Reality Bites: Rummy tale of Lala Rumrave, Asswami and Harm Minister
There are empty beds at home, empty desks at offices, and people who have wept so much, they are empty inside. But the pandemic has been controlled, see?
India’s Harm Minister went missing for over a month after his party’s humiliating defeat in West Bengal. Oddly enough, some people were worried about him and posted “Desperately seeking” posters on social media, but I didn’t care a jot. Truth be told, I thought the nation should celebrate being out of harm’s way, and so what if he fell into a ditch while surveying the Central Vista destruction project for his boss, the Big Fat Cat-caller?
It was clear to the feeblest of minds that the Harm Minister took time out to lick his wounds. Or rather, in traditional BJP style, No. 2 probably got the party’s No. 3, 4, 5 and 6 to lick his festering wounds instead to make him feel better. Even a cursory study of the Sangh Parivar reveals that its members are terribly insecure people who should be on strong meds, but flattery works just as well for them.
Tending to his wounds is not the only reason why the Harm Minister went underground. Try to imagine the incendiary rage of the Big Fat Cat-caller after losing to Didi-o-Didi—wouldn’t you hide in another galaxy? Heck, I wouldn’t be remotely surprised if the Big Fat Cat-caller had the Harm Minister locked up in his bedroom as punishment! See, even though the Big Fat Cat-caller pretends to be warm and avuncular when he addresses teenage students on “eggjams”, and plays lovable games of peekaboo with them by popping up uninvited on their virtual sessions, have you seen his cold, hard eyes?
Another of my theories was that the Harm Minister went to an exclusive Fat Farm and drank copious amounts of lauki juice to shed all the kilos he gained by eating at almost every home while campaigning in West Bengal. Remember all those photographs of him stuffing his face? If you’re wondering why he didn’t get one of his bodyguards to carry tiffin boxes packed with boiled veggies and clear soup, it’s because the stingy man prefers everything free.
Much to my horror, he surfaced a few days ago. I was disappointed to see that my theory about the Fat Farm was wrong, because it looks as though he gorged on deep-fried comfort food. His wounds have healed remarkably quickly, and I’m wondering if Lala Rum Rave will get No 3, 4, 5 & 6 to expectorate into a cauldron, stir madly, and sell the GoSiPraJa concoction as a miracle cure for deep gashes. Knowing how this government works, a huge consignment of this horrible concoction will be bought with tax-payer funds and sent to our armed forces, whom they pretend to worship. The Sangh Parivar always, always, always thrusts Lala Rum Rave’s dubious products on the army.
The Harm Minister’s first public words to the nation after his absence made us scream in agony (a sound that’s music to his ears). He said (and I quote), “PM Modi led, we controlled second wave of Covid-19 in a very short time.” A chorus of angry splutters across the nation greeted his shameless lie. By now, all of us personally know people who have succumbed to the virus. There are empty beds at home, empty desks at offices, and people who have wept so much, they are empty inside. We have thousands of Covid orphans too, who are certainly not applauding the Harm Minister’s latest barefaced lie. I do hope the man goes underground again, and this time forever!
A loudspeaker too went missing after the BJP’s West Bengal debacle. Gornob Asswami’s blustery rants haven’t been heard since then—not that the nation is complaining. I have a theory on that too: India’s Gems Bond (Agent Jero Jero Jero) disguised him as a tree trunk and spirited him away to London. London is the only place where Asswami feels safe these days because his lawyer, the Salve of all Sanghi Wounds, lives there.
Asswami will stick to him like chewing gum on a shoe sole to ensure that all those criminal charges don’t stick to him. I do feel a bit sorry for the lawyer’s new wife, but hey, it’s about time she learns everything about the man she married. A friendly tip for her: Wear earmuffs 24x7 to drown out Asswami’s shouts of, “I won like crazy!”
(Any resemblance with real events or people is a coincidence)