Ghustkhana Party8 mins 7.9K 8 mins 7.9K
Human beings are full of shit. However, some just can’t get their shit right! They are called criminals.
Anant Pichkule, the former tax collector devoted his entire life in collecting funds of progress. Focus on Anant, He is very very single. He took a vow of celibacy like Bheesma to devote his entire life in serving his motherland sincerely. One should never judge a book by its cover. No wonder, he didn’t experience balding unlike married men of his age. He spends his retired life in Jyeshta Ashram.
Jyeshta Ashram is a respectable old age home. It isn’t like those dilapidated old age homes and all oldies pleading mercy in their dwindling times. It follows pink-white color scheme in this one-story home. They all have an interesting story as Jyeshta ashram doesn’t discriminate anyone deprived of love and care at their debilitating years. One story is this.
Ganju, for example, was a small vegetable vendor. He chose vegetables over his family’s poultry business. He wanted to follow his idol, Mahatma Gandhi’s principle of non-violence. Like Gandhi, He was also married at age of 13. It’s messed up!!His wife may not be a stunning beauty but she was devoted to him like Radha was to Krishna. Why do we only think that bringing discipline in our dieting makes our life wholesome? Can’t we be disciplined in handling our relationship with people?
He lost his mind and heart in the dense forest of her beautiful hair and soft body. To please this queen, he incurred lot of debt. Luckily, his son was financial stable enough to repay the debts. The son was brimming with passionate anger that he banished his 70-year-old father forever from his house. When we see a vulnerable old man, we tend to forget they are human beings with flaws. It’s not our Indian culture to ignore minute flaws that could become catastrophically big. Look into our mythological story of Shishupal and Krishna. Krishna had to put end of his hundred times of his cocky attitude forever.
Anant was strolling leisurely on his torn banyan and khaki shorts. On his right, a beautiful sprawl of high-end skyscrapers against the bewitching orange sky. On his left, A dirty road where clout of slum dwellers nourish dreams as high as those skyscrapers. Indeed, India is a diverse country. He heard a weird pissing noise. It was the pissing sound that pissed the Patriot. The passer-by was answering his nature call in public.
The Man was scared like a celebrity involved in a scandal. He wanted to be clean from this torment so kicked his modesty like Ronaldo and sprayed. He bathed this stranded brick wall with his urine. Dear panditji, can you fix a time a for my public ostracizing and purifying this brick wall? No, you are too busy in fooling your bhakts that you have done 21 days fast but you are simply pooping out your food at a faster rate. Poopooopooo…
A portly police man marched over to this confident man. He used his beating baton and spanked this fool. The man did not lose his sinking heart and paid him Rs.300 from his denim pocket. The policeman looked here and there to scout any honest cop. He deftly took it and minded his own business.
Anant was livid. He thought of complaining about that portly policeman but a conscience hit him about that how tax evasions has caused many government servants to indulge in such unscrupulous dealing. He was pitying on that Policeman’s condition. He realized that he peed over his favorite hangout spot! He was in thundering anger like Rudra on steroids! He was fuming hot! He thought of chasing this youth but his angioplasty did not allow him to do any thrill of such nature. He calmed down. He removed his magnifying glass from his big-hearted fanny pack. He started walking like Sherlock Holmes hunting for evidence. He spied a passport-size photo of the peeing culprit. He tucked the photo inside his jean’s pocket and started walking towards his home.
The Buddha hoga tera baap party is an unregistered organization where every citizen’s woes especially senior citizen will be heard.
Anant enters his house. His party members were discussing different farts and its health benefits.
“I think farting shouldn’t be a societal taboo. I agree it stinks. It isn’t as bad as that high-class people scolding their own kind littering on roads and then posting video of shaming them for dirty roads.” Pyaare Lal waxes eloquence in not so eloquent topic.
“Pyaare Lal, I disagree. Farting is a symbol of our existence. We should follow certain social etiquettes on farting. It’s custom! We should follow it in the time of kalyug and hope for moksha. Hey prabhu!” Kamla counter argues and prays to God for moksha.
The debate ended when Anant commanded his presence in the lively room. Such a charisma. He helloed his eager fan with a wave. He wowed his fan with his speech.
