It must be nice being the Labour Minister of Karnataka.

If only I were a politician...

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If only I were a politician...

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The honourable labour minister was incensed that somebody actually had the temerity to pass by his car. And then actually possessed the gall to look blankly on when the Minister cornered him and introduced himself to him.

Now let's do a quick poll here: Which one of you know the labour minister of Karnataka? Ummm ufffd Uhhhh ufffd Hmmm ufffd Ok, the spot poll results are in. And the grand total of people aware of the sorry creature adds up to a very hefty two: The Chief Minister and himself.

Either way, it must be nice being a minister in Karnataka. You get to turn forests into mines if you are the tourism minister. You get to do junkets abroad with friends and family if you are the man in charge of urban planning. And now you get to beat up anybody who crosses your path on the highway.u00a0

The difference that separates the average Bangalore auto driver and an honourable Karnataka minister seems to be a thin, almost invisible line. They're both rude, they never want to do anything the public wants them to. And their meters are always fixed to grab more money out of hapless people.

Well, auto drivers are dressed in khaki. And ministers are normally attired in white. But you could still be forgiven for confusing the two.

The MPs, they say, are agitating for a rise is salary. There! Didn't I mention that auto driver-like mentality before?

"A rise in salary!" they scream on the floor of the Lower House. For once, all parties in concerted tandem.u00a0u00a0

It's such a ridiculous farce, it would have been laughable if it wasn't so tragic. As they pocket their ill-begotten crores, as they run their grimy hands over their fifteenth Mercedes limo, as they ravage yet another pocket of their boroughs, they're up in arms fighting for a paltry five thousand rupees a month.u00a0

Something tells me I would like to be named a minister.u00a0 Is there a guy responsible for pubs and discos?

I would spend my life in the worthy service of the people. Discos would be opened again. Pubs wouldn't shut at 12. Beer would be tapped on street corners. And life would be a happy, buzzed life in Bangalore.

Until of course, I met my honourable colleague, the labour minister on the road. And he introduced himself to me with his down market sneer "I yam so and so, how dare you pass my car?"

After that, life wouldn't be nice for one minister we all don't know so well.u00a0