Having seen pests of both worlds, I am ready to take on the responsibility of running a nation. Please, mujhe PM bana do. It’s very easy. Seriously. Grow a beard. Tweet as though everyone matters. Remain mum while opposition blathers. Listen to your boss however hard she shatters. Cite “coalition dharma” when Raja’s Commonwealth ruthlessly batters. Run a survey when the Nation is in tatters. And finally, extract Indian savings to cover up Swiss black money chatters. By the way, a man learns to become God-fearing only in 2 ways: one in a Dadar/Shirdi temple queue, and the other in the bank ATM queue. Of course, in both queues, the Qs he asks repeatedly are the same: Hey Bhagwan, main hi Queue?

I attended a wedding over the weekend. The family is highly educated, and hence settled only for about half-a-crore rupees in dowry. Or so I hear. The figure is subject to revision post-demonetization, and post-marriage when reality sinks. The family is a bunch of patriotic Indians settled abroad for more than 30 years, and support the Indian Government’s move from there. In India, they vouch for Make in India from their lavish German limo, even as Indians can't think beyond NaMo. In fact, I heard one of them speaking about their laziness + reluctance to cast a vote during an Indian election, as opposed to celebrating maiden voting rights in America after having attained the citizenship of that country. Anyway, the family by their own admission, decided to keep the marriage celebrations very simple: the ground resembled Wankhede, catering was Taj, lights and decoration were grand, switches were Legrand, the jewels shone bright, and everyone, including me, relished every meal to heart’s delight. Next day, I attained nirvana. As opposed to Buddha who meditated under a Bodhi tree, I attained enlightenment while waiting under the sole banyan tree that was 2 km away from the nearest ATM. He got Buddhism. I got buddhi. What buddhi? Arre bewakoof, banyan ho ya Bodhi, paise kahin jhaad pe ugte hain? Huh?

I wish to thank Mrs.Zender from Africa for her email seeking my confirmation to be a beneficiary of her 50-million pound fortune. I also wish to thank Coca Cola, RBI and Chevrolet for their emails declaring me as the winner of their grand 100-million dollar lottery. I guess, it will be easier to convert pounds to dollar, than it is to convert rupees to rupees. Ok, so, this time I am willing to believe each one of the emailers for all that they've told me, more so, after having witnessed everything that seemed unbelievable across the world, until 08 November 2016: Trump in America, Rahul and Heeraben at the bank, bump in New Zealand and a mighty slump in India. By the way, Mano ya na Mano, at every ATM the message remains loud-and-clear: chhutta nahin hai, aage badho!

Questions that leave me scrambling for a baton. Haha! On a Sunday afternoon: holiday, today? In a social gathering even after marking my presence for more than 30 minutes: came alone? Why? Is everything okay? During lunch in the office cafeteria: having lunch? And another: Eating? Good. With my bag at the office exit door in the evening: Going? And another: Going Home? So soon? Half-day? Seeing me in a formal outfit in the building parking area: going to the gym? Seeing me ou...tside the department store with bags of grocery: shopping? Or another: Where are you going? In a crowded train compartment: very crowded, no? And one which has all ingredients of multiple questions and answers in the same statement: when did you come? Just came? So early? How did you come? By car? Did you get traffic? Where did you park your car? Good you came. Sigh! Yaar, bade sach hi keh gaye hain: intelligent sawaal or Artificial Intelligence ka koi Quotient nahin hota!

The Swiss President didn’t oblige? Banks unable to recover NPAs? Mallya and Subroto still not scared? Mukeys bhai and Anil bhai still at loggerheads? Gautam bhai heading to Australia for gold, er coal mine? Can’t give up control of Asia’s richest municipal body that holds the patent for maximum potholes for more than 20 years? India’s real estate developers, close confidantes? So, one night he said a prayer, and had a dream. Morarji bhai appeared, whispered, and disappeared. Next morning, India demonetized over a cup of chai. After all, Ghar ki murgi dal barabaar; the irony though, is that the ghar, murgi and dal still remain “Queues” away from the common man. Bhaisaab, change hai kya? Hai? Kahaan? Zara batao toh.

Lessons learnt. Celebrities, industrialists, politicians, babus and the rich get clicked only outside airports; they don’t clicked inside banks while exchanging 500 and 1000-rupee notes. Perhaps, they only deal in dollars and Brexit. It is important to attend lectures in college; especially, lectures in Economics. Else, it is thoroughly impossible to understand the “Dhan Ki Baat” lecture of a Prime Minister. Money is of 2 types: black and white. White is owned by some, black is owned by one. Everyone else in-between exchanges “chillar”. 15-lakh rupees from Switzerland do not walk-in to a middle-class savings account; smaller amounts are debited at a national level, and credited at an invisibly irrational level. There’s heaven, tax-haven and Switzerland. Bank of Panama offers better interest rates than Bank of Punjab. Sharad is naturally corrupt during an election, and a legend post-election; that’s the Pawar Subroto Mallya has. Gandhi always smiles his way to the bank: both, in original and in duplicate. And finally, life isn’t always fair; as a law-abiding citizen, you need to pay penalty for someone else’s greed and undoing: bole toh, Bhare Koi, Bhare Sab Koi.

