But then one is always excited by descriptions of money changing hands. It’s much more fundamental than sex. -----Nigel Dennis (1912–89) British writer.
Love for Money is in the air. Yes, yes, it should have been only love but who cares about such an abstraction nowadays when far more tangible stuff is at hand to satiate our senses? Here, one is not talking of sex/passion driven emotion that is fundamentally different from true, sublime love.
Tons of lucre is floating around thanks to CWG, 2G and sundry other money guzzling, nation building projects that have kept the common man enthralled for so long. No, we are not talking of the hard earned money that all those morons get after slogging day in and day out; the kind of money that honest critters earn and live on the verge of want all their lives. That sort of money is not alluring enough – more like a dowdy housewife than a glam-doll mistress! We are talking of BIG MONEY that you will find only in palaces and plush offices. This bewitching harlot lends sheen to her lovers, unlike the other love that turns princes into paupers as epitomized by Quais-e-Amri a.k.a. Majnu. The celebrated Urdu poet Altaf Hussain Hali has immortalized true love thus, “Lee toonay jaan-e-Shireen Farhad koh kan kee/Quais-e-Amri ko Majnu bana kay chchoda” (True love took Shireen’s life who loved Farhad the mountain chopper, and turned Quais into Majnu).
Frequently, you will find love for money being damned as corruption, but there is no point in arguing with green eyed monsters; sheer wastage of time and effort, really.
There was a time when this beauty used to be the mistress of only those who operated various levers of the sarkari power. But now her charms have been privatized and globalized. So, if you want a license to own a 2G bandwidth brandish those alluringly packed crisp beauties and the license is all yours whether you have the technical knowhow to use it or not. You can attract more money by selling off or subletting the license to those bozos who know what to do with a 2G bandwidth. Everybody is happy thus. Better still, the affair generally remains under wraps because it suits all concerned, but for some spoilsports in media, and those pesky whistleblowers; darn them! It is an ordeal to watch one’s cozy connections getting exposed to public gaze. Ask Raja.
Sporting galas like CWG are in an altogether different category. Unlike the 2G, CWG wows the media and hoi polloi alike with its razzamatazz, which facilitates exhilaratingly snug love-fest between the glamorous money and her lovers. It spawns an enduring relationship between suppliers and receivers of her favors. The disgruntled call such a relationship an illegitimate child of the consummation between political power and corporate greed. But we know how the green eyed monster works. Put these self-righteous whingers in the positions of those they condemn and you would see them change colors. Pronto! Such are the magical powers of money.
True love and money don’t go together. When you see a lovely lass giving come hither looks to the guy loaded with moolah it is anything but love. Love, in its true and sublime avatar, just does not exist in temporal form; it is like God – either you believe in its existence or you don’t; but you can’t prove its existence either way. It can bloom as naturally in a hovel as in a mansion, but it blooms, oh, ever so rarely! What we call love is actually passion driven infatuation. No wonder the likes of Hilaire Belloc (1870-1953), the French born British poet, feel impelled to remark, “I’m tired of Love: I’m still more tired of Rhyme./But Money gives me pleasure all the Time.”
However there are similarities between love for money and true love. Both lend immortality to their respective practitioners. But, there’s this minor difference. True lovers, if they fail, become legends for all times to come. On the other hand, failed lovers of money invariably land behind bars and gain notoriety for all times to come. Sublime love is a rose tinted emotion that provides eternal halo to lovers. Love for money is dark hued and turns its practitioners into blackguards.
What say?
Originally published in June 2011 in the Daily Post
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