It all began when I viewed the trailer of the first MSG film and being quite a horror movie buff, I was hooked.
I started asking people to join my MSG club and come with me to catch the first day, the first show of the good Baba’s cinematic outing. I urged them to meet me at PVR Juhu wearing special T-shirts emblazoned with the good Baba’s face that you could buy online for Rs 375.
Since I am no godman, con man, or for that matter any sort of man at all, I got no applicants till finally, three of my friends decided to help me save face and joined the MSG club.
As a staunch member, I began writing letters to Maggi to put MSG (also known as monosodium glutamate) back into their noodles, despite my breaking into nasty hives upon ingesting the rather toxic substance.
I also regularly listened to his songs with lyrics like, ‘You are the Love Charger, billions battery when goes down you charged up with love so strong.’
Time passed and my dream of meeting my idol almost turned into a reality. One day, I was at the Marriott when I discovered that Dr. Gurmeet Ram Rahim Singh Insan had taken over the presidential suite, as well as dozens of rooms for a fortnight. I guess he probably needed the extra space even if it was to just store his mammoth name.
My Parsi assistant rather spitefully refused to let me linger in the lobby waiting for a glimpse of my idol. But after I cursed her with ‘I hope vultures eat you alive soon!’ before realizing that there wasn't any left to eat even the dead, she grudgingly let me take a picture with MSG’s lurid green convertible parked right outside.
A year later, while I was on my daily walk around the neighbourhood, and in the midst of arguing with people who were competing in what seemed like a long-distance betel juice spitting contest, I saw a convoy of cars and heavy police security. The Love Charger had moved into my neighbourhood. I feverishly posted about my new neighbour along with pictures of garlanded bottles of Chinese seasoning. Soon enough, his top aide got hold of my number and, politely, asked me to shut the hell up.
It’s not the first time I’ve been at the receiving end. I had once written a satirical column about a good woman and her friends in high places called up my mother telling her that it would be safer for me to zip my lip.