There has been storm on the television studio, ever since the Waterloo of NDTV and team happened with JNU episode. In fact, everyone involved in the JNU episode, came out as a winner, except for journalists, deal-makers who have contributed to the nation-building in earlier regime by getting people of impeccable bearing like Mr. A Raja appointed to the cabinet. Media, post-JNU broke a clear divide of tolerant and intolerant. Since that day of great churn in media world, things were different. Lines were drawn and TRP sources were defined. So Ishrat Jahan is one day, Samjhauta Twist the other, NIT Srinagar yet another day. In the middle of all this, suddenly Agusta Westland Chopper scam comes back. A meeting was hurriedly called up at the residence of topmost Congress leader as Notice was given for debate on the bribery in the Rajya Sabha. Here are the excerpts from that meeting on this summer day at Janpath in Delhi:
Supreme Leader: What is this nonsense? The day after this man reaches the RS, this thing comes up. Rahul Baba called up in the morning after tea with Comrade Budha and told me there was some Television Serial on this man, Swamy. You people never told me about him, even when I met him for that tea party with Supreme Leader of South India.
The Lawyer-leader, Nirbal ( We will call him La-Le, for short) with merged eyebrow looked up: He is not the same man from Swamy and his friend. Baba is watching too much TV, even old serials. Although this Swamy is as naughty and mischievous, he is not the same man. I have thought a way. We can say that as a nominated member, he cannot raise matter of public Interest.
Mr. Rakhtpaat Stands up: Madam, you need not worry. This is good idea. We will see to it he stays restricted to matter of no interest to public. Our Twitter team can run polls every day for three topics of interest and given the one with zero vote for debate in RS by nominated members. If he still raises the matter, we can make this north vs. south issue and threaten bloodshed.
Supreme leader looked at the aroused structure of Rakhtpaat, standing to his full height, eyes bloodshot. These natives never fail to amuse her, ready to kill one another to prove their loyalty, much like Sicilians back home.
La-Le quickly checked his diary. All he could find was unpaid dues towards appearance made for that JNU student’s bail, who off late was making more waves than Baba and some poems for his new book. The money Nitish promised did not come. Anyways, Baba is talking too much and exposing his stupidity. He surmised that Baba sure needs to make another trip for introspection. Good that he wasn’t there. Baba, Semi-supreme leader was prone to come out with odd statements like, “This morning I got up in the night, and then I found there was a beehive. Later I realized it was South Block. And they had all Indians in there, who were all born in India.”
He suddenly felt a bead of sweat appearing on his prosperous legal forehead.
“No Madam, our Aiyyar ji has created a precedence. We can’t avoid the debate.”
Rakhtpaat ji took deep breath and settled down. Timely intervention prevented him from turning into their hulk.
Madam was furious. She looked around for Aiyyar. The man was turning into an embarrassment. The man even doesn’t know what to speak where. Last she had sent her to Pakistan to get help in removing this government, he ended up talking about it on the stage. What moron?
Dinde stood up. Even in this troubled time, Madam smiled. He still stood like a constable, erect frame and compromised soul.
“I have an idea. Why don’t we call our Ms. Palatt and tell her this Agusta Westland is actually a brahminical construct. It was originally conceived by Muni Agastya and eventually Acharya Vatsayana bought stake in it. Just like our Saffron terror idea, we can call it Saffron corruption and put two more charges on the Colonal in the jail.”
“Dinde, this is not our government and this is about Airforce not Army.”
Dinde looked down and wanted to shrink into the earth like Sita in saffron mythology.
The phone rang. “InSofarAs” Tewari picked the phone.
“Madam, It is our NAC –ara child. He says people are pushing him on twitter. He has already reviewed Nil Bate Sannata. He needs to say something. What should he do?”
“What a moron? He can’t even become a good TV journalist. He is always worried about what people will think. Tell him to review “The Jungle Book”.
She continued thinking.
“And you, ‘Insofar’ what is your suggestion?”
