To quote celebrity columnist and socialite Shobhaa De’, “If there’s anything worse than a bloody bore, it’s an intellectual whore!”
I happened to attend a rock n’ roll adaptation of Shakespeare’s classic Rom-Com ‘Twelfth Night’ at the Chandigarh Golf Club recently. The who’s who of town was in attendance. It reminded me of Shobhaa De’s neologism –‘Intellectual Whores’. It’s a rare species, fossil-like, with a confused DNA, clad in colourful kurtas and Chanderi Saris, they hang around at the northern sector consulate dinners or musical soirees at the Golf Club. They’ve aced the art of crashing these parties and events, with such perfection and ease. That probably makes them permanent fixtures on guest lists that never get updated. I’ve figured out the only reason these folks turn up at such events is for free booze and the lavish spreads. Some have even become experts at guessing the alcohol up for grabs from venue to venue. They curl up their noses at the boring house parties hosted by the Sarkaari Babus who continue to serve the good ol’ butter chicken and Blender’s Pride. They flock to Consulate Soirees or Bankers’ events at local 5-stars for the superior scotch and cocktail sausages. Their USP is to hang-around, drop a few names here and there, pose for the shutter bugs and paparazzi and go scourging around for whatever’s on offer. No matter what.
Chandigarh is a city of green hedges and grey beards, dubbed by its critiques, so to say. Sadly, it’s been affected by the pseudo-socialite syndrome. Chandigarh’s ‘Intellectual Whores’ fall into a different category all together. They prey on the Sarkaari Babus. They love them the most for obvious reasons. They love to name-drop and throw in on potent issues plaguing the character of the city and administration matters to exhibit their existence of a conscience.
Armchair activism gains a few extra brownie points if he/she can swiftly manage something fuzzy about a meeting with the ‘Top Boss’. If there’s an artsy/Bollywood connection somewhere, that’s still better. All this ‘Oohs! & Aaahs!” and “haw-haw!” talk is heavily interjected with heavyweight Lutyens’ connections. You know Planning Commission (Errr… Niti Aayog), Muffler Man, and a few other lame-ducks here and there.
In-between fit the quintessential Indian Memsahibs. Not all, but quite a few. Net-working being the name of the social game, it is vital to talk cryptic known to the inner-circle and then exchange subtle looks with those who ‘get it’. For those damsels who don’t, social punishment is on the cards! The naive wives, turning modern, are trying hard to fit in with a tall glass spiked up with orange juice or a goblet of red wine, are a breed apart. This lot tries hard to converse in English but manages only a smattering of it. They spout dated clichés on who’s kid married whom.
It’s a bleeding pity that the real Chandigarh-ians, Sardars from old feudal families with crisply tied turbans and their equally sophisticated wives, retired defence personnel, Professors from the university, veteran journalists, bureaucrats of yesteryears and other people with finesse, class, oomph and intellect, are a diminishing species. The city is being takes over by the ‘Intellectual Whores’. What do we do?
Jettison them, of course!
filmbuff100 