I in Big Boss Family with Sunny and Swami--Why not?

What a rise my countrymen!
by Rajbir Deswal
(IN THE TRIBUNE)
FRIENDS, I have come to praise Swami and Sunny, not to lampoon them. They are honourable man and woman, respectively. Though the Swami is out of the House but he dubbed the redoubtable parliamentarians as being not a shade better than the members of the celibate-spiritualist’s new-found family of Big Boss. They, too, are honourable men.

The Swami had chosen to be among the chosen few. The chosen few are sure honourable men. Dolly, Shakti, Khalee, Veena are all honourable men and women. The Swami dons saffron and Sunny almost nothing. All men in saffron are honourable men. All women donning nothing, too, are honourable women.

The Swami once gave the impression that his worth was no less than an Anna. After all, Anna is also an honourable man.

I have come to bury bossism, not to endorse it. But suppose if I myself were to be in Big Boss’s family. Wait a minute! Let me rejoice at the thought of it. Let my soul come back to me. The Swami, too, must have fantasised. Sunny made no bones about it and declared that she couldn’t believe she was in India. But I am also no less an honourable man.

So here I go, sharing with you what I would have if I were to be there in that sanctum-sanatorum. Even that is a sacred Man-sion . House is a name given to a place where ugly brawls keep taking place. Isn’t it, the Swami?

Okay then! I wouldn’t laugh but grin, showing my smart denture less on things not laughable and more on silly mishaps. If someone cracked a joke, I would ask it to be repeated. And then not laugh at all. And change the topic to ‘save the environment’.

I would talk less sense and more profundity and would look for reactions. If someone really understood me, I would rubbish it and give my own explanation of my concept, shouting and howling.

All my expressions should betray what has been there in my mind. Total hypocrisy at play, I must declare. I should keep throwing tantrums but at times look serene to convey that I had variety in me. I should be careful not to be emotional. I must rejoice at the very ouster, and not shedding of a tear, to look normal. My expressionless face should confuse the cameras.

Even realising being rude in my conduct with others, I would try to be still worse. I would make faces at my detractors when they did not look towards me while my jogging would continue with thumping in my training shoes. I would keep in mind my opponents while chopping vegetables. I should not miss out on making sentences having unparliamentary expressions — Big Boss would take care to ‘beep’ them.

I don’t know if they serve drinks there, but I would make sure that I looked inebriated to be excused for my ‘civilised’ behavior if at all I indulged in realising little that it was a reality show. I would look more anglicised and less ‘desi’, for once I have chosen that style, there should be no looking back.

Lastly, I would not mind what was fair and what was foul even if I had to take a lesson or two in the art of choosing a platform more profitable than Ahem, Ahem…! That round-round building in the Capital — saying it in a roundabout manner! Right, Swami?