Dr. Singh woke up in an unusually good mood. Stretching gracefully like a cat, Dr. Singh thought about the two blockbuster bills his government had managed to pass over the last two days and smiled. He leapt off his bed with the vitality of a teenager, walked into the kitchen and hugged his better half from behind.
“Someone’s in a good mood this morning, huh?” she teased.
“Mmm,” murmured Dr. Singh.
“Well, turns out I’m in a great mood myself!”
Dr. Singh loosened his hold to look at Gursharan’s face. “Ah! May I ask why?”
“Don’t you remember? 55 years back, on this day, we met for the first time…”
“Oh yeah, I remember,” reminisced Dr. Singh, the memory bringing a broad smile to his face. Oh, the fearlessness of youth. How he longed for those days!
“…and you stole my heart!”
The smile vanished from Dr. Singh’s face. He broke the hug, stared at his wife for a second, and then excused himself to the washroom.
“Huh? What did I say now?” Gursharan muttered to herself.
An hour later, Dr. Singh was all suited up and ready to begin his 18 hour work day, when his neighbour’s 6 year old daughter came bounding into his hall.
“Mannu Uncle! Mannu Uncle!” she lisped. “Will you take me shopping?”
Dr. Singh looked at the wide-eyed girl gazing at him innocently and smiled. “Of course, beti! Where do you want to go?”
“Chor bazaar!” she giggled.
Dr. Singh stood gawking at the child in disbelief. The girl returned his stare for a while, then lost interest and gamboled off.
Shaking his head, Dr. Singh slid into his government allotted BMW.
“Need to clear my head,” he muttered to himself. “Kuch gaana shaana laga de yaar,” he told his driver.
“Yes, sir.”
A second later, the peppy beats of a Dhoom 2 number echoed in the car.
“…chori chori kiya re!”
“What the…” sputtered Dr. Singh. “Kuch aur laga!”
“Chura ke dil meraaaaa, goriyaan chali!” sang Kumar Sanu.
“Bhains ki…” gasped Dr. Singh. “Kuch aur laga… maybe something classic.”
“Chura liya hai mene tere…”
“Something else!!!”
“Chori pe chori, chori pe chori haath pakarke ungalii marori!”
“This is unbelievable,” muttered Dr. Singh helplessly. With an air of resignation, he mumbled, “Just shut it down.”
Silence flooded the car once again, interrupted only by the muffled sounds of honking outside.
After fidgeting in his seat for a while, Dr. Singh rang up Montek Singh Ahluwalia. “Oye Sardar, you free for some GDP projections today? Feeling kinda low…”
“Nahi yaar, not today. I’m taking the day off. Spending it watching a few old classics on TV.”
“Oh, nice. Kya dekh raha hai?”
“Jewel thief.”
Barely restraining himself from cursing aloud, Dr. Singh ground his teeth, cut the call, and relapsed into silence for the rest of his trip to Rajya Sabha.
“…there is no reason for anybody to believe that we are going down the hill and that 1991 is on the horizon…”
Dr. Singh paused to look up from his notes. The noise in the House came down a notch. Dr. Singh resumed.
“…we expect a tapering of the US Federal reserve’s liquidity measures, which would…”
The noise climbed up once again and within seconds grew quite loud, acquiring a rhythmic quality, almost like a chant.
“…we would like to assure the country…”
What was that? Putting his notes aside, Dr. Singh strained his ears to make out what the members were chanting.
“PM chor hai… PM chor hai… PM chor hai…” the opposition benches chanted.
Hot, boiling blood rose to his head. His fist curled around the pen he was holding, crumpling the Monte Blanc pen like it were a mere piece of paper. His arms ballooned in size, stretching the sleeves of his safari suit, and tearing the fabric in at least a couple of spots.
Dr. Singh brought down his palm on the desk with an ear-splitting sound.
“SHUT UP!!!!!!!!” he bellowed.
Silence befell the House instantly. Shell-shocked members across party lines stared at the avenging apparition they once knew as the Prime Minister.
“IS THIS HOW ONE BEHAVES IN THE TEMPLE OF DEMOCRACY??? HAS ANY OTHER NATION CALLED THEIR PRIME MINISTER A CHOR??? YOU GUYS STALL PARLIAMENT PROCEEDINGS AND BLAME US FOR GOVERNANCE? I AM NOT THE CUSTODIAN OF COAL FILES. TO HELL WITH YOU…”
For five minutes, fire poured out of Dr. Singh as it would from a flame-thrower, scorching everything in its path. MPs near the well of the House cowered under the desks, whereas those in the back benches withdrew to the far end of the House.
When he was done, those opposition MPs who were still standing looked at each other desperately, and finding no traces of resilience, fled out of the House. It would be hours before they would recover and term their flight as an indignant walk-out.
Back in the house, there was still pin drop silence, as trembling MPs in the treasury benches cautiously watched Dr. Singh re-arrange his notes neatly on his desk and resume his meditative pose. Mustering some courage, BCCI vice-president Rajeev Shulka leaned over to Dr. Singh.
“Nice espeech eSir,” he said with a toothy grin. “You estole the thunder!”
Dr. Singh uttered a blood-curdling cry and leapt from his seat towards Rajeev Shukla. Shukla took one look at the murder in Dr. Singh’s eyes and ran for his life.
And thus ended a rather unusual day in the life of that amiable man, the 13th Prime Minister of India, Dr. Manmohan Singh.
(Based on an idea by Unreal columnist, Ashwin Kumar)