An Indian 'Idle' fantasy.

Every day for the past few days ... whenever I return home after a gruelling schedule at work - what with having to squeeze time to work between playing games and reading e-books ... I see the programme 'Indian Idol' playing on the TV.

Sometime in the recent past ... some wise soul decided to import the hugely popular American Idol and foist it on Indian audiences. Of course as all things Indian theres a lot of mirch masala(pepper and spice), adrak(ginger) and lasoon(garlic) added to make the reality show more palatable to us.

Thanks to Indian Idol ... guys-and-girls-next-door have a chance to become famous ... live out their dreams ... become superstars within their own neighbourhoods.
Lots of these aspirants come from small towns and sleepy hamlets and become the most popular venerated inhabitants of that area.
Truly even those who don't win the final prize truly become idols to worship in the eyes of their community. After all India is a country .. and Hinduism (it's dominant faith) is a religion which places a lot of importance on idol worship.

The above paragraph has nothing to do with the overall theme of this piece but just me showing off. Is it working?

So I come home and I see these people performing and I see montages where their life back home is shown in flashes accompanied by some senti Hindi song going on in the background...
...And at night I start to dream.

I dream that I am participating in Indian Idol.
I appear for the auditions in Mumbai. Theres a long queue of people waiting already stretching from Chembur to Ghatkopar.

I turn up with my guitar in hand, my mouth organ in my pocket and a book of song lyrics that I have penned. (Babas and Babies ... now remember this is a fantasy. In reality I don't know the difference between a guitar string and a G-string, a mouth organ brings to my mind jokes on the human anatomy and the only lyrics in my books would be of stupid and ridiculous limericks.)

My turn comes. Judges are stunned by my performance. They're speechless. They are thunderstruck. Anu Malik has a tear in his eye, Alisha Chinoi looks at me longingly ... and for some freaking reason so does Udit Narayan.

They invite me to the next round. I come out of the audition room. Mini Mathur hugs me. I hug her back. She tries to pull away. I continue to hold on tightly...

So they send a cameraman and an interviewer back with me to my home. Since I'm selected and I'm so obviously talented they want to shoot a segment of my life back home.
So I go home, round up all my friends, relatives and members of my society.

Everybody sings my praises ... of how great a singer I am ... All my neighbours who used to chase me for breaking their windows ... All the girls in my society who never gave me a second look ... My watchman Jung Bahudur Sherpa who used to heap upon me the choicest of Nepali abuses ... everyone's my fan now.

The rounds pass by. I sing Western songs, classical numbers, item songs, folk songs. After each round Anu Malik grows more teary eyed, Javed Akhtar grows more constipated and Udit Narayan more lecherous.
The audience vote for me through smses en masse.

So finally I am in the top two. The entire nation knows my name.
They have renamed the name of the street where my Apartment is located after me. My building is a tourist attraction. My house is regularly filled with congratulatory sweets and bouquets.
I have had access to more pussy in the past 24 hours than I ever had in the past twenty four years... Er... of the meow variety I mean.

The evening of the final performance arrives. I am confidant. The guy who is pitted against me sings well ... but has the personality same as that of a wooden pole ...
He has come so far on the wave of public sympathy because he is very poor and his entire family of 15 used to live in a one room house in some corner of Arunachal Pradesh sharing a single bathroom and a single TV, Microwave, AC and only one measly 15 inch flat screen Plasma TV.
Audiences obviously love a sob story.

But India loves me. I know because a girl in the audience holds up a banner - "India loves you." Oh I tell you! My cousin sister is so sweet.

We need to sing three songs one after the other in the Grand Finale.
Each performance leaves the judges in waves of ecstasy and the audiences gasping for more. I am sure to win. Chong Chang - my competitor surely slipped up in the second song. Javed Akhtar surely had frowned, Anu Malik surely had sighed, though Alisha still as usual had smiled vacuously.

I rush back to my waiting room. I start sending smses from my cell phone. As many as I can. I am sure each and every one of my relatives and neighbours are doing the same. After all I had gifted all of them new Hutch Sim Cards and Nokia Cell phones (God! I hate product placements ... they happen in my dreams too.)

The next night Chang and Me sit next to each other ... both of us are nervous as hell. His fingernails are all chewed up. Chang is praying in his native language. I am mentally going over both my speeches. One for if I win. The second If Chang loses. Everything seems a blur.
Even in this state of heightened nervousness I notice that Mini is wearing a new chiffon sleeveless blouse...

Then the final moment is here. Mini Announces ... "And ... The ..(Hurry Up! For God's sake) The ... Next Indian idol is ....... (O my God! Spill your guts b....!!!)
...You'll find out after this commercial break."

I could have started a massacre then and there.

Commercial time is over ... She starts again ... This time infinitesimally quicker ... "And the Indian Idol 2007 is .............."

"Santosh! Santosh!"

"Huh! I won!! I won????"

"Win what? Idiot! Wake up. You're late for work!"

"Geez!!! Maaa .... ! I was almost on the verge of finding out if I had won Indian Idol!!!! ..."

"Yeah right! Like that's ever going to happen!"

I love my Ma. I really do. But she has this nasty habit of bringing me back to Earth quickly.

Oh well I guess I will have to wait till tomorrow night to see if I won.

Stay posted!!!

(Please don't kill me for wasting your time ... U are 5 minutes older now than when you started reading ... and will never recover that lost time you spent reading this crap! Sorry! )