Incensed by PMO’s ban on Twitter accounts parodying Prime Minister Dr. Manmohan Singh’s official Twitter handle @PMOIndia, the person behind one of the handles @Indian_pm decides to reach out to those behind the other parody accounts to share notes and discuss their next move. Through Twitter’s Direct Message (DM) utility, the people behind the four parody accounts (@Indian_PM, @PMOIndiaa, @PM0India, @DrYumYumSingh) decide to meet at a specific time in a Cafe Coffee Day outlet in South Delhi.
@Indian_pm is the first to arrive. He is seen wearing enormous sunglasses and a baseball cap, presumably to disguise himself. He looks around and finds the designated table at the left corner unoccupied.
“Looks like I’m the first,” he mutters, and walks over to the table, seats himself and starts tapping his fingers on the table impatiently.
15 minutes later, @Indian_pm looks a lot more impatient. He motions to the waiter.
“Why aren’t my friends here yet?” he demands angrily.
“How would I know, Sir?”
“Are you trying to avoid my question?”
Before the befuddled waiter could reply, the door to the Cafe swings open and in walks a tall gentlemen in a long dark overcoat, and a cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes. The gentleman stops at the entrance, and slowly turns his head from right to left, before stopping in the direction of @Indian_pm’s table. He strides towards @Indian_pm in a menacing fashion, until he is standing over him.
“I am @PMOIndiaa,” he squeaks.
“About time!” replies @Indian_pm. “I am @Indian_pm”
@PMOIndiaa sits down opposite @Indian_pm. The two look at each other for a minute, each waiting for the other to make a move.
“Okay!” says @Indian_pm finally. “At the count of 3, we take off our disguises ok? At the count of 3″
@PMOIndiaa nods to convey his assent.
“1…2…” counts @Indian_pm. “3!”
The two parodists flick off their hats and shades and stare at each other in shock.
“RAJDEEP, YOU!?!” shrieks @Indian_pm.
“ARNAB, YOU!?!” shouts @PMOIndiaa.
“Shh.. shh!” they urge each other simultaneously after their involuntary outbursts.
Keeping their heads low, they lean towards each other conspiratorially
“Can’t believe it is you behind one of these parody accounts,” scoffs Rajdeep. “Is this what you do when you are not demanding an answer on behalf of the nation?”
“Typical hypocritical Rajdeep!” retorts Arnab hotly. “What about you? During the day you make fun of the PM through an anonymous account and at night you make a programme on censoring anonymous Twitter accounts.”
“At least I can blame my wife and Old Monk for it,” retorts Rajdeep. “What’s your excuse?”
“Stop yelling for God’s sake,” scolds Arnab. “7 Race Course Road is only a few minutes from here. Never know when someone from the PM’s household would walk in on our conversation. We’d be in a big soup for what we’ve done.”
“What have you done?” asks a third voice.
Rajdeep and Arnab nearly leap out of their seats and sharply turn towards the source of the voice. Standing behind them is the Prime Minister’s better half, Mrs. Gurcharan Kaur.
“Mrs. Kaur! Such a pleasant surprise to see you here!” sputters Rajdeep.
“Likewise,” replies Mrs. Kaur coldly. “What are you guys doing here?”
“We are.. er.. just discussing how Twitter has changed the nature of media,” mumbles Arnab.
“Yeah?” says Mrs. Kaur with a raised eyebrow. “Or have you guys been making fun of my husband? I have been standing here for more than a minute”
Arnab’s face turns crimson, and Rajdeep’s purple. A look of utter alarm registers on their faces.
“Mrs. Kaur.. we… I…” whimpers Rajdeep.
Mrs. Kaur bursts out laughing at the expressions on their faces. “Relax guys. I am @DrYumYumSingh”
Alarm gives way to shock, and shock to delight, as the two journalists join Mrs. Kaur in her laughter.
“You too, Mrs. Kaur? This is unbelievable!” guffaws Rajdeep.
“What can I say?” laughs Mrs. Kaur. “For some time I tried to work some anger within myself at all the jokes people were cracking at Mannu. But I just couldn’t. It’s just too much fun poking jokes at Mannu. Not to mention highly addictive!”
The three laugh uproariously, settle down for some capuccino, and then proceed to share some of the best jokes they’d cracked from their respective parody accounts. The three obviously seem to be having a great time. Eventually the discussion turns to their still absent fourth member.
“Wonder who PM0india is?” says Arnab.
“Yeah, he was the most aggressive of us all. His tweets were vicious!” says Rajdeep. “I am sure it is some hard core right wing guy, probably some Modi chamcha”
At that moment, there’s a sudden commotion outside the Cafe. Everyone within the Cafe turns towards the windows. Two large police vans come to a stop on the road just outside the Cafe.
Arnab dives under the table. “Shit! It’s the police!” he whispers desperately.
“How the hell did they get to know? After all the precautions I took!” gasps Rajdeep.
“Let me call up Mannu and ask him to bail me out. Hae Rabba, he’ll give me a mind-numbing 5-hour lecture for this,” mutters Mrs. Kaur, rummaging within her handbag for her phone.
Two dozen policemen with automatic weapons spring out of the vans and rush into the Cafe. A few policemen stand guard at the corners of the cafe, while the rest line up in two rows facing each other and form a corridor towards the trio.
Through the corridor of gunmen, walks in one of the most recognizable faces in India.
“Hi guys,” says Dr. Manmohan Singh. “I am @PM0india.”