Deepika was shocked. The last thing she expected was a call from Jayalalitha. They had been friends when they were younger. And had waltzed through many stages of their lives as besties.

But a call! Now! What could be wrong?

This was least expected. Out of the blue! Sure they had been friends. Soul Sisters even. Yes, Deepika knew for instance when Jayalalitha ‘matured’. Not the day mind you but the moment. They had both rushed to ‘paati’ and ‘maami’ with the news. And were surprised when the two older ladies exchanged knowing looks and actually laughed.

Of course Deepika felt superior because she was a couple of years older. And was blossoming at a pace that left Jayalalitha breathless. But Jayalalitha, damn her more buxom built, always had the advantage when it came to her bustline. Even while Deepika was wearing the skirty langa jacket, Jayalalitha had graduated to the more erotic half sari. And soon she had mastered the art of letting her pallu drop to give the admiring men around a cheeky glimpse of her burgeoning bust.

Deepika was by constitution a slimmer child and developed a breastline only when she was 16 or something. Her teacher consoled her and explained to her that it was because of her tennis. Hours spend on the tennis court meant that her vision remained flat and so did her chest. But how come Sania Mirza...her question used to fade out when confronted with the disapproving looks her mom gave her whenever she began to get physical in her line of questioning.

Come to think of it, they had lost touch after school. Both went to different colleges. They spoke once when Jayalalitha sent Deepika a photograph of her man. He is too old, said Deepika, and why is he wearing dark glasses? Is he blind? Then she went on to say that she thought the man looked like a failed Mafia Don.

That was too much for Jayalalitha. She erased every memory of Deepika. And decided to concentrate on her career. Soon she became a leader. And immediately after her man died of old age she was anointed as the Numero Uno in the party.

Even then Deepika kept her distance.

What she didn’t know was that Jayalalitha was following her closely but from a distance. And Jayalalitha had become a crudely corrupt machine. Gone were the days of ideals and hope. She had slowly but irrefutably slipped into an insane orbit where her ugly cape could not hide her corrupt ways. But she was convinced that it was a cloak of respectability.

And now she was being arrested. Taken to jail. Stripped of all her positions, all her power. Even her lesbian housemaid was being penalised. And she had no idea if they would let her share her prison cell with her faithful Sashi.

It was on her drive to the prison that she read the paper. And in it parts that did not pertain to her. Because she had a team selecting items only of her interest...and that meant items that spoke favourably about her...every morning. No other item was important, and worth her attention.

But today she saw the news coverage of Deepika’s cleavage. What!!!

When did the poor child develop cleavage? My God, could she have learnt to handle it? And how come...how come her cleavage was getting more attention than her corruption.

If only...if only, she thought...if only she had leaked a few pictures of her voluptuousness. What had he called them...Mount Everest and Kanchenjunga? She giggled at the memory and remembered how she had paid homage to his Kailash Parbat.

Maybe the people would ignore her corruption.

Could Deepika take it easy for a few days with her cleavage? It was important that the people get a chance to discuss and debate her corruption. She needed media support more than she had ever needed it.

Deepika started to get angry. The cheek of the woman!!!

Then she decided it was just not worth it. She gently disconnected the call.