The Pantomime

So there is this lady on stage and there is a quite a bit of her. Most of it is showing. She is dressed in black and her smile never goes away. Around her are twenty young men and they are all gawking at her. The men are dressed in white. The lady stands out, as it is supposed to be.  She epitomises Venus and suddenly she starts cavorting. The twenty flunkies around her cavort back at her. In the background, garish music plays

Suddenly, as the music changes tone, the lady becomes still, the flunkies collapse to the floor, and out leap two break dancers, who somersault (or whatever they call this stuff), and have their thirty seconds in the lights. They are dressed in bright green, to differentiate them. The music changes again, the break dancers bound off and the dead flunkies come to life. The thirty second break has done them some good. They now make a determined push to grab the lady in black. Soon the lady is lifted up by them and she contorts in their hands and her dress comes off, to reveal a still skimpier outfit. She smiles throughout and  the music becomes a crescendo. Then it comes to a grinding halt. The lady stretches out her arms in ballerina fashion and strikes a pose to convey acclaim.

Down in the audience, the act on the stage is not the real thing. The front row is packed with famous faces. Most of them are stuck in a Botoxed smile. Behind the smiles they are bored stiff and thinking “what the hell” or stronger sentiments. Another evening uselessly spent. They have spent most of their working lives just doing this and so it comes to them automatically. They are what you may call super stars; any price for stardom is worth it. One of them wears striped pyjama type trousers and wears a hat (like the Great Gatsby). But, this is inside premises and etiquette says otherwise. He bounds on to the stage a couple of times. It’s a desperate move for attention - his last movie has bombed at the box-office. Anything to be noticed. They are apparently icons of society, but in reality they are unstable, shallow humans, who have mastered the art of creating a facade. 

Why they think they are icons of society, is obvious by the reactions of the fifty odd rows behind them.  These are the so called lucky commoners. By hook or by crook these people have obtained entry to this event. Some have sold their soul to get here. Others have used influence and still others have simply bought it by paying exorbitant rates. They feel they have achieved nirvana. Tomorrow they shall boast of being there. Today, they gawk at the bigwigs, try to get close and touch them. Some dance and cavort in the aisles, as the stage-show goes on. Others are whistling, clapping and being altogether star struck. 

It’s a sight to see, especially as the ones in the front row smile, and look superior and condescending. They do realise that their lives depend on the gullible masses in the common rows, but they are so used to adulation, that they are convinced they are Gods gift to mankind and will succeed regardless. Its called ego and arrogance. The whole wasteful, repetitive decadent event goes on, as it has these last three decades. Somehow, the masses don't tire of this idiocy and the great unwashed laps it up one more evening. 

Time to shut the television off and do something more useful.