Dirty old men

Santa Singh and Banta Singh sat brooding about their future, it looked gloomy. After a long spell of silence, the gentlemen, both in the twilight of their life and career began to discuss the events that had changed the course of their lives.

“The entire country wants to see my mole. It was in the PMO (perceived mildly offensive) area of my body, now it is in a very secret place. The media, public, parliament, all of them want to know where the mole is. I offered to whisper it into the wise-guy’s ear, but he didn’t comply. How can I just say it on national television with all the saas-bahus watching? It is my call to honour, after all!” Santa said in his acquired diplomatic tone.

“But Sirjee, why did you bring it up now after 10 years, wasn't it your duty to deal with it earlier? And that too in your book?” asked a puzzled Banta.

“I was protecting the sanctity of its beholder, I have some sense and decency. Besides it would not boost my book sales like it is now. After reading my book ‘A call of horror’ everyone is scared and crying. They are angry at me now for telling the truth.”

“Yes, it wasn’t like you were under any oath or anything. No one appreciates talent here in India!” Banta exclaimed.

“Even the American’s deny knowledge of any mole, which is a complete lie. They have the most famous and sexiest mole, Cindy Crawford’s upper-lip aberration, how can they forget that.” thundered Santa while trying to picture the beautiful mole.

Banta got up urgently, dhoti firmly grasped in one hand and soothing his throat with the other.
“Santa do you have some oil, my throat has gone dry.”

Santa obliged, he empathized with Banta as they were both caught in a curious predicament. Both felt lonely, at this point. Santa’s parivar refused to talk to him and Banta was about to be thrown out of his familia. It was unfortunate, as they both were extremely loyal to their bosses.

“Only if I had waited till retirement”, murmured Santa, quietly to himself. He thought of calling up his doctor to have his mole surgically removed, but he was too embarrassed.

“My son Jaggu wanted some oil to play with his friends. I could not hurt his feelings, could I? I was only being a good father, and they say that I did something wrong. Such insensitive jerks I work with.” Banta said giving vent to his grief.
“Look at Arjun; he has no reservations about sleeping in the parliament. At least I did some work!”

“They made a report about it too.” interjected Santa thoughtfully.

“Yes, what could I do? He made me an offer I could not refuse! Now the Italian Mafia won’t protect me” said Banta with a sigh.

“Most unfortunate, I must say. It happens to the best of us. It is our Karma, destiny. ” comforted Santa.

“Now I can not stand it anymore. I will reveal everything. I will break my omerta, the ‘consigliere’ must fall.” An angered Banta proclaimed, with his fist in the air. He thought of his sweet son who twiddled his thumb and was always playing with the atypical cleft in his chin.

“Don’t act in such haste.” cautioned Santa. “We should join forces and write a book. Think of all the publishing deals and multi-million dollar movie contracts. Wah! What do you think my Stephanian brother; we are the same at a mole-cular level!”

“And we can oust all the skeletons in everyone’s expensive closets which are paid for by the taxpayer’s money. But what will we call the book?”

“We can call it ‘A foreign affair to remember’” said Santa excitedly. His mouth was now salivating at the thought of all the money he would make.

“We will be a hit jodi, like Munnabhai and Circuit. Who needs a party, we’ll have a ball together. Bole to ekdum jhakass!”

“Sahi hai Maamu. Yeh leh ek jaadu ki jhappi!”

P.S. At the time of publishing, Banta and his son Jaggu were indicted in the oil-for-food scam. Santa was relieved that all the attention was now on Banta, so he could now breathe a bit easy.