“Madam, while it is true that some acts of moral impropriety might have occurred due to commission or omission, in so far as Congress’ link with such acts are to be concerned, no such links can be established. It is an attempt by the BJP to obfuscate, complicate and trivialize the issue, which in so far as my opinion is concerned, is anyways trivial.”
Madam exhaled. Tewari always left her exasperated. It was his strength when they were in power. Natives were getting impatient. How time changes things.
She looked towards Sherlock Singh. He was man of great theories, though she felt he was fast slipping ever since he got re-married to a news anchor. He was her adviser. She was also her son’s adviser. Baba always loved his stories.
“Sherlock, it is all your fault. You natives have no sense of decency. I am an epitome of self-sacrifice. How can you blame me?”
The NDTV journalist tried to be helpful.
“Madam, I can drop on the floor and start crying No, no no, if anyone in the debate blames you. It has worked even when I was a child.”
“You are no longer a child, Ridhi-Sidhi. We have a serious problem.”
The investigative journalist with her ideas more crooked than her hair, smiled at the TV anchor being scolded. There is a difference between an investigative journalist and an ordinary TV anchor, she concluded and smiled to herself in secret satisfaction of her intellectual superiority.
“We must isolate madam from this.”
Madam was charmed. This has worked all the time, in 2G, in CWG, in Coalgate. Raja, Sheila and even the PM were collateral damage, native sacrifice to white skinned goddess. She was sure there will be no alternative reading for this Goddess who brought modernity to this country of snake charmers and horrible looking men like Sherlock Singh. He was really bad to look at but had his utility. He can really come out with outrageous theories. His RSS spin on 26/11 was simply marvelous. They waited for Sherlock Singh to speak. Sherlock kept busy with his iPhone. He was looking at his wedding pictures.
“Sherlock” Shouted the Madam in panick, “Stop looking at your wedding pictures. This is not the first time you got married.”
“Madam, We can say you never knew about it. It was government decision. Party had nothing to do.”
Ahmad Peti loved this theory. This exonerated both Madam and him in one swift stroke.
Sissy Truer shook his head full of gorgeous hair. What a pity, Sherlock has a new wife, while such a handsome man, has none, in spite of four attempts, thought Madam.
“It is a horrendous idea full of cataclysmic proportion of buffoonery. Every one saw the somersault of the whole party including Makhan on the Ordinance affair, Crediting the Semi-supreme one with Dimples for withdrawal of ordinance approved by the cabinet. It would be an astounding stupidity to believe that people will be naive to believe that Supreme leader had nothing to do with the government.”
Madam felt exasperated. This man’s English always tired her. She felt he was always working on his new book. His complex words sat heavy on her tired soul.
The investigative journalist, Nana Khub spoke, “There is no question on line of avoidance. Only matter to be decided is the manner of it. Let us go brazen and shrill about it. Strong words. Pimps and agents in 10 JP did this. Not the Supreme leader. We could have blamed the driver of Salman Khan, but Bhai has already moved into Modi camp. Supreme leaders must get rid of these power peddlers and pimps who get the innocent lady such a bad name.”
Suddenly everyone turned towards the journo and looked at her in silence. She broke into apologetic laughter, "No, no. Don't look at me like that; I am not resigning.”
Supreme leader got up. Her mind was made up. It was as clear as it was on the day when she came to know that she cannot become the prime minister and came out with the masterstroke of sacrifice.
“I agree with her. Let her polish this line. You may add that I am an innocent person. I was made to believe by those, as she calls it, pimps, that offering to a white-skinned goddess was some sort of religious belief for the brown, unwashed natives. It was innocence at best, lack of understanding of the local custom at worst. Even the guy who benefited, the Verma guy in spy tangle, is the son of Hindi teacher to our family. We can say we supported him because we love Hindi. This whole scam speaks about the love of the Supreme leader for the culture and tradition of the country, and support for the national language.”
She was tired. She was old enough to see this routine posturing. She knew this shall pass. She felt optimistic again. She can make alliance with some fundamentalist parties and win couple of election again. And then she will show this man who talks of uprooting him about Saffron terror, saffron corruption, saffron lies and all that bloody saffron. They were ready for the day. The grand old party was ready to face the world.