A sweep for fame

A sweep for fame


A sweep for fame

The long broom has suddenly become a fashion accessory — not since its poor cousin, the brittle bathroom broom, was chosen to be an election symbol by a certain political party, but because everyone who wants a little fame is wielding it, at least for the shutterbugs.

One Sunday morning in a park of an impressive locality, there happened to be an event organised by a supposedly affluent altruistic club. One of its female members — a prominent Page 3 figure, sponsored the whole event. She was specially known for her sophisticated looks that more than complimented her age and now wanted to prove her mettle.

The chief guest was a young, influential political aspirant out to gain pre-poll popularity. One more ‘guest of honour’ was roped in for obvious reasons. He was a sweeper in the park for the last 26 years. The organisers felt that felicitating him would encourage and inspire the other sweepers, and also ensure the compassion factor of the media coverage of the event. Approaching a local film star for the glamour quotient unfortunately did not prove fruitful.  

So, a good 85 minutes after the scheduled time, just when the paid audience was getting restless and the socialite’s lipstick was getting too light for her liking, the chief guest made his grand entry with his large entourage. Formal introductions, the event and the jargon followed. Khadi-clad politico shouted into the mike pleading everyone to keep the clean.

The social butterfly in her branded glares and straw hat managed to feign concern and interest in his speech. The sweeper’s face gleamed as he was given a shawl and some cash in a cover as a token of appreciation. The birds in the trees all around protested at the intrusion of their peace by a cacophony of their own. After long hours of formality were dealt with, there was general mingling and posing with the crowd off the dais.

The three main leads were handed bright new shiny brooms that looked important enough to have big red bows tied around them, but sadly did not. The leader in the making held it like he would a rifle. The immaculate lady scanned it five times over with awe and wondered how to use it. They cleverly imitated the old sweeper who proudly swept the path in the park.

The cameras rolled, slogans were shouted, posters waved and teeth flashed. After a few sweeping shots (pun intended), the crowd started dispersing slowly.

After an hour of this tamasha, the sun shone brightly on an empty park that was strewn with posters, plastic covers of eatables and a few water bottles. A lone sweeper set about cleaning the park because being a Sunday, his colleagues were missing. How he wished the organisers had invited them too. However, he wished they would not miss the TV report where his face would flash for a few seconds.

The other two new brooms stood rested against a wall. The sweeping beauty drove back home in the comfort of her posh Porsche, happy and content at having done a good deed and coming up with this idea before her circle of like-minded friends did. The new neta got busy in his SUV uploading a video of his sweeping popularity that would hopefully make him victorious with a sweeping majority on his social media page.

The residents around the park grumbled about the blaring loudspeakers’ invasion on their solitude. The birds quietly resigned to their afternoon siesta in their cosy nests. And, yours truly rejoiced at getting yet another comic event to write about.