If anyone out there has been harboring a desire to get cozy with Sanjay Dutt’s daughter, this is the time to act on it. She’s sad; she’s vulnerable; her dad’s in the slammer; and from what her photos suggest she has all the qualities of a compulsive eater. And as scientists have proven, fat chicks are the easiest ones to trick into taking their panties off, provided you don’t count aspiring actresses, feminists, chambermaids, teenage Catholic girls, and, of course, Nayanthara. And while considerate individuals like you and I are plotting how to get some Dutt poon, the rest of India have been doing what they have been doing best for the last few centuries- arguing with each other about what and who is right and wrong. Only this time, Bollywood is in the picture as well.                

                The pro-verdict Indians and the pro-Dutt Indians debated hard on the topic of whether or not the sentence Dutt got was fair. A grammarian, also a member of the pro-Dutt campaign criticized the judge’s sentence, accusing it of being structurally imperfect and lacking any kind of punctuation whatsoever. He was later asked by his fellow campaigners to refer the dictionary and look up the second meaning of the word “sentence”. The humiliated grammarian then returned to his classroom and took it out on his students by chaining them to their desks and beating the shit out of them. The pro-verdict Indians, consisting of self-loathing middle class people (excluding the middle class boy John Abraham), raised the important point that all rich people are crooks and that such rich people, especially if they are famous also, should be punished severely without any clemency. Bollywood stars who heard this decided that they wouldn’t take this lying down; so they bent over and took it in the doggie position. And when they realized that it hurt their assholes too much they decided to voice their protests. A gamut of emotions flooded the television screens. Anger, sadness, speechlessness, dejection, resilience, and eroticism flowed out of the expressive faces of our country’s finest cine artists. Frankly speaking, it was some of the best work they had done. 

                The pro-verdict Indians, although sensitive and intelligent, did not feel a smidgeon of sympathy for the multi-millionaire Bollywood actor Sanjay Dutt and felt that he shouldn’t have done the crime if he wasn’t prepared to do the time. They held their heads high and supported the legal system of our country which was true enough to not spare a rich brat like Dutt who was guilty of possessing a gun without a license; the same legal system who gives instant bail to Shiv Sena activists after they torture and harass random people without giving them a trial of any kind; the same legal system which salvaged the innocence of the two accused in the Nithari killings, who, in all probability, sodomized and chopped up over twenty children purely unintentionally. The system was just enough to realize the innocuous thought that went behind the two dozen murders. Much like how the system foresaw the potential carnage that Sanjay Dutt would’ve caused with the weapon he possessed, allegedly to protect his family.                  

                 The pro-Dutt Indians claimed that sentencing the man who brought the spirit of Gandhi back to our hearts to six years in prison was like slapping the cheek of the Mahatma himself. The pro-Dutt Indians, including actors from Bollywood, demanded that taking into consideration the impact and the theme of Dutt’s hit movie, he ought to receive special consideration from the court. Dawood Ibrahim seconded this demand and also announced that his debut movie titled “Dawood loves Gandhi” would be releasing later this year.                 

                 Meanwhile, Sanjay Dutt sat alone inside his cell drenched in sadness wishing he could go back in time and correct his mistakes. Especially the mistake of spending millions in visiting temples and shrines praying to God when he should actually have got into a plane and hid in some exotic island. He put his head down and shed a drop of sincere tear; as soon as the teardrop hit the dank floor of his prison he felt a strange energy enter his cell. He lifted his head and encountered the most amazing sight he had seen in his entire life- even more amazing than Urmila’s bulging titties in Daud. Sitting next to him inside his cell was Mahatma Gandhi himself. Dutt bowed his head before the Mahatma and asked pleadingly, “Tell me Bapu, why me? I suffered so much already in my life but it never seems to stop. I lost both my parents; I lost my wife; I’ve already been in prison once for over a year; and now, after I’ve been so righteous in my actions, I’m back in prison. And that too for possibly the six most significant years of my life. What is the meaning of all this?” The Mahatma looked straight into Dutt’s teary eyes and said, with a warm, caring smile on his lips, “I got fucking assassinated right after I achieved the single greatest feat in the history of mankind and you’re whining to me about getting some jail time for a crime you actually committed? Grow some balls, man. I understand you deserve a lot better than this but don’t we all? At least, you don’t have to watch your own children starve to death right in front of you; nor do you have to worry about when your child is going to get raped when she walks alone from school because you can’t afford a fucking vehicle. Sure you got it bad, but there are more miserable bastards out there. Unfortunately, life’s a giant ass that won’t stop shitting on you. And the people who run your country, no matter which nation you’re from, will always act as laxatives. So suck it up.” Dutt watched, with bulging eyes and an open mouth, the spectral figure of Gandhi get up and leave his cell. Before Gandhi completely disappeared he turned back and said, “I almost forgot, could you do me a favor?” Dutt jolted from his shocked stupor and replied, “Of course, Bapu, anything.” Gandhi looked at Dutt and said in a slightly irked tone, “If you ever run into Anil Kapoor or Akshaye Khanna tell those hairy-ass fags to fuck off and go to hell. I gave those pricks their independence. The least that they can do is not commercialize my personal life.” And then the Father of our Nation disappeared.  

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