A political Olympics?
As most people know by now, I control south Mumbai. I don’t like to make a big song and dance about it, because with power comes great responsibility.
As most people know by now, I control south Mumbai. I don’t like to make a big song and dance about it, because with power comes great responsibility as the great Spiderman once said.
However, in the last few days my phone hasn’t stopped ringing. Most of the calls, of course, were from my dhobi, who gets paranoid when you mix the reds with the blues. Some of the calls were from various political parties.
Let’s start with Mr Godbole who refuses to tell me his party’s name. Instead, he gave me a slight hint. The party’s name was made up of the letters A, B, an S and a P; also the outfit’s boss was a woman who lived in the northern state of UP.
Mr Godbole’s idea was that I mount an elephant and then walk around the city shouting the candidate’s name. I said that only made sense if the candidate was lost. Besides the last time I sat on an elephant I suffered from terrible sores in places that cannot be reached even with the help of science and technology.
Next Mr Saraiya — from a party which said D’s name rhymed with the word jalabee and whose boss was distantly related to film director Nikhil Advani — spoke to me.
They wanted me to wear a dhoti and carry a trishul on each shoulder all over south Mumbai. I explained to Mr Saraiya that I had no experience of carrying anything that weighed more than an apple. Also since most of my underwear were black in colour, a dhoti could pose a serious challenge.
Another party whose headquarters were in Europe and whose name rhymed with bench press then gave me a call. They insisted I carry a 32 by 17 foot poster of their candidates’ right hand and present it to the people. I, in turn, suggested that why couldn’t the candidate do this himself; after all his left hand was free.
As of now I am still undecided, so I’ve decided to hold a party Olympics. Whoever wins this will get my support and assured victory.
However, in the last few days my phone hasn’t stopped ringing. Most of the calls, of course, were from my dhobi, who gets paranoid when you mix the reds with the blues. Some of the calls were from various political parties.
Let’s start with Mr Godbole who refuses to tell me his party’s name. Instead, he gave me a slight hint. The party’s name was made up of the letters A, B, an S and a P; also the outfit’s boss was a woman who lived in the northern state of UP.
Mr Godbole’s idea was that I mount an elephant and then walk around the city shouting the candidate’s name. I said that only made sense if the candidate was lost. Besides the last time I sat on an elephant I suffered from terrible sores in places that cannot be reached even with the help of science and technology.
Next Mr Saraiya — from a party which said D’s name rhymed with the word jalabee and whose boss was distantly related to film director Nikhil Advani — spoke to me.
They wanted me to wear a dhoti and carry a trishul on each shoulder all over south Mumbai. I explained to Mr Saraiya that I had no experience of carrying anything that weighed more than an apple. Also since most of my underwear were black in colour, a dhoti could pose a serious challenge.
Another party whose headquarters were in Europe and whose name rhymed with bench press then gave me a call. They insisted I carry a 32 by 17 foot poster of their candidates’ right hand and present it to the people. I, in turn, suggested that why couldn’t the candidate do this himself; after all his left hand was free.
As of now I am still undecided, so I’ve decided to hold a party Olympics. Whoever wins this will get my support and assured victory.