Tag Archives: rahul gandhi

NaMo TRAVELS TO MARS….

WHEN NEWS OF MARS’S WATER BROKE..

The reported signs of water on Mars has led to fountains of joy erupting across the globe.

In India and outside of social media, the 5 am and 12 midnight firecrackers otherwise meant to wake up toddlers and ailing senior citizens during Diwali and Ganpati festivals, lit up Earth’s sky as news of Mars’s water broke.

The Ministry of External Affairs went into overdrive, looking pretty spaced-out though.

How could a planet highjack attention from the Great Leader who had just concluded his meeting with the Zuck? The thing had actually dropped out of the sky – and that too from a planet that had chosen to be red when it could have been saffron.

The Great Leader however was nonplussed. Outer space begone, this could be turned into a gimmick in the social media space.

Loosening his sweaty  grip and jaado jhappi on Zuck and deploying the full force of nasal passage, he intoned, “It is auspicious. This discovery on Mars coincides with my rediscovery of Mar(k)s.”

On cue, the crowd of 43 NRIs, photo-shopped to look four million, chanted NaMo, NaMo across made-in-China TV screens worldwide. The photoshopper wanted to include a few Martians in the crowd too, but decided otherwise because those darned Martians look green.

NaMo paused, stared into the cameras, wiped three branded tears on his Crocodile kurta and promptly told his team to cancel all forthcoming 18 foreign trips. “I want to go to Mars,” he announced, adding softly from the side of his mouth, “before the Patels get there.”

His crack social media team swung into action, launching (faster than ISRO could say Mangalyaan) the twitter handle NaMoMa (NaMo on Mars). The Great Leader has since then tweeted that part of the funds of the Clean Great River campaign will now to diverted to cleaning up the percholate-y, briny stuff passing off as water on Mars.

He has followed that up with another tweet: Not just funds, but H2O too will be diverted from the Great River to water the slopes of Mars.

The Make in India team has gone into overdrive as well. A crack team has been assembled to build a pipe to carry the water that will go from India to Mars. The pipe, cheap and hardy as all good desi products are, will come from the godown of Indian Pipe Dreams Co.

Congress, on the other hand, is up in arms. Its spokesperson, has just made a daring revelation that the Grand Old Party was the first to discover life on Mars. The Cong spokesperson declared that when the party’s heir apparent RaGa had disappeared and everyone knew not where, he had actually gone to Mars.

Twist in the tale: A revered saint from hinterland has poured water over everyone’s plans.

Mars, he says, is Shani. Which brings bad luck. “Mars jaogey to mar jaogey,” he has warned.

Last heard, our own DeFa has banned the use of the word Mars from all conversations.

In sharp contrast, the local alliance partner of this bad political marriage which also heads the BMC , has moved a resolution to rename Mars.

Meanwhile, NaMo’s teams are busy preparing visa documents for other available ‘auspicious’ planets.

RaGo has asked his distribution team to check if TiNo network will be available in Mars too.

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THE TOUCH AND FEEL OF THE CHIEF MINISTER

 

(A fictional account of the Chief Minister’s travel to Mumbai. I mean, to the city beyond the airport.)

One year back, I had urged the Chief Minister of Maharashtra (https://shishirjoshi.wordpress.com/2011/09/03/open-letter-to-the-chief-minister/)

to some day  try travelling towards the Mumbai which exists beyond the domestic/international  airport and experience  life on the moon, with all craters intact. (Clichéd and sic, but true).

Last week, Mr. Chavan finally agreed. Here is his touch-and-feel account.

Mr. Chavan was to attend a bhoomi poojan ceremony of a mall promoted by a fellow politician who had joined hands with two others; a suspended cop and a reputed builder. This was to be held at Andheri east, closer towards the Sahar international airport. The scheduled time of the event was seven pm.

One option was to take a chopper, but since that would  have meant taking to the skies after sunset (not permitted by  DGCA laws) , that idea never took wings. The other option was to hit the road. With four pilot cars and an equal number of escort vehicles behind him, the joy ride would have taken not more than 25 minutes to reach Andheri. (Peak traffic time rules do not apply to lal batti gaadis) . It otherwise takes nothing less than 2 hours on a normal day from Church gate to Andheri by road. Mr. Chavan dropped this idea too as, in the wake of growing unrest against public servants, he wanted to prove a larger point.

