Narendra’s greatest dream, his deepest yearning, is to be a Nehru. Not outshine him (not in his wildest dreams), just be him. Ish.
He will never admit it, of course. But that is why he obsesses over him. That is why he cannot stop trying to tear him down. If he cannot rise to Nehru’s stature, then he must drag Nehru down to his own.
A caged tiger with a paper one.
For every posed picture of Narendra with a big cat, for every staged, self-indulgent portrait of him attempting to be seen doing something spectacular, there is a timeless black-and-white Nehru image that effortlessly eclipses it. Without even trying. Every painstakingly crafted PR move, every breathless Godi Media headline, every carefully scripted social media campaign—all of it, and yet, Nehru’s legacy looms larger. No private army of photographers, no battalion of social media warriors, no relentless revisionism can change the fact that a long-dead man outshines him with ridiculous ease.
A free spirit with another.
And that must keep Narendra up at night. Imagine it. Sleepless, scrolling through old images of Nehru, seething at how history refuses to be rewritten. Grinding his teeth at how, despite all his control, all his propaganda, all his grandstanding, Nehru still effortlessly commands respect while Narendra still looks like the cheap imitation he is.
It must be so difficult on his nerves and his blood pressure. Honestly, I think he should take it easy, since I sincerely wish our UNESCO-certified greatest PM ever a long and healthy life. Not out of goodwill, of course. Just long enough to see him tried, convicted, and held accountable for his crimes against this nation.
But until then, I suggest he stop obsessing over Nehru and focus on being a passable Narendra instead of a knockoff Jawahar.
Like a shiny-ish rock trying to outshine a real diamond.
