#TheDailyToast: The return of Bigg Boss
Chhota Rajan: Boss, I’m coming in.
Boss: No, not yet. We need leads on Dawood.
CR: Boss, I’m homesick. Dosas here are made by those damn Udipis. Gujjus of the South, they put sugar in everything. Unbearable sambar. Also, tenants in my flats in Chembur have not been paying their hafta. I’ve to go collect.
Boss: Oh we collected all that for you. Four investigative police units took VRS based on the collections from your former routes.
CR: Arre vah, congratulations. I am proud of myself now.
Boss: Thank you, thank you. We try to keep the force ship shape. No slacking here. What about you? Why have you become Bada Rajan?
CR: What to do sir, every time an Indian politician comes to South East Asia, I’ve to entertain them with mountains of fried food and oily curries. Not like Lalit Modi in London, grilled fish and lobster on various sea coasts with lemon buttered sources.
Boss: Sauces you mean.
CR: Sources boss, sources. There they come with magnums and Spanish villas as safehouses. Here I’ve to vacate my infinity pool side sunbed everytime a bollywood type comes to buy fakes. Just the other day Manish Malhotra came shopping for some chap’s daughter’s wedding...
Boss:*hastily interrupting* ... yes yes but that should keep you more agile no? Eating on the run?
CR: Where sir... demands also higher here. Go meet Kim Jong Un. Find Netaji. Nab the blogger-murderers. Fix bollywood awards. Fix the organisers’ set construction department so Ranveer Singh can fake propose, broadcast rights to fake proposal, dowry demands on destination wedding muscle, make tea.... sometimes I even sit up and stitch fake Gucci bags for forthcoming seasons... it is very stressful being a whole alternate economy here. West is the cushy life. You should have sent me there.
Boss: Let’s see where we can post you next time. What is your preference?
CR: Paris sir. Everyone is in Paris these days. Journalists. Film stars too old to act but not too young to be on juries. Anurag Kashyap....
Boss: *laughing* next you’ll say you want to act in one of his films.
CR:*Silence on line, sound of shuffling feet*
Boss: Whaaaa....?
CR: Sir, one role. I will fund the movie also. Want foreign film fest award. Golden bear, golden lion, golden stag, golden stallion. All the gold also we have been supplying for years. It would be good to have one.
Boss: Nothing doing. Keep your face off the big screen. We didn’t have it insured for millions for nothing. Do you know what it’s cost us to keep Dawood’s paws off you?
CR: Ok sir, I’m not demanding. Small screen will do. Bigg Boss?
Boss: yes?
CR: Er.. no.. I meant the TV show...
Boss: Ahh, ok we can see what we can do. Maybe we can get them to do a prison theme with celebs who ought and probably might be in prison but aren’t because the government is protecting them and/or can’t make up its mind in fast track trials.
CR: Eh?
Boss: *sighing at the collective stupidity of potential prisoners he is forced to cultivate as sources*.. Salman Khan, Sanjay Dutt, Monica Bedi, Peter Mukerjea, Indrani, etc etc.. I will speak to Raj Nayak. With a few constables on set it shouldn’t be a problem as long as we can get Baba Ramdev to come in for some reformative yoga sessions and Sharad Pawar for some back room negotiations to keep those in the lead in the lead.
CR: *face brightens immediately* Sir, I will be so grateful to you if you could orchestrate this.
Boss: Don’t mention it. In fact, pointedly don’t mention it. Even if asked. What I suggest is you pretty much don’t mention anything I have ever said to you. Especially not our meeting at the Grand Hyatt in Dubai.
CR: Sir, awesome lobster that was... but too late.. how will I have given you credit in my memoirs? You are two whole chapters.
Boss: *sitting up straight in chair*...Memoirs?
CR: Yes sir. Penguin is reading it but they have not reverted yet. I’m thinking there is money in writer’s awards now also, after all people need something to return. We will fund that also. My brother-in-law has a small trophy making unit in Ulhasnagar and we have already spoken to Ravi Pujari. He’s ready to extort writers who refuse to return them.
Boss: Memoirs?
CR: Ji sir. Hussain Zaidi already in scripting phase. Saif Ali Khan wants to play you, but Sanjay Gupta is thinking of casting Aishwarya in the role. You know... women’s rights and everything very hot these days...
Boss: You idiot. *picks up alternate line* Seize all Penguin assets. *turning back to CR* You sent it to anyone else?
CR: *thinking hard* possibly four-five others. I don’t remember now.
Boss: Strike all publishing houses. Shut ‘em all down. Crackdown on all the lit fests. Ban writers. Ban writing. Ban thinking. Ban speaking. Ban. Ban. Ban. Chota Rajan is hauled in by the scruff of his collar on the next flight over from Thailand. It would be the last fresh Thai green curry he wouldn’t be able to finish again. He sells fake iphones to everyone on the flight before the air marshalls can stop him. These are all confiscated by customs anyway and recycled back to him in prison.
By afternoon, outside, in Jantar Mantar, angry writers and journalists collected to mourn the demise of freedom of speech in India.
PM Modi’s little purple hotline to Obama, pink one to Silicon Valley, and blue one to Facebook, and the red one to China ceased to ring as economies all over collapsed with the collapse of the fake handbags. India, largely, was blamed.
Arthur Road Jail. ‘Home Sweet Home’ is carved into the walls.
Chhota Rajan and Indrani Mukerjea hatch plans for world domination.
Rakesh Maria feels the ground shake beneath him as he sips his martini on a beach in Hawaii. Shrugs, goes back to sleep on his striped towel.