself caught in two worlds of its own.Today, was however different. A grimacing Deepika was still contemplating the points of refutal to counter Soumya, her friend's argument over the concept of India Shining. It wasn't going to be easy, as the latter had quoted facts and figures that painted a damning picture of the nation, much of which was actually true. Patriotic fervor can only stand so much against reasoned debating.

Drat, she thought, as the lights turned red, just as she approached the C scheme intersection. Glancing around, she could almost catch a glimpse of Vasundhara Raje's ministerial abode. Neither she, nor the world would know that the political scion would have to give up her official residence shortly, and kick up an avoidable storm over a simple kiss a few days down the line.

A knock on the window shook her from her reverie. Craning her neck, she observed, with studied indifference, the street urchin, peering curiously into the dashboard of her car while making a fervent plea for the alms she had no intention of doling out. Instead, her interests were more piqued by the Porsche that had just pulled up besides. Sleek, elegant, jet black, it housed an apt set of hands and legs munching gum behind the wheel. The dark glasses turned towards her, and a casual smile exchanged lips over the shock of hair of the urchin.

By this time, the urchin had realized that Deepika wasn't going to resemble the sweet old lady who had given him an ice-cream alongside a 10 rupee note a few hours back, and decided to try his luck with the Porsche driver.

Deepika was still marveling at the automobile, as the urchin made his way to its window, when the young lad behind wheels lent out and spat out the gum on the street. Seconds later, a disgusted Deepika encountered an even greater shock, as she distinctly heard the urchin remonstrate the guy in the Porsche,

"Sharam nahin aati...(have you got no shame?)"

The lights had turned green by now, and as she sped away, Deepika smiled for the first time since morning.

She had to tell this to Soumya, India was still shining...