How long will it take me to reach Andheri?, he asked his man Friday, 45minutes, pat came the reply from an eager beaver, “just 45 minutes sahib, our public transport  shystam is very paarfect. “By train, he hastily added.  It was 4.30 in the afternoon and there was still a full 30 minutes for Mantralaya, the state administrative headquarters to officially stop work for the day. “Sahib you leave at 4.40 pm saheb, so you will get a direct ladies special bus from Mantralaya to Churchgate station. We all leave office early anyways to catch that bus. So nothing wrong in you doing it”, he said.

 The conscientious leader did not want to be seen sneaking out of Mantralaya before time, least of all, into a ladies special. So he covered himself under a burqa, and leapt into the ladies special bus, reaching Churchgate in a jiffy.

He was shocked to see so many trains. Never known to take instant firm decisions, he dithered, once again. He lunged to a public assistance booth. It was unattended. He was running late so he scampered to the Railway police chowki. Two uniformed cops were busy entertaining someone at the other end of the line. After a three-minute wait, one of them asked the burqa clad leader if “she”had lost a child or a mobile.  If not, don’t waste my time, was the look he gave her.

Ändheri key liye train kahan sey?”  enquired the burqa PRC (Prithvi Raj Chavan ). 
“Mere chehre pe 197 likha hai kya?” (Does my face have a telephone enquiry tattooed on it??) bellowed the cop and  told PRC to take any train, since  “they all go via Andheri”.

PRC ran towards a train inching out of the platform, managing to cling into the gate rod and footboard in the nick of time. It was the general (read MALE) compartment of a Virar fast.

Even before Prithvi bhau could catch his breath, there seemed men in all shapes and sizes offering theirs. At every station, the number of hands, fingers, palms, groins, thighs, paan-stained faces and knees played doctor-doctor with Prithvi bhau. Periodically, a wave of people surged in, or were pushed out, a fresh pairs of hands made it a point to explore the unexplored. With renewed vigor.

Prithvi bhau had once seen an award-winning  newspaper  photograph of a man sandwiched  between two BEST buses. Fear painted on his face. Those images came flashing in front of Prithvi bhau’s eyes, as a stock man inched deeper and closer into him, softly humming, Jaata kahan hai deewaaney…sab kuch yahan hai sanam..(where are you trying to escape my love, all that you want is here…)

It was the longest Churchgate to Andheri ride that Prithvi bhau had ever undertaken.

As the train neared Andheri, he sensed a light at the end of the over-bridge. His relief was short-lived. First, Virar loyals refused to allow an Andheri Indian to disembark. When Prithvi bhau finally did, his farewell it was not without the accompaniment of a few pinches, blows, touches-feelies, slaps and choicest of gender abuses marked his harried and hurried farewell.

In great pain, Prithvi bhau managed to take the foot over-bridge, clutching on to what remained of his burqa.

In the surging crowds, Prithvi bhau was surprised how many people, especially men, suffered from what he thought was a “temporary elbow problem.”  “From a distance they seemed fine, as soon as they came closer, their elbows would jut out”, he told a friend later. “Ï wonder why?” he questioned. He also never understood why most women who negotiate these bridges hold their purses and bags in front of them, cross-armed.

About to take the steps down, his eyes popped at the sight of an elevated  runway. Paused long enough to notice very few people walking onto it. Most others choosing to wade through the sea of human miracle. “That is a sky walk”, shouted out a vendor, responding to the quizzical look. Before he could say thank you, he had been knocked by another wave of people coming from the next train.

 It took Prithvi bhau twenty minutes to come out of the railway station. Another fifteen to wait for a bus stop before giving up and choose to stand in line for an auto rickshaw.  He had left Mantralaya at 4.45 pm.It was nearing 7 pm.

After three auto rickshaws had turned him down and a fourth ran over his leg,  bhau finally managed to get a shared rickshaw, sandwiched between two men.

He had no energy to fight back. He just let the guys help themselves. Too tired even to take heed to what Aasaram bapu preached on Monday. (For the uninitiated and unaware, Aasaram bapu in a public discourse blamed the victim of the Delhi gang rape for what happened to her. He said and I quote from television news clips, the Delhi gang rape victim would have saved her life if she had pleaded and made the alleged rapists her brothers”.)

Prithvi bhau was beyond  new relationships.

He somehow managed to reach the venue. Clothes intact but dignity in tatters.

It was 7.45 pm. It had taken three hours for him to reach Andheri East’s Sahar locality.  “Tumcha chehra  itka utarlela kasa? Amhi roz ashech ghari pohochto  saheb”. (Why are you looking so pale sir? This is how we travel and reach home every day”, one of the women at the venue told him.

