Fifty years ago, Mrs Indira Gandhi did something absolutely shocking. No, not talk in better English than the BBC anchor who interviewed her, but The Emergency.

She declared it, imposed it, and for 21 months, India was in lockdown before lockdowns became fashionable. Newspapers were gagged, politicians were jailed, and the only thing that wasn’t censored was her photograph—smiling serenely, as if to say, “This hurts me more than it hurts you.”

And every June since then, our current ruling party throws a little birthday bash—not to celebrate the Emergency, of course, but to gleefully remind us: “Look what the Nehru family did!” Out comes the family album, and right there between ‘75 and ‘77 is a giant red stamp: “Guilty!”

But here’s where it gets funny. While they point fingers at that Emergency they’ve quietly pulled off something even smarter: an Emergency without an ‘emergency’ title,  so smooth, so silky, so sugar-dusted, you don’t even know you’re in one.

Genius, isn’t it?

Just a few “minor” tweaks to laws. A little push here, a little prod there. Redefine “terrorism” till it includes lecturers who own typewriters, comedians and youngsters who tweet too much. Then quietly introduce laws that say, “Bail? Oh no, my dear. That’s for non-terrorists—like parking offenders and corrupt politicians.”

The way we are being lulled into this feeling of false peacefulness is like watching someone get drunk on toddy and laughing, while you’ve been putting whiskey in your Horlicks every night. “Poor fellow,” you say, “he’s lost his way.” And meanwhile, you’re doing bhangra in your sleep.

We’ve been lulled into a state of blissful unawareness with daily doses of Mandir, and them and us. We’re so distracted, they could sell the Taj Mahal and we would not even blink.

Back in the 70s, at least people knew there was an Emergency. They resisted. They whispered in corners. Today, we whisper praises.

And the media? Oh, bless them. Once the voice of the people. Now the echo of the palace. “Tonight, in breaking news: everything is fine, and our leader is amazing. And now, a dance sequence.”

So yes, dear reader, fifty years ago, we had a grim, dark Emergency.

But today, we have a happy one!

Full of festivals, fireworks, flying chappals, and flying rumours. We’re free to chant whatever we like—as long as it rhymes with whatever the government said yesterday.

No jails, no censorship, no fear.

Just a little voice in your head whispering, “Don’t say that. Don’t share that. Don’t ask that.”

But hey—at least we’re smiling.

Welcome to the Happy State of Emergency:
Where the lights are on, the minds are dimmed, and Big Brother wears a frown…!

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