Who shall bell the cat?

She, Kangana Ranaut, thrives and noticeably succeeds in becoming a lifelong object of tabloidish news which, we, God knows why, pause, stand still and listen to her talking a mile a minute in a self-righteous authoritative tone. The lady speaks with such conviction, and since she believes that she is an expert in all things political, it is becoming clearer, with each passing day, that she is more of a politician and less of an actor. Cross that out, a politician with the histrionics of an actress dramatically portraying more mood than facts.
Playing fast and loose with data, records, documentation, or call it what you will. Am I getting it wrong, or is it that during the depths of the lockdown, Kangana has pulled out all stops ensuring high-visibility combined with a deafening voice-box?! And since I am penning this piece in the library, it would be befitting to chronicle, rather catalogue, Kangana’s overblown theatrics from here.
So, let us make a rushed list of what the lady has been saying. (I say “rushed”, because unless we don’t race, we shan’t be able to capture much of the many assertions or is pronouncements  the more apt word.) So shall we? Not quite two weeks ago, Kangana dear informs us that India had attained actual Independence in 2014 and not in the Year of the Lord 1947, as we, the poor ignorant public, had been made to believe. In 1947, the Independence granted was “bheekh”.
In other words, we had been given “alms”. Fine, one swallows this, dismissing it as loud-mouthed ranting and go on with the business of everyday living. This is followed by saluting, with resounding cheer, Indira Gandhi for having the guts to squish, “to crush Khalistanis like mosquitos”. Here, of course, she adds, this despite the damage Indira had done to Hindustan. Since last November, our farmers who had been demanding for the “sarkaar”  to lend them an ear, sitting on dharna for months on end, for their voices to be heard, were “terrorists who were trying to divide the country”.
This, methinks after singer Rihanna lamented over the otherwise fiddle-footed media not giving due camera footage to the plight of the kisans. Here, Kangana goes rabid—nails becoming claws one would say—calling Rihanna, “a fool” besides announcing that China was trying to colonise India! And when the Punjabi singer Diljit Dosanjh made known that he stood strong in support of the farmers, braving the cold, leaving their home and hearth to be heard, the lady without batting her mascara lashed-out eyelashes declared him anti-national, “a Khalistani”.
By the way, one may not be on any social handle, Twitter or what not, and the TV might be on in the background—a post-Covid scenario, since most of us have been confined to the house, and it playing like backdrop scenery, though on mute— the belligerent belle could still be heard. Whatever she spewed would be running by the TV’s airstrip in colourful print. In plainspeak, unless one has the telly off at all hours or at least never ever dares to switch on any news channel, resolutely makes up one’s mind not to read the papers (and here, not referring to the pull-out Page-3 genre sheets which have Bollywood stars going confessional without any trace of an inner life!) then one shan’t be bumping into Kangana at every twist and turn.
The question here is why give this Queen of Venom, Controversy or Bilge the platform?! Why is, whatever comes out of her mouth, so dutifully reported?! On this, after some more itemizing, detailing of her overplayed, stuffed shirt performances before binning them in the library’s archival corner.
After Sushant Singh Rajput’s demise, nearly a year and a half back, she cried foul, eyes bulging out concurrently so as to notarize her thesis.
Rajput knew too much of Bollywood’s underbelly and so was bumped off, her war-whoop. And she was readily willing to assist the Narcotics Control Bureau, to jump on the agency’s bandwagon to unearth the dirty truth. It was a different story that the NCB did not take her helping hand, and perhaps simply watched her war-dance. I have to throw sequencing to the winds, and just jot down whatever pops up in my head which has gone quite hazy with all this stand-on-your-head talk.
Karan Johar, no fan am I, of what to me, is his frothy, frivolous show, “Koffee with Karan”. Would not be able to make it halfway through a cappuccino if I have to sit through his giggly, light-headed, feather-brained show, with his frolicsome guests going giddy for a coffee hamper but Ms Ranaut bestowing upon him the title of Kingpin of the Movie Mafia? A man, who with the mere bid of his pinky finger could destroy an actor’s career as well as life! Seriously?! Then likening the bulldozing of her office in Mumbai by the municipal authorities to “an invasion by Babar”, with her office being a “Ram Mandir” that shall resurrect itself.
Shrieking from the top of her lungs that Mumbai now had morphed into Pakistan occupied Kashmir?! Howzzat?! Was this call to battle on account of her “daftar”  being razed to the ground?! And how about when she turned her attention to West Bengal?
So infuriated was the “I have a say on all matters Shrew” that when Mamata Banerjee won the elections, she beseeched Prime Minister Narendra Modi to use his “Virat Roop” of the early 2000 times to “tame” Mamata.
And with all this senseless slush being belched, I forget when this blathering babe of bunkum threatened to return her Padma Shri.
As stated before, why in heavens does the media think it is their diligent duty to report every word Eyeful Ranaut utters? And good gracious me, why on earth have I spent good-sized space talking of her, knowing that she need not be given an inch?
Honestly, who gives a monkey’s about what she thinks! Yet, since the heroine, for now, is top-of-the-pops, might think of running for cover lest she trains her guns on lesser mortals, like myself.