Games With Common Wealth

There are some things India can do well. Yes, really well. And we sure can afford to be ostentatious about them. Problem is, hosting an international sporting extravaganza like the CWG is not one of them.

I won’t give you the trouble of having to read through, in words which deserve to rival venom for viciousness, exactly how screwed up things really are. Let’s just say one thing – there’s something woefully wrong. A lot of things actually. And they cannot be fixed, divine disruption or benevolence.

So what brought about this state of hopeless desolation, a point beyond which even the loftiest of optimists are apprehensive to give hope and miracle a chance? Dereliction. Disregard. Sloth. Corruption. With less than a fortnight away for the firecrackers of the opening ceremony that’re supposed to set national prestige alight, everything appears to be terribly awry. From shoot-outs at foreign tourists kilometers away from the Village to consistent downpour hindering last-ditch efforts to salvaging infrastructure, the all-pervading issues with hygiene, and Mike Hooper’s explosive assessment of the status quo rubbing salt into profusely bleeding wounds, nothing can possibly be stinging the Prime Minister more than the inevitable disaster that beckons. 

My disillusionment toward the games wouldn’t be this vociferous if the Organizing Committee would be making a half-earnest effort to acknowledge ground reality and get their asses moving. The excuses are as just ridiculous as the situation itself, if not couple of trifles more. When else would you hear of “varying standards of judging hygiene” or “The weather Gods aren’t being kind. We can’t do much”? Call the spade a spade, you sanctimonious condescenders. Or maybe it’s expecting too much to hope that they see sense in moving beyond the cheesy lines very listlessly doled out under the debonair lamps of national television studios. “World class facilities”, “Better than Beijing 2008”. Deliberate delusion dangerously alters the perception of existential elements. And the reality is often too much to handle when things come down to the wire.

This ‘national pride’ thing is pure balderdash. Apart from the media which prides itself on being the perpetual ombudsman and the Organizing Committee very occasionally, nobody cares about the games. The desperate hope that the people of this country would pledge allegiance to these games and honour the need to arouse national interest and craze even at this altar when imperfection stands impeccably embodied, is terribly misplaced. Fury is mounting exponentially in the hearts of India’s sporting aficionado. And with where the games stand currently, even the stray dogs of Delhi would think twice before choosing to loiter around anywhere near the Village.

India's official CWG mascot should actually be the disgusting amounts of debris left on the roads of Delhi, with a poster that should ideally read, "We had too much time for ensuring common wealth. The games missed out somehow". And someone please go tell a certain Mr. Kalmadi he ain’t in a soccer game. He hasn’t got extra time left. Mani Shankar Aiyar had a valid point, however caustic his outburst might’ve sounded. A third world country like ours, with enough economic issues and an astounding population whose basic requirements are barely met has no business signing up for something of this magnitude, and then successfully screwing up the money and the event completely and comprehensively. Why sign up for something that’s beyond you and make a practical joke of yourself for the world to LOL about?

And 7 years is supposed to be sufficient time to put things in place for a utopian show. London’s ready for 2012 as you read through this cascade of candor; with a good couple of years to go for show time. While we’re clinging desperately onto the whims and fancies of non-existent entities such as the “Rain Gods’ grace” to salvage something out of the event with a couple of weeks to go. The Gulf couldn’t have been wider. Let’s resign ourselves to one eventuality : We’re on the bus to hell. Kalmadi’s driving it. And what we’ll see unfold before our eyes would be tragic to say the least. We’re headed for a National Kalmadity.

As for me, I’ve been converted to a misanthropist. I’ll watch the cataclysmic catastrophe unfold on Times Now, sipping through my Sprite and hailing failure, the greatest equalizer. Mind you, I won’t be the only disgruntled soul in the country that once hoped for utopia. Bring down the house baby, that’s what this thing deserves. Universal convention shall hold good anyway : Nobody cares.