Knock, knock.

Who’s that?

Ashwani.

Ashwani who?

Kumar, the law minister.

What minister?

Law, law

(Music in background suddenly grows louder: “Merey to law lag gaye; ha ha samjhe... merey to law lag gaye)

What’s that music? Please turn down the volume.

Don’t know THAT? It’s by Bappi Lahiri; from the film Jolly LLB. It’s about a small-town lawyer who takes up a big case and is at a fix on how to fix things. We thought you would be listening to it these days...

What are you talking about? Why is it so important? What garbage of a song (in angry tone).

(Song changes: “O jaaney-wale ho sakey toh lautke aana...)

STOP THAT, I tell you. What’s wrong with you people? And why aren’t you guys opening up?

What do you want?

What would I want? It’s the prime minister’s office (PMO), and who would I come here to meet? The gardener or the barber?

Both are out. We mean, sorry, we mean, the PM is out.

But why aren’t you opening the door? Am I supposed to stand here till the reporters hear this conversation?

Sorry boss, the last time you came in, you left a huge mess. The supreme court is still fuming. And anyway, we don’t have any documents that need your scrutiny now.

What do you mean you don’t have documents? Has the PMO stopped working?

Yes, temporarily till the air clears over what the supreme court observations mean. And any, we have decided to vet all our documents in-house; outsourcing editing work is dangerous in present circumstances.

But why aren’t you opening the door? Is the prime minister’s office out of bounds for the law minister now?

(Background music restarts: “Merey to law lag gaye; ha ha samjhe... merey to law lag gaye”)

STOP THAT GARBAGE RIGHT AWAY. Else I will go to Madam G.

(Music stops right away; sounds of whispering grows louder)

Now what are you guys discussing?

We got word from Madam G’s officials as well. They will also not open the door at number 10.

(Swears under breath) Why?

Because we are yet to figure out how hot a hot potato should be before it is thrown away.

But I have not come here to either resign or design draft reports. Those things are best left to law officers.

Please check with Diggy-ji for more. We have orders.

Cut the nonsense. The boss has been mute for nearly nine years. How can he suddenly grow a voice and issue orders?

Off the record, you are bang on. On record, you might not be far off the edge of the cliff on which truth is perched precariously. Anyway, our orders come from Madam G.

Madam G asked you not to open the door?

No, we are scared. Someone knocked the door in the morning, said he is pee ke Bansal. We were scared. How can you guys be inebriated during the day?

(Loud guffaw) That’s PK Bansal, PK. The railway minister. What was he here for?

We thought he had come to resign. The Boss said don’t open because we are all resigned. He is resigned to his fate; we are resigned to the dreadful fete that would follow his fateful fate.

You guys are losing it, I tell you. Okay, I am going bye.

Bye bye.

(Goes outside, gets gheraoed by reporters) Did you meet the PM, sir?

I did not meet the prime minister today.

Then why did you come to South Block? To get a shave?

No, I don’t like the barber in there.

(Cellphone rings: “Merey to law lag gaye...” Ringtone alarms reporters, who scurry to send an alert: Kumar goes from PMO to number 10. Will he resign?)