Disclaimer: All characters/incidents appearing here are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, modern or prehistoric, conservative or liberal, is purely coincidental.
Attention: Dear everyone who raised hue and cry about the BCB T20 Celebration Concert. Guess what? I sympathise with you. Yes, I do. Please let me elaborate.
I share your pain because I went to a sold-out concert in Melbourne recently that was advertised and ticketed as a Madonna concert. I eagerly purchased the overpriced tickets and waited in line for hours to get the best seat in the house. But I was totally heartbroken to see Maddy performing in the stage for such a long time instead of my favourite Melbourne local bands and troupes – what an utter disappointment.
To tell you the truth, I quite enjoyed the concert. Haven’t you seen me play Maddy’s “Ray of Light” in my car? Haven’t you joined me in the dance floor to the remixed tunes of “Frozen” in my last wedding? The fact is Madonna is part of my life but I don’t want to accept it.
My heart was really torn. What a lost opportunity to promote our local acts – it isn’t really their fault that, for most of them, their last major hit was before I was born, is it? And no, I am not a teenager.
It is true that there were some local bands on stage, but how can they be overshadowed by an international celebrity like Madonna? Absolutely unbelievable. And the local bands were also singing foreign songs, even more despicable! I could not believe how everyone could be “sold out” so badly. They have been “Westernised.” This is nothing but an invasion attempt, I knew it all along. Cultural “aggression” at its worst.
How can this be? We don’t live in a globalised world, do we? Of course not. We still use the telegram. In fact, I am hoping this telegram to all my friends in Bangladesh to express my angst about the concert, will reach you before the next World Cup. I am sure my great grandfather will also echo our concerns.
After the concert, I had the “Aussie Frutika” mango juice on the way back (yes, they have a similar juice with “real mangoes” in Melbourne too). One of the problems of drinking this unadultered “pure” juice is that it brings out all the uncensored “pure” thoughts from my heart. Creative juice indeed (yes, pun intended).
Indeed, the juice made me think deeper. Maybe it was not about the concert. Maybe it was not about the artistes. I have to be honest – there are some of us who subconsciously try to find some fault or other with the liberals in government. Why? In retrospect, we conservatives (I know it’s not “cool” to admit this in public) just can’t stand them.
I continued. I was right, it really is not about the concert at all. I love Maddy from the bottom of my heart. Maybe this is all about politics. Given the conservatives have failed against the liberals, maybe this mantra of being “sold out” will help change the situation? Maybe many people will finally come out to the streets?
I don’t understand what is wrong with “common people.” Why do they only care about economic and social development? What is the big deal about uninterrupted electricity? And success in counterterrorism is not a big deal, it was a figment of imaginations.
As I drank more pure mango juice, my increasingly pure mind was showing signs of confusion. I hate liberals because they are the cause of all our problems, trust me. It is not only cultural invasion. My horse-drawn cart broke down on the way to the concert. It was the fault of the evil “invaders.” If that’s not enough, can you believe my washroom broke down too? I really don’t know how they did it, but I am sure it is their fault too. I really didn’t like the concert, or am I trying to make myself believe that to justify my political vies?
I can’t take this anymore. I must go to bed. I have to wake up early tomorrow morning to work on my thesis. The typewriter is giving me a lot of trouble, I need to get the ink ribbon changed. Hope to see all of you in Dhaka later this year. I will take a boat from the Yarra to Buriganga in August, so I should reach home by the end of the year.
In the meantime, please avoid this mango juice – it is best to avoid the truth. After all, ignorance is often bliss. Lastly, my heart goes out to you for your pain that you can see I so passionately share.
Nineteenth Century (closet) Conservative.