The event got over in ten minutes. One of the middle-class Mumbaikars was planning to take a train back to Churchgate. “Nako rey baba”, pleaded Prithvi bhau, when they asked if he would like to join them. He chose a taxi drive back.

Prithvi bhau was drained. He somehow managed to send a text message to Madam ji in Delhi, to tell her how he braved Mumbai’s commute and hoping she is now proud of her as he has finally identified with the “Marathi manoos”.

One is not sure if it was Madam ji or chottey sarkar. But, orders were given for every Congresi  leader to follow suit.

One local leader  said she wanted to emulate Chavan saheb. No, not by travelling in the Delhi metro. 

Last heard, she was seen at one of the deserted bus stops in an old Delhi by lane. .. You don’t want to hear what happened next….Do you….?

ends

 

 

OPEN LETTER TO THE CHIEF MINISTER

 

Dear Mr. Chief Minister

 

I should have written to you almost one year back, when you took over as the driver of the elected machine in Maharashtra. The idea was to give you a brief about the state of affairs. Or, affairs of the State. Since you would be(relatively)  new here.

Mercifully, it is not too late. You remain as clueless and as far from reality as you were then.

I wonder if you were any point interested in handling this State? (Your disinterest seems a bit too obvious). After all, you are Prithvi-raj (one who rules the world) pray then why would a tiny inconsequential state like Maharashtra, however MAHA  it claims to be, should interest you?

Or is it that the hangover of your previous portfolio, MOS in the PMO,  still remains and hence, matters  of  a state, belittle your competence.

Having said that, I must confess, you are ideal for the state of Maharashtra.  Why, that I shall justify later in this note.

Talking of ideal, at least you are ideally better off than your predecessor, who seemed too engrossed in his ‘ideals’ ( Adarsh),which  led to his downfall.  How can we trust a Chief Minister who can disown his mother-in-law and say she is not family, at the drop of a hat, or in this case,  at the sale of a flat.

But that apart, I think it is high time you knew something about your State.

To begin with, a lesson in state capital, Mumbai’s Geography and contours.

Mumbai is not seven kilometers  in radius, from Mantralaya to Varsha. (For the uninitiated, Varsha is the official residence of the Maharashtra Chief Minister).  Mr. CM, you may live in Varsha, but, the real downpour happens in the rest of Mumbai.

 Central Mumbai for instance, once had mills which Mumbai was recognized  for.  Mills have made way for Malls. What remains are chimneys, more as a heritage fascination. Obviously you don’t seem them billowing with smoke as in the past. Strangulated off their last breath by DBuilders , or people who have more filth in their veins than that flows through Mumbai’s archaic drainage system.

The little hope, from public representatives has been dashed. In central Mumbai itself, one such rep  notorious for his stone chawl which even cops fear to scale, while another is popular for his dahi handis rather than ‘upliftment’.

.

But then, people have given up expecting much from the likes of elected representatives. Many of whom have criminal records and share space with you in the cabinet, or under the same roof  in the legislature. You , Mr CM, do not have the courage to enquire why the most inconsequential of leaders manages to travel in the fanciest of cars the moment he gets elected.

.Lower your cr windows and look at their convoys too, Mr CM, You could pick a tip on which car to use for your convoy the next time round.

As I maintained earlier, Mumbai is not only the road from Mantralaya to Varsha. You must some day, drive into rest of Mumbai. Oh yes, there is actually life beyond Dadar too.

Bandra, yes, the same where the sea link begins or ends. Yes the same Sea link which your party leaders and alliance partners squabbled, over the naming, the day it was inaugurated.

What? You haven’t heard of Andheri is it? It is one of the biggest suburbs of Mumbai. Yessss….that’s where Bollywood is. Oh Bollywood you have heard of, is it? How come? Yes, Correct, the same Bollywood where one of your predecessor’s son is gainfully employed. Yes the same chap who went with Ramu Verma into Oberoi hotel shortly after the 26/11 attacks. No wonder.

 

Honestly Mr. CM, Mumbai has grown. Oblivious to your information, some of your colleagues, hand in glove with the builders have managed to make this city’s geographies extend to far and beyond.

‘Ab Dilli Door nahin’, was once used by politicians who eyed a ‘influential’ seat in the Delhi political circle. Your men in Mumbai have redefined it, by promising land to the hapless Mumbaikar in far-flung areas which may appear closer to Delhi than to Mantralaya or mainland.

