The shameful cheer-haran of Gadhakurry

Courtesy hindujagruti.com

She was resting in her chamber, playing Poker on her iPad. It was that time of the month. She was dressed in a sarong. The same one she and A had bought on their trip to Thighland. The maids were hovering around her anxiously with plates of samosas and jalebis. A hungry memsahib was scarier than a wounded buffalo.

She summoned Sushma, her favourite maid and asked for a rose scented hand wipe. The syrup from the jalebi had made her fingers sticky. Sticky fingers reminded her of 50 shades of Bhima. She didn’t want to risk that, especially when it was “that time of the month”.

She was stretched out on her Lazy Boy when her reverie was broken by a loud commotion outside. Startled she sat up, looking desperately for her clutch to tie up her flowing tresses.

She didn’t have the time. It was Kachrawala. The same Kachrawala who had been acting like an out of control bull and maligning the good character of her kitty circle – Salmon Khushee, Roberto Vonderbra…Accusing them of getting too developed in an underdeveloped land.

Since when did growth become a crime?

Her heart was pounding loudly as she sat up. Damn! Where is that pepper spray I ordered online! She looked like a startled deer, her eyes moving like windshield wipers on a rainy day.

Kachrewala was grinning, his armpits soaked in sweat. Eww! Someone give him an Axe. He was now advancing towards her and in one swift movement grabbed her chubby arm. He was trying to drag her now, all 120 kilos of her. She screamed like a wounded hyena – nahiiiiiin. But Kachrewala was relentless. Today is the day I expose you. The nation wants to see your assets.

In the massive hall, blinded by flashlights of cameras, somebody tried to thrust something in her mouth. It looked like a mike. And then that monster started tugging at her sarong. She screamed, she cussed, she protested, she begged fellow asset holders to intervene - but all she could hear was silence. She spotted Roberta waving a mango at Kachra and Salmon tearing a return ticket into pieces. The rest were clutching on to their vastra, as if their life depended on it.

The sarong was unfolding faster than she could say OMG. Gadhakurry was praying fervently – save me o Lol Krishna. My dignity has always followed you like a lost puppy. Come in your rath and rescue me from ignominy. Lol Krishna gave her a high five and said – do you deeds but don’t expect any fruits. Especially mangoes and bananas.

G had no choice but to divert her pleas to the podium she was standing on. Dear podium, break into pieces and engulf me in your wooden arms.

The podium unable to bear with weight of guilt and Gadha came crashing down. Down fell G and out came her well concealed, lovingly nurtured assets - the deeds for land she had usurped from farmers, the gallons of water that had been diverted from farmlands to sugar and power industries, the cries of hungry children whose fathers had hung themselves from withered trees.

There was a huge crowd surrounding her fallen stature. Everyone was peering hard, a few took pictures with their iPhone, but nobody looked impressed. Their verdict – been there, seen that! We were fantasizing about a sleazier Scamsutra . This looks stale. Just like Poonam Pandey.

All eyes were on Kachrawala now. He looked as if he had just stepped out of a waterfall. Pulling and tugging at a mammoth Gadha is no child’s play. Someone shouted – Hey Kachra, we expect nothing but the stinkiest from you. So, when are you disrobing Profool Patel?