I must admit that I’m no different than any other man, not taking my eyes away from Partha’s episodes, or should I say escapades, on the TV screens over the last two weeks. The little mountain of currency notes failed to impress me like his other collections; the lady, in particular, claimed differently as an aide, accomplice, acquaintance and even a niece as applicable on different occasions.
My wife’s eyes were fixed on the lustrous gold ornaments and gold bars as I vainly tried to wean her attention away. I wanted to change the channel and look closely at the lady in question, primarily to address my appetite. Don’t get me wrong! I was curious about her age and that the minister registered property in Arpita’s name way back in 2012. That could have been the beginning, or there could still be hidden deeds before 2012. How old could she have been when they were first acquainted? Surely, one does not register property from ill-gotten wealth in the name of anyone unless ‘close.’ She seemed presently in her thirties, which makes her barely in her teens when the minister could have first known her. More than being envious, my curiosity killed me. My efforts to know her biodata hit a snow wall secure under the National Secrets Act.
Be these trivialities as they may, many strange stories emerged, and the one which caught my attention was that the couple were devouring Rs.250000 worth of fruits every month. Well, that works out to Rs.8000 per day only for fruits, which would go from selected shops in New Market. So, I decided to investigate and loitered around the famous fruit shops where one can get many expensive exotic fruits. After looking at a few apples and bananas for minions like me, I queried for the ‘other’ varieties.
The blighter looks at me from head to toe and gets less interested as I’m not wearing flip-flops (famously known as Hawai Chotti), or attired in a kurta-pyjama and sneakers to be anyone worthy or important. He beckons me with a gesture. Was it obscene? Disregarding the profanity, I am drawn toward him to hear what he was about to say. There are better materials than the Mumbai famous cot-breaker-betel-leaves (Palang-Thod-Paan); his wink is suggestive. I do not know why I’m sweating needlessly. As I usually do to escape critical situations, I pretend a call on my cell phone and retreat to a distance until another flip-flop comes to the fruit shop, he momentarily forgetting me. I run speedily out.
I land at the Presidency Jail and talk to the jailor. Yes, the report is true. The man, used to Rs.8000 fruits a day, besides the choicest fish, chicken, and mutton, has to contend with lentils, rice, and roti. He must sleep on the floor with a blanket, a jail issue. I marvel at the power of the politicians to change their life like chameleons, which ordinary mortals like you and me could find impossible. But we may not eat Rs.8000 worth of fruits daily either!
I do not know why my Tata Sky renewal has not been done by my wife!
Sampath Kumar
Intrépide Voix