“My party members, we have a problem. I was walking around our favourite hangout. I was amazed at a young fellow peeing on our favourite hangout! It is heartbreaking to see slum dwellers’ settlements getting infected with their urine. It is violating one’s dignity. My country and its fellow servants are trying their best to solve this sanitation problem by building new toilets in every nook of our country. What are we doing?” They were stunned by Anant’s fervor and clapped. Jyestha ashram was thundering with the loud applause.
Anant grabs a notebook and start penning his plan of action. He sends the man’s photo.
He types a message: Let’s meet in zeytoon @ 4:30 pm sharp.”
Meet the vasooli gang
Zeytoon is an Iranian café that serves scrumptious dishes like Maska bun and many more. Anant wore a vibrant neon track pant and paired it with crisp white shirt. It was a head turner. He sits amongst the most incomprehensible group. A beefcake. A girl with mobility issue. Two transgenders.
“Guys, how are you all?” asked the ever charismatic Anant.
“Fine” shouted the incomprehensible group in unison. Unity in Diversity.
“Vasooli gang, I have called you for a reason. Yesterday, I was on my evening stroll. I saw this handsome oaf peeing in my favorite hang-out spot. Our government tries it level best to make toilets available anywhere but some high-class people who can pronounce roksanda ilincic spray their Eau de toilette anywhere they want. I want to teach that man a lesson.” Announces Anant.
“Uncle, what is Roksanda ilincic? It bounced over my head like tennis ball.” Questioned the aspiring actress, Champa.
“Some fashion designer. You should work on your English. Otherwise, star kids will be on vogue cover instead of you.” Explained the kind wheel chair girl, Zeena.
“Let’s come back to business. I have seen this guy before. His name is Sonu. My friend, Alia visits him every day at his house. I told her to take photo of his Aadhaar card as suggested by Zeena.” Asma tells the rest of her gang member.
“I used his Aadhar card number to trace his income tax returns. I hacked every bank’s directory to find any account named after him. There are many sonu’s but Alia’s information matched his bank details like his home address and mobile no. I think this man has done some shady dealing. Maybe, I am just exaggerating his evilness,” reported Zeena.
“Good work.” Praised Anant.
“Ahmed, you know the drill. Tell your butcher boys to put on their best pant-suit. Please inform them that they are not going to someone’s wedding.” Instructed Anant to the beefcake.
“I have an idea. Alia told me that her sister is 2 weeks pregnant. I can request her to bring her urine sample and put a drop of it on that preganews device.” Suggested Asma.
“Wow! My child, you are learning my ropes!” praised Anant.
“Thank you, Uncle” replied Asma with pure humility.
Anant was happy with his gang member. He has talent for finding right kind of people.
“I was thinking of selling Muraba. We will call it Ma’s special. It will show that India is home of diverse fruits that can be as homely and healthy at same time. Ganju can shop for fresh fruits and vegetables to make our jam.” Suggested Leela. Tid-bit about Leela. She has known Anant for several decades. She like Anant never married. No wonder, she aged well.
“I don’t like Muraba. It is too sticky and yucky. How about selling wrist cuff? Today’s generation are getting kinky.” Suggested naughty Pyarelal.
Everyone glared at Pyarelal. He recoils. No one loves poor Pyarelal.
“Pyarelal, you are a sleaze ball. You think you are cool like Anant? You are bloody fool. You can never be Anant. Leela, we should go by your idea.” Said Manmohan. He never talks much. Albeit his words are usually voice of reason.
Pyarelal stormed out of the hall. I have to console him. Leela pitches her muraba idea to some wheel-chaired geek girl. She nods her and gives her permission to raise money for pee-repellant paint.
Next day, Jyeshta ashram was stockpiled with bags of cloves, cardamom, sugar and vibrant fruits. The jute bags can feed an entire army of do-gooders. Ladies were mixing umpteen amount of sugar, fruits and spices to give it a sweet viscosity. The aroma overpowered the room with its graceful presence. It gave everyone sense of fulfilment. The men were filling the jar with precision. Some naughty men taste the jam with bare fingers and got a sweeping whack from the empowered ladies.