Now that the Modi sarkar is firmly in place, I have the luxury to write about affairs domestic. The ‘saffronational’ euphoria had so gripped me over the past month that I had overlooked two important developments at home. Once the NDA’s super swearing-in was over, it was time to deal with both.
One, a pigeon had converted one of our plant pots into an incubation centre, without bothering to take our verbal or written permission. She had laid two eggs, which had now hatched, turning the area into a maternity ward as well as a sulabh shauchalya.
Nowhere in sight was the twins’ Daddyji, who was obviously not a one-woman man like me. Two, and this was alarming, a gang of wasps was making a hive outside my four-plus daughter’s playroom (‘Gang’ is surely not the right word. If you are dying to know what’s it, kindly contact my fellow columnist Vikram Jit Singh at firstname.lastname@example.org).
So, these were the two parties which had brazenly encroached upon prime spaces in my 2.5BHK flat. I first decided to deal with the wasps, who had made their intentions clear by trying to sting my kid. Inspired by Narendra Modi’s no-nonsense style, I categorically told them that terrorism won’t be tolerated in any form. I thundered that it would be a blunder on their part to consider me ‘soft’ in any way. And I reminded them that the UPA was no more in power, which meant that they could no longer get away with anything. Unfazed by my rhetoric (or maybe there was a language barrier), they kept working on the hive, which was now bigger than my furiously clenched fist. With internal security topping my agenda, I did what the Vajpayee sarkar had done in 1999 – waging an all-out war on the intruders. Armed with a steel pipe, I used ‘hit-and-run’ tactics to dismantle the ‘terror camp’ and make the wasps fly helter-skelter. My bravado was cheerfully applauded by my daughter, even as I narrowly escaped getting Angelina Jolie-like bee-stung lips. On the floor lay the battered hive, looking somewhat like the ‘Modisfigured’ Congress.
One mission accomplished, we moved on to the other, making the most of my better half’s absence to have some in-house adventure. Having shown my aggressive side, I opted for magnanimity while handling the pigeon family. Again I started off with a speech, making it clear that I had great respect for all minority communities and believed in peaceful co-existence under one roof.
However, all my lofty words fell on deaf ears, as if I was telling monstrous lies. The mother went on feeding her little ones, while keeping an eagle eye on me in case I made any mischief. For a moment, I thought of unleashing the pipe again, but it struck me that such a rash move could damage my carefully-crafted secular image.
Eventually, I adopted the ‘live and let live’ approach and allowed the birds to use our pot for as long as they needed it, provided they did their potty in my neighbour’s balcony. My enterprising daughter suggested that we should take rent from them, but I informed her that pigeons usually didn’t have cash or debit/credit cards. Getting the joke, she gave me a broad smile, which convinced me that I had all the qualities to guide my humble home towards a shining bright future. Achhe din had truly arrived, and more were on the way, I hoped, unless my wife or the Saffron Super Kings had other plans.