“It’s my birthday they tell me. They tell me that I got to pick myself up and smile. It’s hard. I manage a plastic smile somehow, my mind is whirling.”
It’s alright Kejriwal, Sisodia says in his reaffirming fatherly voice. I feel better. Aashutosh wipes the sweat beads that have formed on my forehead. I nervously pop my paranoia pills. Someone is shouting in the verandah. Is it Modi? Is he finally here?
“It’s not Modi Kejriwal” says Kapil Mishra, its Nitish Kumar. He has come all the way from Patna.
I ask for a glass of water. Inhale-exhale-inhale-exhale, that’s what they told me at the Vipassana center in Dharmashala.
“Why don’t you retweet some troll images on Twitter Kejriwal, it’s your birthday people are tagging you in all sorts of nonsense” Sisodia again in his reaffirming fatherly voice.
“Bring me my Ipad”, I command.
“My Ipad is here, I feel alive again. I click the greenish blue bird on the homescreen. This is my homeground full of tiny messages, most of which command no credibility. I like it here.” I tell myself.
“Check the notifications Kejriwal” Sanjay Singh says. I jump up in fright. Was he lurking in the corner?
“Arrey he is Sanju yaar, Kejriwal. What’s wrong with you?” Sisodia wraps his arm around me. I snuggle up against his chest and cry. Are they right? Am I finally paranoid now?
“Has Modi wished me?” I ask, fully knowing what the answer will be.
“Yup, also prayed for you long life” says Kumar Vishwas in sneering tone, are these guys teleporting from somewhere? And I have never liked this lanky poet, he is a closet Sanghi, most probably on Modi’s payroll.
“Kejriwal come to the hall, the cake is here and the AAPTARDS too. It’s easy, go there cut the cake, smile for the cameras, come back here and retweet for the rest of the day.” Sisodia commands.
“Okay…I will…I am fine Mani” I say and pick myself up again.
“Leave the Puma shoes here Kejriwal, I’ll get your chappals. Remember you always wear chappal in public gatherings” Kapil Mishra says.
“Okay” I say with a nervous smile.
Finally I am decked up. Though I am fat as a farm hen now, I still look like an activist. I head out for the living room. They have decorated it nicely. A nice green pistachio cake on the center table awaits. They have decorated the walls with green balloons. I smile naturally now.
There are so many people. I don’t know them. I scoot and hide behind Sisodia.
“Arrey Kejriwal these are our Twitter Activists, the 50Paise/Tweet Activist? You personally hired them for Punjab Elections. Kejriwal these are our people”. Sisodia says.
“Oh…well…okay..” I say and smile fretfully. They smile too. Has Modi planted his men? Can I trust all of them? I think I should. Sisodia never lies to me.
One of the Activists unsheathes a sword, a big menacing one, pure double edged valerian steel.
“OH MY GOD…SISODIA YOU LIED…I AM SO DEAD…THIS GUY HAS COME HERE TO KILL ME” I run towards the door. The closet Sanghi Vishwas grabs me. He is strong. He has been working out. I should never have trusted him.
“Kejriwal come back…this is just a knife…this is no sword” Sisodia shouted. Vishwas smiled his sneering smile again.
The sword magically transforms to a harmless knife. Have I been hallucinating? I am not Mad. Please.
Nitish Kumar is laughing too. He is a foxy dude. He cheated the Bihari Modi, he cheated Lalu, he cheated George Fernandis, and He cheated entire Bihar. He can cheat me too. I shouldn’t trust him”
They drag me to the cake, the harmless looking cake. Its green, it’s peaceful. I tell myself.
“Cut the Cake Kejriwal, AAPTARDS are waiting. They’ll tweet your pictures. You’ll get more followers. You’ll get more coverage in Media. Cut Kejriwal, cut the cake” Sisodia says. He is treating me like a child. He has always used Twitter as bait for me. Does he want to overthrow me and occupy the CM Chair? No he is a fine chap. He is not like YoYa or PraBhu. Those were the bad guys. AAP is free of evil.
“Okay Okay I will cut the cake”
I blow the candles. They clap. They are clicking every single frame. I pose for the camera. I am aiming for a nice spot now to cut the cake from the middle.
Bombs go off. One after the other. My head is spinning. I crash to the Floor. Very neat Modi, you planted a bomb in my cake. OH MY GOD, I AM DONE.
I run again and dodge Vishwas this time. I have to save the world from Modi and for that I need to stay alive.
Kejriwal….you fool…come back…tards were bursting the balloons…it’s a frigging ritual you fool…Come back”
I AM NOT COMING BACK…I AM NOT…I AM NOT GOING TO CELEBRATE MY BIRTHDAY. I NEED TO LIVE.