We've finally done it. Learnt to go to bed like good children by 9, ie. Even David Guetta couldn't stop us. He tried, I hear. Flailed his arms about and even said endearing things like "India is... 'ow to say... ze best country I 'ave evair visited-uh", in a bid to make the audience stay on. But the audience wasn't convinced. "We love you David", they were heard muttering. "But no. My fother will scold because Monday I have 9th std supplementary exam. Her mother will beat because tomorrow morning-morning Satyanarayana pooje is there. Kindly understand our position. Good night."
That's the real story, but I believe there was an official story that was doing the rounds. It involves palace intrigue, 1412 luggage autos and teleportation. And this is the story that shall now be told for all the world to hear.
So when it was known that the Guetter was slated to perform from 7-11pm at the palace grounds last week (with full BBMP permission, mind it), the Party Machas squealed in delight and spiked their hair in anticipation. The Macha Parties rolled their eyes, rubbed their balding scalps ruefully and downed another pint. The former outnumbering the latter by a ratio of 47:1 thus launched into a mad scramble for tickets. Several tubes of Set Wet were used to distract potential ticket buyers, but not a hair was turned, I hear.
This excitement was not restricted to the macha fraternity. All of Bangalore wanted to be at the Palace Grounds that night. In fact, just so everyone had an international performer to admire, a famous liberal cleric from Pakistan was invited to conduct an Islamic discourse at the same venue.
Really? You ask. Really, I reply. The Bengaluru Polisu in its magnanimity had, in a pathbreaking populist move, approved both applications with its new "COMMAN FRIENDS YENJAAY" red stamp, reserved for such august occasions.
Both parties, unbeknownst to each other, shot off letters of thanks to the dept, expressing satisfaction at the prompt clearance of their applications. The organizers of the cleric's discourse mentioned that its 2 Lakh attendees had a feelin' that the night was gonna be a good good night. The Guetta ghetto sent a thank you e-card to the dept too, appreciating its prompt action and highlighting the various parts of the evening. It would contain a hair spiking segment, a shirt unbuttoning session and finally, a nice long disco-course.
A sleuth from the dept analysed these letters of commendation and put them away in a special drawer marked VIP, for future reference. That evening, when the agent drew the letters out of the said item of clothing for a closer look, he realised with a start that there might be a small issue at hand.
Both events were scheduled on the same night and at the same time. Not a very good idea, he realised. The discourse attendees might not take too kindly to the dulcet strains of 'I want to do the needful to you all night', emerging from 600m away. It wouldn't be fair to expect the Guetta group to Gel with their devout brethren and sisteren next door either. They'd probably have exhausted a year's supply of product on their own hair already.
An urgent meeting of both organizers was called. Applications were re-sent and re-stamped. After a civilized exchange of pehle-aaps, a decision was taken to stagger the events thus:
An urgent meeting of both organizers was called. Applications were re-sent and re-stamped. After a civilized exchange of pehle-aaps, a decision was taken to stagger the events thus:
Guetta would do the aforementioned to you all evening only. From 5pm to 8:15pm. There would then be a respectable scramble for the exits, lasting precisely half an hour. The 3000 fans of the Guetta concert would then be teleported home, replaced by 200,000 equally enthusiastic fans from all over Islamic India. After which the benign cleric would take over until 11:30pm. Wishful thinking?
Apparently not. It worked. Like a charm. 203,000 happy people woke up the next day to a bright eyed and bushy tailed world. The newspaper offices wrung their hands in despair as they had reserved 3 columns each, to wail about unruly mob scenes at the venue. The columns were promptly filled up with detailed analyses on the importance of owning at least 6 pairs of aviator sunglasses and a manpurse.
So anybody who has anything to say about Blr Polisu's supreme event coordination techniquesu may kindly eat gobi manchuri.
And hello, what are you doing up so late? Go to bed instantly.
