Tintin fans stole my house, said he got it as gift when he visited India

A few nights ago, I woke up screaming. I dreamt that a bunch of orange-clad goons crashed into my house, yowled slogans, broke a few chairs, smashed window-panes, and tried to throw me out.

They snarled that my house originally belonged to Tintin, and I had to give it back.

I tried to reason with those rabid Tintin fans as I clung limpet-like to the bedpost: “Hello, Tintin lived in Belgium, not India.”

They jeered as they tried to drag me away from the bedpost.

“Correction, you ignorant Congi-Leftist-Sickular-Libtard; Tintin visited India. Twice! Have you not read ‘Tintin in Tibet’ and ‘Cigars of the Pharaoh’?”

Darn it, they were dead right. I didn’t give up, though. Economist Amartya Sen didn’t call us argumentative Indians for nothing! “Yeah, okay, but Tintin didn’t own property in India!’

“Oh yes he did,” they crowed. “He was friends with the Maharaja of Gaipajama, and got this land as a present.”

I gasped: “Liars! That wasn’t in the comic book!”

“It was in an earlier unpublished draft of the manuscript. We found a crumpled scribble in Hergé’s dustbin. So there!”

I started screaming as they loosened my hold on the bedpost: “Oh for heaven’s sake, this is Gurgaon, not the Kingdom of Gaipajama!”

“It used to be Gaipajama. And before you ask any further silly questions, we know this for sure because Gurgaon and Gaipajama both start with the letter ‘G’” they triumphantly proclaimed, and flung me out of the window.

As I flew down to earth I managed to spitefully shoot back, “I’m so glad Tintin’s dog Snowy chased in a cow in the Kingdom of Gaipajama! Also, I’ll see you in court.”

Fortunately, I woke up before I was splattered on the pavement. Thank god these things don’t happen in real life. Oh wait.

Hmm. Just as well the dream didn’t extend to the court case, because it really wouldn’t have been worth the effort.

I’m still shaking with fear, and I hope this doesn’t turn out to be a recurring nightmare. After googling nightmare triggers, I discovered that cheese usually sets them off, and I have now promised myself that I will never ever consume wine and cheese with the Lutyens’ Delhi set in Khan Market again! A chap I fondly call Guptaji was quite right to warn us of the dangers of that combination. It’s terribly anti-national, besides.

The nightmare continues in real life, though. The same Hindu mob that illegally demolished the Babri Masjid is now the government of India. There are photographs and video footage of the Dear Leader, Snoopendra, inciting Hindus to destroy the mosque; yep, the very same chap who pretends to be Mahatma Gandhi (heck, as if—it’s a difficult act to pull off, particularly when you wear flamboyant clothes and weird hats).

Odd that he doesn’t share his Ayodhya photographs with world leaders, isn’t it? Odder still that international media appears to have forgotten his role in that horrific incident that led to riots and deaths across the nation. I wonder if his PR agency chaps sneakily drop little amnesia tablets into coffee and tea dispensing machines when they pop into media houses with fat cheques and lies?

A word now on India’s Opposition parties: the only people they seem to be opposing are people like me! All the parties have said that they respect and accept the verdict. Even a Congressman said that his party wanted the mandir too! Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru wouldn’t have approved of this, and neither do we.

The opposition, be warned: we are watching you. While we’re not rich enough (or creepy enough) to watch you 24x7 with Israeli spyware like Snoopendra does, we are keeping note of every breath Opposition parties take and every move they make in public.

Meanwhile, I shall now do a spot of online shopping and buy a pair of pajamas with cute cows on them.

If the dream recurs, I shall inform the orange-clad goons that I am a descendant of the Maharaja of Gaipajama, and voila, here’s my proof.

Blistering barnacles, this time, I won’t let them throw me out!