'You better get into shape...' belched a short fused,unruly and rude egg laying fowl from the saffron poultry.
'Round is a shape and I am in good shape' rebuked the railway track mustache sporting, lead nanny of the withering Lotus pack.
This was not an uncommon scene at the Gadkari hatcheries, where eggs of all colours, hues and most importantly, various degrees of social rot, hatch to enter the Lotus tribe of vote mongering. They were blessed with the perfect nanny, the custodian of their blue print for life: A gentlehen... devoid of anything remotely gentle; a visionary- blind as a bat to the present, let alone the unseen future and above all humble.. to his own interests of course. So to say, the eggs were indeed in the right basket.
The proverbial nanny of improverbial wonder, rolled around in 'maternal' ease. This stroll of honour ended in a far corner of the hatchery. The 'Gut-curry' turned around, scanned the environment and then gently, using his pedicured talons, moved the hay to reveal a wooden egg resting on a plastic lotus !!!
The bird of infinite optimism smiled.On the wooden replica was inscribed in invisible ink 'Prime Minister'. This was indeed the egg of hope and succor to the fowl (foul) of ambition. He quickly hoisted his generous constitution and placed between those delicate legs of generous volume, the dream he harboured.
Having settled down in absolute comfort, he closed his eyes to dream about the post hatch luxury and the life associated.The smile illustrated it all.
Suddenly, this flight of fantasy was grounded by another unruly howl from the neighbourhood.
''COCK-A -DOODLE-DO'' screeched the 'moody' Gujarati nanny from the neighboring hatchery.The smile on the lead fowl face faded away, turning into a cold scorn. The cry had upset his piling egg cart.The neighbour, in true politeness, only tried to remind him.... not so fast my friend, roosters don't hatch eggs.