Lota, Sena, Lootmaar!

Sirji, I have to be in Mumbai today! Eh! Why? Sirji, back in my callow times of youth, I had been a Sena Pramukh of some sort. Balasaheb has left us and I thought I have to go back there to pay my last respects. You, a Sena goon, were you? So, how come you have changed? Sirji, it was all because of a "lota"! A lota? Yes Sir, it was a lota. It happened like this. It was Jan 1993. I was only 22 and we were a group of Pramukhs from Thane. The earlier night we had received summons from the Sena bosses who no doubt were advised by Balasaheb himself that the battle cry against the city Muslims had been sounded and we were to get ready with the address lists and the 'equipment' or 'asla' as some call it. We got ready. But immediately after a round of 'vada pao' my very weak stomach gave away and I had to go to the loo. So, I dashed off towards the toilet stacked against the outer wall of the premises. I was about to lock the door and then I remembered that the lota was outside and one had to get that lota, fill it with water and then do the needful. I went back outside. The lota was not at the usual spot. I was feeling the brunt of the pao by then and started a ragged and crunched rectum search for the offending lota. I did not find it anywhere inside the premises. So, I crept out quietly to the roadside to see if there was any dabba or such like in the nearby construction site. Dawn was just breaking and I, a Sena Pramukh, could not be seen slinking around trying to empty my bowels after all. So, I ran into the construction site holding my buttocks for dear life. I managed to find a plastic jar that the laborers use for the water during construction. I did what I had to do in one corner of the site. I silently asked for forgiveness from all the gods that I may have offended. Then, I jogged back to the office. There was no one. The riots took place without me. I was not showered with accolades and neither I could gather some moolah in the accumulated loot. I was totally ignored. Sad, no..! So, why are you going for the funeral? Sirji, the next level of lootmaar shall happen now and just my being there would possibly bring me some much needed gains in this middle age! "Bolo Sirji, Ho sakta hai na?"

Sobbing Superstar!

I heard a muffled cry. I bolted out of my uncomfortable chair. It was that time of the day when I usually felt hungry and fretful and then there was that cry. I needed to find where that cry originated. The house seemed to be bereft of creatures like Sreesanth, Nitin Gadkari, Splitsvilla bozos or Khana Khazana housewives who could cry at the drop of the hat. So, I opened the main door! The Bai, very dry eyed and determined, rushed past me to do her daily mayhem. That left just the solitary person who looked like a cross between the 7th floor male nurse and the postman who only arrived on Diwali day. Of course, it must be the postman as it was the Diwali day. I called out. He turned. It was SRK. Not the postman, it was the actor SRK. Of course, the Bai could not recognize him as he still was in his battle fatigues from the film, "Jaang Hai to Jahan hai" or some such. And he had that tear in his eyes. I immediately ventured to say, "Pushpa, I hate tears." But then, he couldn't be Pushpa, right. In fact, Pushpa was the Bai who had just rushed past me and had already begun her mayhem in the kitchen. I beckoned to SRK and motioned him into my humble abode. The TV was still on and a News Channel was trying to peddle something to me. Eureka, it was the same SRK film that was releasing now..Jaang hai... SRK moaned and I sensed he was horrified to see Arnab Goswami smile, even if it was on TV. I could empathize. I found that smile horrific too, blood curdling even and had written a letter to Keshu Ramsay to resume his film making with Arnab as a hero, if he wanted to still make horror films. He could team him up with Deepak Parashar and they could smile at each other. So much horror, just the thought... I shut off the TV and flung the remote where SRK would not dive for it, he's prone to diving, I felt. I poured him a glass of water. He took a sip and composed himself. I wondered whether I should change my shorts to something more demure. But he was oblivious to my legs, I relaxed. I ventured to ask him about his supposed misfortune when he turned to me sniffling, "You alone can now save me from my impending doom!" "How...I ...I mean that's impressively nice of you to come all the way to my home and ask for my help but how can I help...If I may ask?" SRK was already waving his arms about in hyperactivity. He cut in, "See, the last time you had written scathingly about Harbhajan, his career magically came back to the rails pretty soon. Now, with this dud that I am saddled with I need you to write something so bad about me that my career also comes back swinging...hard" I reflected on that "hard" a bit more than necessary before I ventured to answer. "Hey listen brother, I don't write badly when someone commissions me to write about them. Understandably, I then fawn about them. I write words like genius, stupendous, mindlowing, perfect, like they do in the TOI movie reviews or the India Today book reviews. So, what do I do?" SRK whimpered, "Mate, its tough being a leading superstar...You wouldn't know the pressure. So, please cut me some slack and do this for me...this "Jab Tak Hai Jaang" is my ultimate millstone. Diss me so bad, that the alternative film makers rush in to do films like Tharki Donor, The Really Dirty Dancer or at least a Wake Up SRK with me. I need this from you. You, the nondescript blogger!" Okay, okay...no need to get personal..This shall be done. I won't even take some Maal for this. It will come naturally. So, can I mention the "Yash" word? More whimpers....