By Robert Clements
Old Men of India..!
There seems to be a sudden shortage of hobbies among the elderly gentlemen running the country. Having failed to handle inflation, infrastructure and international relations, they have now taken up a far more delicate responsibility. Managing youngsters.
Earlier, this noble activity was handled at home. A father would clear his throat, an uncle would raise an eyebrow, and a neighbour with nothing better to do would offer unsolicited wisdom from the balcony. It was all very informal and maybe mildly irritating.
Now, however, it has been elevated to national importance. The drawing room has become Parliament, and what was once a family discussion is now a matter of legislation. The youth of the country are no longer just children. They are a full-fledged project.
First came the protection of women. A noble idea on paper, inspiring in speeches, and very effective in WhatsApp forwards. But somewhere between the intention and the implementation, protection quietly changed its clothes and became restriction.If there are prowling Romeos outside, the obvious solution is not to strengthen Juliet’s mind, but make laws against Romeos, or even cage Juliet indoors. It is neat, it is tidy, and it ensures that no one has to deal with the actual problem.
Soon, love itself began to look suspicious. It was no longer a spontaneous and inconvenient emotion. It became something that needed supervision, scrutiny, and preferably a government stamp.
Young people, it appears, were doing dangerous things. They were meeting, talking, choosing, and in extreme cases, thinking. This clearly required intervention.
So now we have laws around interfaith relationships, where love comes with a background check. Boy meets girl is no longer enough. Boy meets girl, submits documents, attaches photographs, produces identity proof, and then waits patiently while someone somewhere decides whether his heart is in order.
Romance has entered the file system. One can almost visualise a government office dedicated to emotional regulation. A young couple stands nervously at the counter.“Sir, we like each other.” “Very good. Kindly fill Form 17A for Emotional Intentions. Attach proof of mutual respect, two passport size photographs, and an affidavit stating that your affection has not been influenced by cinema, social media, or common sense.”
“And what about disagreements, sir?” “Ah yes, please submit evidence of at least one argument and its peaceful resolution. We cannot approve relationships that have not faced adversity.”
And naturally, there will be inspections. There is always an inspection in this country.
A polite knock on the door. “We are here to verify your relationship. Please demonstrate mutual understanding.” At this point, the young man looks at the young woman, the young woman looks at the inspector, and the inspector looks pleased that governance is finally reaching meaningful areas of life.
And just when you thought things could not get more organised, Gujarat has introduced a masterstroke. If you wish to live together, you must register. Register what exactly is not clear. Your affection, your compatibility, your morning moods, or your evening silences?
Perhaps a daily log will be required. Monday. Both parties smiled. Tuesday. Minor disagreement over tea versus coffee. Wednesday. Silence observed. Possibly reflective, possibly dangerous.
Meanwhile, the same wise men rulers are deeply invested in religion. They speak with great passion about one way of life, one set of beliefs, one cultural identity. It is delivered with such conviction that one almost forgets to look at how they themselves practise it.
Because their practice, as it turns out, is far more flexible than preaching.
The youngsters watch all this quietly. They are not as loud as the speeches, nor as dramatic as the debates, but they are observant. They see the contradictions. They see the gap between words and actions. And then they do something that is far more worrying than protest. They lose interest in religion.
Because nothing confuses the youth more than being told what to believe by people who behave differently. Hypocrisy is not just unattractive. It is exhausting.
So instead of arguing, they withdraw. Instead of engaging, they switch off. Religion becomes noise, governance becomes theatre, and sincerity becomes a rare and endangered species.
Meanwhile, in Parliament, something rather interesting is happening. Young voices are rising. Articulate, confident, and inconvenient. Young women stand up and speak with clarity. Young leaders ask questions that do not come from prepared notes but from uncomfortable truths.
And suddenly, the seasoned veterans, with their fixed sneers and practised gestures, begin to shift slightly in their seats.
Because managing a country is one thing. Managing a generation that thinks is quite another. The old men may continue to regulate, supervise, and register the youth. They may create forms, offices, and committees dedicated to understanding something as simple and as complicated as love.
But there is one small problem they seem to have overlooked. Youngsters grow up. And when they do, they do not follow instructions printed in triplicate. They do not wait for approvals. They do not stand in queues to validate their feelings.
They lead. And when they lead, they remember. They remember who trusted them and who tried to manage them. They remember who guided them and who controlled them. They remember who lived what they preached and who only spoke. But one small warning, dear youngsters before I close: As you grow, think, and prepare to lead, remember to check one small detail. Whether your names are still on the voter list. Because with these old men and their remarkable ability to organise everything, even that might require your scrutiny. And imagine standing at yet another counter.
“Sir, I would like to vote.” “Certainly. Kindly fill Form 27B for Democratic Intentions and attach proof that you still exist..!.”
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