Notwithstanding what the world says about Hillary, I have always held her in very high esteem. She earned my respect when she stood steadfast by her husband, during his scandalous and stormy trial, and an eventual downfall. She accepted her electoral loss with a lot of grace this morning, truly befitting the essence of leadership that, at times, needs to be unlearned to learn. Of course, I am a very small man in comparison to the giant of a persona that she is, and my appreciation and admiration for her might matter little or nee. Yet, to me, she upholds all the qualities in a woman of *substance*, and she exudes character, virtue and demeanor with elan. While men are no stars in my personal opinion, they seem to have run out of raw material for making women like her, these days. Thank God for Hillary, she still holds the fort high and mighty.

For the next few days, robberies in India will be lower than Sweden. ATMs will be safer havens compared to Panama. Modi will be more famous than Miami, Michigan, Maya, Manmohan and Mallya. Much Pawar will be lost. 2-wheeler owners will create History and fill their tanks for 1000-rupees. Real estate will be (mutually) virtual. Jewellery will be equivalent to the price of Gems. As for me? Well, I am rejoicing! Since, after this move, I will be richer than Small A, Big A, Big B, Sallu, Lalu, Arun, Varun, Rahul, Jaya, Maya, Sushma, Najma, Sonia, Robert, Mehbooba, Amar, Akbar, Antony!

My India scripts a new story each time. The Himalayas in the North, a Bay in the East, the Sea in the West, and an Ocean deep-rooted in History and culture, in the South; Hanuman’s plunge of the Indian Ocean enroute to Lanka, and the arduous labour of “ram-setu”, remember? My India is Nature’s bounty. It’s plain and mysterious. It has been Home of legends, emperors, mighty warriors, pious princesses, leaders, revolutionaries, saints, intellectuals and administrators. India is a place I call Home. A Home I can’t live without. A Home that gave me family: a doting mother and a staunch supportive group of girlfriends in my sisters whom I date each day, our age differences, notwithstanding. I am thankful. I am glad. I was born here. Here. In my country. I call it India.

An appeal: for all those having scheduled a visit to the headquarters of an ISO-certified and renowned 100-billion dollar coup in South Bombay, please check their security retards, stop and reconsider your decision. However, if it’s still necessary, then it is advised to reschedule your visit to another date and time. In the interim, please workout to develop VISIBLE 35-inch biceps, 50-inch quadriceps and 48-inch triceps, and ensure to know all street intercepts. The minimum chest size should be 56-inches, atleast. Be aggressive and don’t follow the Gandhian ideology of “ek gaal, doosra laal”. There’s World War III raging in their board room, lobby, WC, reception and the street, including Dalal Street. By the way, whosoever suggested a Bharat Ratna for Ratan, should get a chaata; Mistry Dhoi style!

Mum bhai, socho if a "pramukh senapati" of a local Sena was kept under detention for 3.33 seconds? Of course, that’s an impossible scenario in our city in backdrop of the 56-inch chest; phir bhi, socho. Hai na, solid tension? Offices, including Bombay House, would abandon work half-day, mutually agreeing to reschedule their battles to a later date. Buses and cars would burn at every turn. Empty local trains would resemble the Orient Express. Cops would disburse crowds that reimburse them. ADHM would chant Shivaay. Groceries would be locked and stocked in barrels. Normal message and calling rates would apply. In a rare gesture, city roads would be empty and Homes would be full. Doodhwala wouldn’t come Home; paperwala would stay at Home. More games would be played in building compounds than in office boardrooms. Aur hamari Dilli mein abhi bhi, One Rank One Pension. When RaGa proposed, NaMo disposed; now, NaMo will propose, and RaGa will oppose. Tooth-and-nail. Jantar-banter.

Squint-essentially speaking, never judge a woman by tears she weeps, a man by the company he keeps, a company’s reputation by its turnover in heaps, a leader’s competence by his verbal sweeps, another person’s intelligence while your own brain sleeps, any alarm that beeps, water that seeps, and human greed that leaps. And. Probably. A Prime Minister who tweets. Courtesy: excerpt from Sagar’s exclusifz, circa 2016, verse still, November 2016.