When (and if ) you do travel to the suburbs of Mumbai, don’t be shocked to see vehicles with just three wheels bobbing up and down.  These are not smaller jet planes going through air pockets.

These are called auto-rickshaws, which are going through crater like pot holes.  (A little word of advice. Instead of filling up pot holes, your civic admin can simply join all pot holes by breaking the edges. The road will get leveled. It is far cheaper and faster. True there is lesser money to make, in such a scenario. )

I invite you to a ‘sponsored’  auto-ride. (Of course, the first test will be if you manage to convince  an auto-wallah  to stop for a passenger.  Nope, the cops are very unlikely to pay heed.

 

Talking of locals and cops.

 I think you need to look at the police machinery too. Of the 33,000 police force, as of last count, only a handful are busy in investigating crimes. (Yes some have committed them and some have been shielding those who have committed them). Rest are busy guarding VVIPs, political morchas, clear traffic when your party’s President or the country’s President also from your party visits Mumbai, the latter, so very often.

 

There are also some in uniform, too busy hiding behind trees and bushes to jump onto the road and scare the shit out of an unsuspecting driver and pocket some money from him for traffic violation.

Net net, you don’t see them doing what they ought to be doing.

The locals are next.(here I mean the local trains and not the Bihari babus  who Raj bhau seems to be fixated upon) The scores of massage parlors which were fronts for sex rackets have now extended themselves  to the local trains too. Ummmm…..This is a feel you have to feel.

Talking of Local trains, I sincerely urge you to board a Virar fast local, and try getting out at Andheri.  Don’t forget to inform the Congress Hi-kamaan (HQ) to start looking for a replacement in the meanwhile.  The term Molestation gets redefined in such locations, whichever gender you may belong to.

Well, Mumbai as I repeat, is much more fascinating than your eight minute drive.

 In some suburbs, after you get off the train(or get thrown off ), stop by a paani-puri wallah and gently bend down to look under the stall. Hello Mr. ,  I didn’t ask you to look at the paani-puri wallah’s  fingers pacifying his itchy lower half. What I want you to gaze, is  at the ground below. These are called foot paths, meant for people to walk. (Some of these relics  are visible in paintings of Old Mumbai and  portions of Ballard Estate).

Your over-zealous money-maker partners-in-crime  have done a magic trick. Like you. They have made the foot paths disappear. Filled them up with hawkers and, converted them into elevated footpaths, which most senior citizens find it tough to climb. But, who cares.

It is all a blame game.Your guys blaming the cops, cops blaming the system and  everyone making hay, waiting for Madam’ s son to shine. Just a little note to tell you that in all this, your Executive, who are meant to execute what you guys legislate,  are busy playing God to anyone with grease.  This is one lot, who do not need palmists for sure.

Net net, Mr. CM, you need to wake up. You need to smell the coffee. When you start smelling, you will realize that Mumbai smells like crap. Different suburbs, different smells.

 

As I said at the beginning of my piece, this city deserves you. You deserve this city too. For someone who is now known across political circles in Maharashtra as too good and too nice a guy, let me tell you,  translated, in hindi, it is not a very charitable way to describe a person.

But, as I mentioned earlier, Maharashtra  and Mumbai deserves someone like you. We, of recent past, now belong to the state of  anti-corruption crusader Anna Hazare. With great pride and excitement we attended his rally. Some of us also packed our cars with booze so that we could party the night away after the day was spent waving at TV cameras in our designer ‘I am Anna’ caps.

 Many piled onto bikes and scooters, a-la three idiots,ignoring traffic laws, whistling and passing remarks at women on the way.(How dare any one stop us, we are Anna’s brigade and fighting corruption you see).  Some were also stopped by cops but a hundred rupee note ensured , that our rally-party wasn’t dampened.

Some also told their respective office that they want leave to attend Anna’s victory rally, but headed off to Lonavala. Booze and butter chicken zindabaad.

Dear Chief Minister, we have pot holes and no footpaths. We have traffic and no roads. We have rainfall but no water and we are such a huge and large city, but, your men have made it unaffordable for the average man to buy a place here.

We have to make a living, but we have no life.

We are proud to be Mumbaikar’s,  Mr. Chief Minister.  But, we don’t really care about Mumbai.

Somehow, we are like you. Same-same, but different.  You claim to be there, but, do you also really care?

 

ends