That putridly patriotic token secularism

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The furiously fucked mics with the feedbacks, the mandatory Maanyavar kurtas and their grotesque brocade linings highlighting our dashing deshprem, the important people wearing Gujarati-thali sized tricolour badges straight from the 1980s nritya ka akhil bhartiya karyakrams, the five foot nothings with their painted faces and Shiamak swagger, the clueless musicians on the stage silently preaching the tenets of the Rahul Roy duh-ism, the swarms of smartphone equipped parents capturing the glittery profusion of talent that they think their kids are, the random running around of the organisers searching for what must be the codes to the nuclear warheads, the serpentine wires of various diameters miraculously not evolving into another species, the MCs with their Comedy-Nights-with-Kapil sensitivities and Dabbu Shukla Orchestra sensibilities, the abundantly adiposed aunties setting the disco-lit stage on fire, the garlic-impregnated Udupi smell of the Chinese bhel being prepared to be distributed in food packages, the subtle messaging of kids dancing on Main Toh Superman Kar Doon Maa Bhen impressing their Gandhari-Dhritrashtra infused parents, AND the putridly patriotic token secularism everywhere. 

Because Republic/ Independence Day.

Ah, the magnificent middleclassness of the Housing Society events, the high point of my life twice every year!

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