Sanctimonia Binocs, Bhubaneswar, 30 May 2025
Sanctimonia, the land where divine reverence often clashes with delightful disarray, is once again in a glorious muddle. Our esteemed king, having seemingly recovered from his recent “super mentor” high, was found deeply entrenched in the sacred grounds of the Holy Triad, not in prayer, but in meticulous planning. The cause of this royal immersion? The arrival of the Super Agriculture Minister from the gleaming super capital, whose presence demanded a fitting, and well-fed, welcome.
The local Agriculture Minister, a man whose life revolves around crop rotations and committee meetings, was already in a dizzying whirl, orchestrating a schedule that would impress even the most fastidious of bureaucrats. But the king, ever the visionary, had a better idea for the grand procession: a delightful breakfast spread of sandwiches, cutlets, and tea. A truly refined start, he thought, echoing the sophisticated fare of his recent foreign jaunts.
However, a collective groan echoed from the royal entourage. After weeks of foreign delicacies, their palates yearned for the comforting embrace of home. “No more sandwiches!” they cried, their voices a surprisingly unified chorus. “We demand poori, idli, sabji, and proper, soul-satisfying Odisha food!”
A frantic scramble ensued. Orders were barked to the nearest five-star hotel, only to be met with a polite, yet firm, refusal. It seemed the king, in his recent preoccupation with divine patents and political optics, had forgotten a rather crucial detail: he hadn’t paid the hotel for their services in months! The royal sovereign, it turns out, is not just a title but also a currency, and one that had clearly been scarce.
The fiasco then cascaded downwards. Desperate aides turned to local stalls, hoping to salvage the situation with quintessential Sanctimonian fare like chuda ghasa and dalma. One can only imagine the Super Agriculture Minister’s face, expecting lavish spreads and instead presented with humble, albeit delicious, local street food. The grand procession, one presumes, began with a distinct lack of culinary pomp.
Meanwhile, the netizens of Sanctimonia are gripping their prayer beads tighter than ever. Their latest cause for alarm? The local Law Minister, whose brilliance seems to outshine even the midday sun, has proposed a revolutionary traffic plan: uproot all traffic lights! His logic, as dazzling as it is terrifying, is that citizens can then travel “straight to home without stopping at the crossing.”
The immediate mental image of this traffic utopia involves a cacophony of colliding chariots, honking bullock carts, and bewildered pedestrians. Prayers for safety are being uttered with fervent desperation across the city, and the local carpenters are reportedly doing a booming business in custom-made coffin boxes. One citizen was overheard muttering, “At least with a coffin, I won’t have to worry about the potato prices.”
Indeed, God save this kingdom. Save us from kings whose culinary preferences dictate state affairs, from ministers whose traffic plans defy the laws of physics, and from bureaucrats whose accounting skills rival a sieve. In Sanctimonia, every day is an adventure, and every policy decision a step closer to either enlightenment or utter pandemonium.
