Thursday, December 03, 2020

His Master's Voice


A dog’s master died. The dead master’s brother played his recorded voice on a gramophone. The dog sat attentively listening to ‘His Master’s Voice.’

We have all seen the HMV logo. And the dog on that logo. Nipper, the HMV logo dog, like dog’s in general, was loyal to his master. Even a dead master.


Delhi-Haryana Singhu border.

Having fired at will for a long time, the tear gas guns are silent, the shooters taking a brake (possibly sitting to enjoy langar being served by the farmers, replenishing the energy that will be needed later for ‘bal prayog’ on the same farmers).

Having braved the shower of tear gas shells, the farmers are regrouping – washing faces, coughing and clearing their systems of the gas, checking on their elderly comrades.

In the lull that the break provided a few elderly farmers walk upto the barricades where the police stands. One of them waves the green flag and points at the police officer to listen to him. A media person pushes his microphone in front of his face.

“We are here to put forward our concerns in a peaceful manner. We are not here to quarrel with anyone and make trouble. First it was Haryana police that made trouble and now it is Delhi Police who are making trouble. Why are you troubling us? We just want to go to Delhi and raise our voice. Are we not citizens of this country?”

A senior police officer walks towards him, with a handheld speaker.

“We cannot allow you to enter Delhi. Don’t you know there is Covid in Delhi?”

The farmer replies – “If you want, we will sit at six feet distance, if you say we will wear masks, but we will go to Delhi.”

A second farmer steps forward. “What is the strength of the police behind you? No covid to gather thousands of police force?”

First farmer – “Bihar election can have rallies with lacs. No covid there?”

Police officer – “All protocol was followed in Bihar.”

First farmer – “I don’t think so.”

Police officer – “Your thinking doesn’t matter.”


 Your thinking doesn’t matter. Your voice doesn’t matter. You don’t matter.

My master’s thinking matters. My master’s voice matters. My master matters.


A little while later, the same police officer is talking to a reporter – “Sir, the farmers say they will breach these barricades, they will go forward, they will enter Delhi. Will you continue to stop them?”

Police officer – “See, we are the law enforcing agency. We are not here to entertain whims and fancies of people. We are here to enforce the law.”


Dear elderly farmer, what he means to say is that he (and his Dil-ki-Police) is here to enforce the law as his master sees fit. Remember how they rushed into the university one evening and thrashed those students? Or how they stood next to their master’s buddies when they instigated riots and then went ahead and found tens of students and activists guilty of conspiracy for those same riots? What he means to say is that he only entertains whims and fancies of his master. Just like one of their master knows ‘entire political science’ the one Dil-ki-Police reports to knows ‘entire law.’

Dear elderly farmer, it is the lacs standing behind you that are holding His Master’s Voice back. Else they would have lathi charged and picked the likes of you in no time.

Dear elderly farmer, most likely you haven’t seen a gramophone, what with staying busy converting rough terrains into fertile lands and feeding the country. You obviously don’t know Nipper. He listens to His Master’s Voice. Nipper was a dog. You know dogs - they are loyal.



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