Yes Minister, no amount of advertising will help garner Indian tourist traffic into the UK, unless you promote your country as a land of Vijay Sahara and Subroto Mallya. They both flew planes with elan, before grounding them with a plan. Anyway, when Vijay was in India, Kingfisher shut down. Now, when he is in UK, Tata Steel is shutting down. I wonder, what’s this Mistry behind Mallya Being Cyrus? Has it got to do something with Kriisis 3? I mean, Hrithik the plaintiff, Kangana the defendant and Pope the pontiff. Who is more Roshan? Modi’s Jaadu? Kejriwal’s Jhaadu?

Trees. I love trees. They come in all shapes and sizes: full-grown, half-felled and now-extinct. In olden times, there were many tall trees. Now, there are a few small trees. Trees provide shade from the scorching sun. They give rain, too. However, now that the trees are being replaced with tall towers, light poles, coastal roads, national highways, a few million slums and shopping malls, there is a severe drought. In Maharashtra, it’s called Developmental Eco-comics. Of course, I continue to pray and wish for more trees. Though, wishes are amputated horses that have been trampled upon and lathi-charged by some "Shakti-man", somewhere in the Himalayas of Uttarakhand.

There are Times. Good times. Bad times. And then there’s a king of good times who appears to pass through bad times. But then, he anticipates the arrival of bad times, and decides to wade through these bad times by indulging in good times in the English countryside. Joining him in his lavish indulgence on good times are those who, at times, sit in the opposition, or in power at other times; they all fight at all times. But then, let me recall as to what I was doing on 02 March when the king flew to the Queen’s country? Ah yes, I informed the kirana-wala that I am a Modi supporter; he didn’t extend a discount. I deciphered Gandhi’s monologue into an epilogue and tried to impress my boss with a (questionable) conclusion that the former’s speech was actually a dialogue; the annual increment still remains in single-digits. I also enquired with the sabzi-wala as to when would he enrol his children in school? He informed me that he has already enrolled them for a crash course in Photoshop and doctoring videos at the neighboring Smriti Photo Studio, helmed by one Professor Irani. I attempted playing Kanhaiya to Yashoda, the girl-next-door; she immediately shifted her residence to the city of good times. In fact, she followed up with email while attending a PM-inaugurated “Women’s Day” celebration, asking me to address her as “Yashodaben”, unto time immemorial. Kya time aaya hai yaar?!

Woh toh gaya; yaar mujhe hi Rajya Sabha MP banaa do! I have solid credentials. To start with, I am not Mallya, and I don’t believe in spirits, UB or down. I submitted (atleast!) 30 documents, availed a housing loan and now pay it’s monthly instalments on time; for all delays, I’ve always paid a fine. What’s more, I have availed a loan from one bank, only. While flying is a luxury for me, owning an airline is a far-fetched dream; in fact, for booking a journey, I pray to Prabhu first, and then login to IRCTC. I don’t have a Kingfisher calendar at Home, and look up Kaalnirnay, instead. I drive my sole car and pay my maid, cleaner and washer their salaries on “pehli tareekh”. I have been filing my returns for all years, without expecting anything in return. I pay service tax, too, for services availed-yet-not-rendered. To me, F1 and IPL are mere brands that bring big bucks, babes and barbs. Siddhartha, to me, is a Historic figure who renounced the world and became the enlightened one; he bears no relation to Prakash Padukone. And why am I looking to become an MP? Simple, to resolve a household’s (including my own), monthly concern of, “Bhaji Laao, Sasta Nahin”!

So, while both Houses of Parliament were busy indulging in Kyon Ki and Kya, a Rajya Sabha MP (!) took a leaf off his Kingfisher calendar, used his Visa power, booked his flight tickets, exited the gates of his grand villa under cover of massive police security (kya irony hai yaar!), stepped into his car to be driven to the airport, enroute passed through banks that lent him thousands of crores, onto Vittal Mallya Road in UB Spirits, reached the airport, entered the terminal, cleared security and immigration, boarded a business class flight and landed at Heathrow. Dawood? Azhar? Mallya? IPL’s Lal-hit? Kala hit? Now, whom will India import first? Huh?!

I endorse and support Make in India. In fact, I am willing to go a step-ahead to express solidarity by changing my profile picture depicting the silhouette of a lion. Though, somehow, I am unable to bring myself to like and endorse all that’s Made in India. For instance, I still prefer Eau de parfum from rues de Paris, watches and footwear from Milan, pens that Mont Blanc, shirts, trousers and blazers from England and cars from Germany with an Indian chauffeur. All else can b...e VIP; not Jockeying. My skin texture is “complex”, and hence I go all out to make it Fair and Handsome. It gives me a sense of achievement when an Indian movie is selected for Oscars to be adjudged by an American jury, who might know so little or nothing about world cinema. I attempt to speak British English with American accent. And, while in South Bombay, I feign ignorance about not having heard of any place from Borivali to Virar. I love my country, yet I want to leave my country, immigrate to a foreign land and support my country from outside. Even as my dreams turn to reality, I am listening and watching Kanhaiya’s, RaGa Modi, where they run in circles. But then wait, there’s Doctored Irani, too!