The Emperor has no clothes!

It’s time we stopped gushing and genuflecting to long-faded legends.

As a child, when you hear the Hans Andersen story about The Emperor’s New Clothes, it’s fun to listen to, like most stories, but you kind of don’t get the point. Being yourself in that unpremeditated state of innocence and spontaneity, of telling it like it is, you don’t quite understand what was so great about declaring that the Emperor Has No Clothes. You kind of giggled at the image of a nanga-panga potentate, walking grandly in procession, etc, but you didn’t exactly catch why it was so wonderful that the child blurted out the truth. At that age, you know that you would have too. And so would have all your friends. Because that’s the nature of childhood – calling a spade a spade. And, well, a naked king a naked king.

Only later, after you step into more multi-layered adulthood, when your special licence to say what comes to mind is taken away from you, do you understand why the child’s shout: "But the Emperor has no clothes" – was such a high-point of the story. Only then do you sadly realize what a burden it is, once you grow up, to, like the adult citizens in that story, go on pretending that various Emperors are indeed wearing the finest of fabrics sewn in the greatest of patterns and looking oh so handsome.

But we specialize in that kind of thing. Our country abounds in various Emperors and Empresses – real people and concepts too – who have gone well past their sell-by date. And some kid (or kid-like person) needs to shout out to them from the crowd, as they parade their long-faded, now non-existent, charms: "Enough already! You were the Emperor once; you were the High Priestess once…but now you have no clothes. So please go home and wear something, for godsake, and stay home." And yet we don’t. Not most of us. We are all obliged to keep gushing and exclaiming publicly over their eternal youth, singing/compering/drawing/story-telling abilities.

Of course, we have many living legends amongst us. Writers, artists, singers, scientists and institutions that have done so much in their lifetime – who have in fact redefined the contours of their various fields. And yes, we must revere them, acknowledge them, keep fresh the memory of their contribution, and look after them as they age. But must we pretend that their talents and acumen remain untouched by time? Can they not pass into godhood, simply becoming figureheads who will continue to inspire? Must we put up with or encourage their performing, working, and talking – even when they’re all run out of steam?

Let’s take a look at some of our favourite emperors and empresses – national and local - all of whom badly need to be gently persuaded to stop parading their ‘new clothes’.

There’s the singing sensation that has reigned supreme over the last five decades and more. The ethereally sweet voice, the pristine pronunciation, the depth and range…the sheer quantity of songs sung. All of it make her a national jewel. No argument with that. But must we go on pretending that it all remains the same – untouched by time? And must she too? The cracks had begun to appear in the 80s – the too-shrill song, the strain in the voice, and worse of all, the re-rendering of her own classics in highly forgettable new versions. We need to put aside our need to gush and genuflect, and simply accept, with all due respect, that time has taken its toll.

Then there’s the person who has immortalized the foibles of politicians, stars, the common man. Every morning, he made us laugh, smile, giggle, smirk, wince, and nod in agreement. With a line here, an expression there, and very few words, he hit the nail on the head. Every day – for decades. Before reading even the headlines, your eye quite naturally ran to the slot reserved for this great man’s pictorial comment. But now it has to be said: he’s simply not funny or sharp anymore, and is positively wordy. While the effort to continue as before is laudable, surely that’s simply not enough. Why not stop now?

… Who was it who famously said when asked why he was retiring at his prime: "Better to retire when people ask ‘why’, than when people ask ‘why not’?

Another holy cow, a local one, is the Udipi restaurant we all grew up with on FC Road. It has, over the decades, fed generations of Punekars with the best idlis and dosas anywhere. People in faraway San Jose pine for its taste. It’s been second home to us all. But someone’s got to say it: today the uttappa is gummy and tasteless, the coffee is so-so, and the dosa and idli taste suspiciously as if they have come, not from naturally fermented batter, but from some nameless, centralized kitchen that indifferently processes and churns the stuff out in cater packs. Some of us accept, again with reverence and some regret, that this emperor is wearing no clothes, and simply move on, further down the road, to the promise of a real dosa and superb coffee. Others cling anxiously to the idea that it’s the best, and will be forever.

There’s the other concept that urgently needs to be retired: ‘Pune is the Oxford of the East’. No more. Let’s admit it. Dubious institutes sprout up every day and churn out half-baked engineers, journalists, managers, doctors…the entire gamut. As for the older institutes, for which our kids and those from far-away north and northeast vie and queue up to join – they simply haven’t got it anymore. All of them are caught in a vicious circle of bad teaching, low attendance, hence more bad teaching, hence more low attendance…and on and on. No, Pune just has to stop pretending that it is the Oxford of the East.

The list is long – the woman journalist who now bores us to tears with books about her Page 3 life and her designer children; the ageing actor who makes you cringe in front of the screen; the newspaper that was once an opinion-maker but is now simply colourful raddi; the woman compere stuck in time with her haw-haw Oxford accent; diamond jewellery with all its pretend mystique…There are far too many Emperors parading around with no clothes, and far too few kids to shout out the truth.