Boom! Boom! Pow!
With Diwali celebrations still at bay (and Black Eyed Peas having no intentions to Phunk with Indian hearts), I wondered what it might be?
The slender street in front my courtyard was clogged with gala-heads, running wild.
The procession was led by a group of very “talented“ dancers, tapping their feet to the tunes of ”Tunak Tunak Tun Da Da Da” (Never heard of it? Congratulations! You saved your ears a soulful bashing), with bhangra moves perfected to the last drop of Patiala peg.
A faithful start to a lazy Sunday!
The Khan movies may flop at the Box Office, but the “Great Indian Tamasha” never fails to enthrall crowds. (And you wondered why Big Boss had the highest TRP ratings? Jaago Grahak Jaago!)
Gripped by what might be called as “Shor in the Street”, I hurried out to the front balcony of my house, desiring to capture the perfect view of the silver-screen.
The dance honchos, doped as they were, in the rhythmic beats of the dhol, raised their hands to shed out some moolah. Meandering around them were the slumdogs, dipping their hands in the cash rich concrete lakes of the street, aspiring to be the next millionaires; shouting “Jai Ho!” (You listening, Danny Boyle?)
But wait! There’s something more to this Choupati. There’s a Pirate in the Arabian Sea.
The Bharitya Janta Party MP from the state could be seen kicking around the cattle-class, trying to lay his feet on the red carpet.
He proclaimed of being victorious in the Legislative Assembly polls; “treasuring” yet another term of VVIP treatment. Following the minister was the lok sabha of his chelas, glorifying their guru as the best in the Ayodhya.
The “Badmaash Company” could be seen shouting slogans and raising banners. “Plop, plop, fizz, fiz, Oh what a relief it is!” read one.
“When you have got it, you flaunt it”, shouted the minister, “Victory!”, as his caravan passed by my house, gushing into the neighborhood tributaries.
Stand. Rise. Oscar! The Jack Sparrow of our story makes his entry.
Just as the caravan was about to reach its first milestone, it hit the “Growler” (For those of you like me, its the name of the iceberg that sunk the Titanic).
Aivyn Kejribal of India against Politicians (a well “proclaimed” common man) sat in the middle of the street, meditating. Supporting him in his “agitation for meditation” was a group of Topi Masters (renowned fashion gurus, as was captioned on their caps - Mai Trend Setter Hun).
“Plop, plop, fizz, fiz, Oh What the hell is this!” said the pirate. (If you don’t read the “WTF” thing, it’s because my editor is too decent to allow it. Social etiquette gentlemen!)
“Tu to Aivayin Aivayin Aivayin lut gaya....”, mocked Jack Sparrow, as he flew high to duck onto the minister’s caravan, shitting all around the ship.
The Bharitya Janta Party MP, expecting to taste the “Barfi!” on this “auspicious day”, found himself hemmed in the sweet smell of the cattle-class junk.
Holy mother of God! Are we witnessing “The Dirty Picture” here?
“Wait! Wait! Mom! Mom! I qualify the PG 18 restriction. Let me watch the complete movie…Please!”
Just as we reach the climax of the movie, what do I see?
Kejribal and the minister enacting the “I’m King of the World” scene from “Titanic” while clicking photos of themselves (“Oh My God!” These celebrities! I wonder how many mood swings they get in a month).
Mr. Karan Johar, you watching sir? We have a Dostana 2 in the making.
The combined caravan of the minister and Aivyn Kejriwal now headed to other streets.
(And they lived happily ever after…)