Another thing: She writes a funny blog which, if there was no ‘Bullying the Bollywood’ campaign on at this point in time, would have elicited genuine giggles and not nervous laughter.

The disclosures of the dark drug-induced goings-on in the slippery grey underbelly of Bollywood are heartbreaking: ‘O! Not you Deepika, Prakash Padukone would now not be able to step into a badminton court without somebody shouting from the stands, “Maal Hai Kya?”

‘And you’ve so much riding on your willowy frame. It’s cruel. Conned by Whatsapp! Lulled into complacency with end to end encryption” and all that bull! No wonder terrorists and conmen have switched to Telegram and Signal.’

By the way, lots of people in the D-fan fold do not believe Padmavati could sink to such a bottomless pit. Not possible. Can’t be the wholesome truth. Whatsapp conspiracy? Unimaginable dirt. Confused people: ‘D for Dawood’ or ‘D for Deepika.’

What’s the explanation? Deepika was born in Copenhagen not in Dongri or some such god-starved gangster place in ‘Mayanagari.’ Dhoti-clad right of centre bhakt scum must be behind the antisocial elements manning primetime TV.

Yakking, yapping mouths distributing ‘gyan’ on toxic viewing (TV). There’s some bright guy, a Smart Alec, who is planning and conducting the whole damn shebang – ‘Operation Vilify Bollywood.’

The names of victims are proof of the deliberate targeting… None of them fall in the saffron square. Not Rhea Chakraborty. Not Shradda Kapoor. And, of course, not Sara Ali Khan of Pataudi.

And why pull the director into disrepute. The ‘A-lister’ heroines love him. His two ex-wives adore him. He’s a self-proclaimed ‘feminist’ and his ‘Gangs of Wasseypur’ might have been cutthroat, but not him, gentle and caring storyteller.

Mr. Rant-n-Rave in the republic could be Smart Alec except that he doesn’t have the brains to mount such an elaborately planned farce though inn terms of toxicity he fits the bill and the world hasn’t seen such a poisonous anchor in 100 years. But, then, how old is TV and primetime, less than 100 years?

Nonetheless and nevertheless, this so-called TV journalist is a menace to the nation and to journalists and journalism. He’s turns and twists to the shape of an ugly snake and he sits and shouts and rants and raves such that you want him to have chik-chik in his throat.

And his team of reporters? Ugh. Most are non-journalists with no idea what journalism is. One of them gives chase to Rhea Chakraborty’s Audi, with a hand holding a mic hanging from the car window, and you hear him ask Rhea, who is her car and cannot hear or see him, “Rhea, tell us what you told the NCB, tell us Rhea…”

Crazy! But that’s how it is. This Mumbai Masala Madness in the republic! You should see this chap anchoring ‘Poochta Hai India’ to get an idea. But watch it you don’t fall. There’s the danger. Your chair might do a somersault. It’s that funny.

He sits. He stands. He rolls up his sleeves. He bangs his fists on the table. He swings up his arms, akimbo. He glares. He threatens. He shouts ‘shut up.’ He does and says everything but have a heart attack. A cardiac arrest. A brain stroke.

His primetime show gets the highest TRP, which tells us something about ourselves… Something revealing. Perhaps, even disgusting. The difference between him and the rest of us is that he’s got a channel to channelize and we don’t. In his own words, he works his a** off and the rest of us laze around. That’s the breaking news!

Let that be as it is, the fact of the matter is, this chap should be stopped in his tracks or brought a notch or two down if television journalism doesn’t want to end up in the ICU. This guy behaves like a lout on TV. He rants and raves like he is on weed. The Press Council should take note and order action or the NCB should check his Whatsapp chats. Put a halt to this breaking news! (IPA Service)