A day in the life of Narendra Modi
7 am: Wrote a spot of poetry. It’s absolute rubbish, as always, but people will buy anything written by me. They adore me. Poetry apart, if I could publish all the fiction I order my state officials to write as statistics, I would instantly knock ChetanBhagat off the bestseller lists. Sweet boy, though. I love people who adore me.
8 am: Had fab workout at akhara— my broad chest rocks! Now deciding what to wear. A scarf by Gucci or Fendi? Or should I go ethnic? Must look terrific. All the Gujju mummies and their teenage daughters think I’m hotter than Salman Khan. Someday I’ll go shirtless and blow their minds. That’s bound to cause another riot — a more serious one this time, ha ha.
9 am: An ‘A’ List industrialist just called. Thanked me profusely for giving him a thousand acres of prime land at the rate of Rs 5 per acre.
9.30 am: Dhokla and besan ka laddoofor breakfast. No nice reports in the national dailies about me today. Some stupid columnist has just said that the only vibrant things about Gujarat are those gaudy turbans that I wear. Hate it when they keep saying I’m just a gas bag.
10 am: Heads of state machinery came and touched my feet and asked me what I’d like them to do for me today. Love this morning ritual best!
12 pm: Another ‘A’ List industrialist just called. Thanked me effusively for giving him three thousand acres of prime land at a throwaway price.
1 pm: Rajma-chawal, pickled onions and papadfor lunch. Must get used to North Indian food. After all, my move to Delhi is inevitable. Not enjoying lunch, though, that gas bag remark still rankles.
2 pm: Checking mail. Have put daily hate mail from annoying human rights groups and NGO-types into the paper shredder as usual. Pesky machchars! There was a whiny letter from my wife too. Says she now has a double PhD (astrophysics and biology) and can she please, please, please come back? Sent a stern reply saying that unless she wins at least three Nobel prizes in literature, mathematics and geology she is only fit to teach and live at the local pathshala I banished her to. Oooh, there are also piles and piles of letters from Gujju mummies and their teenage daughters declaring undying love for me! Must put them on my bedside table. I love reading fan mail before I sleep. Occasionally, it’s nice to read something other than MeinKampf.
3 pm: Googling self on internet. Ever since I lied to students at SRCC about the wonders I have wrought in Gujarat, there are a lot of Rajnikanth-type jokes about me. These
What does Rajnikanth say when he’s shocked? OMM (Oh My Modi)!
One day a meteor was hurtling towards India. Modi sneezed and it was flung towards Russia’s Ural Mountains.Uh, oh. I’m not too sure I like these, though:
Modi is actually Tarzan in disguise. That’s why he always thumps his chest like an aggressive ape.
Hurricane Sandy was created by Modi because the US still hasn’t given him a visa.
4 pm: Tea break with snacks (besanganthias). Had a long video conference with my PR agency in the US about that nasty gas bag statement in the papers today. They said they will work hard on it.
5 pm: Someone from the EU called. They want to do business with me. Boy, oh boy, I’m getting popular! Maybe Delhi is too small for me. I should start preparing myself for Washington. All the Gujju mummies and their teenage daughters there will definitely vote for me. I need a visa and green card first, but it’s only a matter of time. Arrey, money always scores over ethics. That’s what I tried to teach those gullible SRCC kids too.
6 pm: A ‘C’ List industrialist just called. Silly man complained that I charged him much, much more for land than I charge the ‘A’ & ‘B’ listers. Hello, why should I bother to do favours for him? As if the media will get hysterically excited if a nobody like him calls me a modern-day Gandhi?
8 pm: Besan curry with pakodas for dinner, North
Indian- style. Wonder if the PR agency has sorted out the gas bag problem yet.