Frustrated by accusations of incompetence and arrogance from various quarters, Delhi Police Commissioner Neeraj Kumar decided to hit a dingy old bar just behind the Delhi Gymkhana. What happened next? The UnReal Times correspondent P. Le Daaruwala brings you the story:
Neeraj Kumar plods towards the bartender and wearily slides into one of the high stools adjoining the counter.
Bartender (recognizes the commissioner instantly, stands upright and salutes): Sir! Aap? Yahan? Kya baat hai!
Neeraj Kumar: Ek Haywards 5000 laa, be.
Bartender: Right away Sir!
The bartender flamboyantly pulls a bottle from a shelf, flips the lid open and begins pouring the liquor into a glass.
Bartender: Very hot these days, eh Sir?
Neeraj Kumar: Yes, yes, very hot (wipes his forehead)
Bartender (grins): Er..I wasn’t talking about the weather Sir.
Neeraj Kumar stiffens, and throws the bartender a baleful look.
Bartender (pushes the glass towards Neeraj Kumar): Here you go!
Neeraj Kumar finishes the contents in one gulp, and sighs deeply.
Neeraj Kumar: Arey yaar, these protesters! Just making my life hell, yaar! No amount of lathi-charging, tear gas or water cannons are driving them away! The crowd is only growing larger. I’ve even heard that protesters are coming in all the way from Maharashtra with buckets, so that they can collect the water being streamed at the protesters and take it back to water their parched fields.
Bartender: Understandable, Sir. After Ajitji’s comment, who would want to drink water there? They are better off drinking beer! (spots a movement to his left) Ek minute sir, I’ll be back after serving that gentleman over there.
Neeraj Kumar fiddles restlessly with his empty glass for a second, then reaches out to grab a bottle of liquor on the counter, and drinks directly from it.
Bartender (wiping a couple of empty glasses with a towel): What would you like, Sir?
Bartender (places the glasses on the counter, and fetches a couple of ice trays from the fridge): Arre saab, kya lenge?
Bartender (cracks some ice from the trays and throws the cubes into the vending machine): Uncle ji, behre to nahi hain? (turns to the gentleman, shakes a fist with an upright thumb) What… (points at the customer) you… (throws his head back and pretends to suck on his thumb) drink?
The gentleman looks up at the bartender. The bartender’s face contorts as he instantly recognizes the gentleman in a blue turban.
Bartender (hastily adjusts his hair and bow-tie): Ohh! Sir, aap! What a day!
The gentleman stares back blankly at the bartender. To the gentleman’s right, Neeraj Kumar rubs his eyes, muttering ‘am I already too drunk?’
Bartender: Sir, aap ke liye, beer?
Gentleman: Theek hai.
Neeraj Kumar (gingerly touches the gentleman’s shoulder before snapping his finger back): Manmohanji! is it really you? What are you doing here?
Ignoring Neeraj’s gesticulations, Manmohan Singh picks up the remote control lying nearby and flips the channel. The screen transitions from Chikni Chameli to Arnab Goswami, browbeaten into submission by BJP’s Smriti Irani, who insists that the PM must resign over Coalgate. Also on the panel is Sanjay Jha, who keeps repeating that he is incredibly proud of Rahul Gandhi, but everyone else ignores him.
Neeraj Kumar (sighs deeply): Same here, PMji. There’s a clarion call for my resignation too. What should we do about it?
Bartender: Here’s your refill, Commissioner Sir, and here’s your drink, PM Sir.
Manmohan Singh looks at the glass blankly for a second, and then looks up to stare at the bartender. The bartender stares back confounded before understanding dawns on him.
Bartender: Oh of course, Sir (reaches into the shelf under the counter, brings out a straw and hands it over to Manmohan Singh). Here you go!
Both gentlemen drink their liquor quietly.
Neeraj Kumar (groggily): PM Sir, I’d really appreciate tips from your wide experience. Your government has been lambasted in the past for incompetence and arrogance – more than once if I’m not wrong. How do you handle it?
Dr. Singh doesn’t respond. He continues sipping on his beer and switches channels again. Sachin Tendulkar is seen addressing a press conference. “Nobody can tell me when to retire. You please stick to your job, I’ll stick to mine,” squeaks the little master.
Neeraj Kumar: Wow! What confidence! What aggression! (scratches his chin) But don’t you think we lack the credibility to be able to say this?
Dr. Singh ignores him, and continues sipping beer. His glass is empty, but Dr. Singh continues sucking on his straw, making gurgling noises as the straw sucks on the last few drops sticking onto the bottom of the glass.
Neeraj Kumar (frustrated): Arey yaar, you haven’t said a word since I started speaking to you! Can you please help me? What the hell do I say to the media?
Dr. Singh slams the glass on the counter, turns slowly towards Neeraj Kumar, and blinks in slow motion.
Dr. Singh: Hazaaron jawabon se achchi hai meri khamoshi, na jaane kitne sawaalon ka aabru rakhi
The room is stunned into silence. The only sounds in the bar are those of Sachin reiterating ‘Nobody can tell me how to retire’ and the echoes of Dr. Singh’s ‘Hazaaron jawabon se achchi hai meri khamoshi’.
‘hazaaron jawabon…tell me to retire….. hazaaron… retire… hazaaron… retire…’
As the eerie echoes of the two statements fade out, Neeraj Kumar leaps up and screams ‘Eureka! Manmohanji, you are a life saver’, before his eyeballs roll upwards and he collapses in a state of inebriation.
The next day, Delhi Police Commissioner smiles confidently at a packed and riotous press baying for his blood, and peering into the eyes of the posse of media personnel, says, “Hazaron resignation dedoo, tab bhi kuch nahin badlega!”