Thinking about how to make India a better place while listening to Meatloaf's, Paradise by the Dashboard Light, the long version, adds an interesting tinge to one's thoughts.
There is much in Indian politics that mirrors the desperate groping towards the paradise of the song; the same urgent pleas for, uh, closeness from the desperate suitor; the same equally urgent demands for commitment from the sought.
Seekers of office promise heavenly delights if only the electorate will allow them into the driver’s seat, as it were. Paradise, the Pols aver, is just a touch away. Okay, they admit, in honeyed tones, there may have to be a bit of fiddling around on the way to that paradise, but, it’s all good, everybody is going to go home satisfied. Will it be forever? The harmonic, if slightly plaintive, voice of the body rises in counterpoint. The suitors ignore the question, pressing suit with renewed insistence and ardor. But is this going last, signs of fatigue showing in the harmonics? The body starts to relax into submission, the desire to be loved and cared for leaking into the narrative. Sensing victory assurances are quick, double timed, the tempo rising with each promise of good days. With one last attempt at maintaining some semblance of self respect, an answer is insisted upon. Let me sleep on it, counters Meatloaf, showing remarkable agility for a being large enough to have its own satellites. Eventually, inevitably, sadly, emotion prevails over reason and the suit is consummated,
Interestingly, to me at least, the satisfied sounds at the end of the song are all from Meatloaf, her defeated insistence for an answer drowned by his triumphant conclusion
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