When Jasoos Narayanan Kutty spied on Rajdeep Sardesai

File No 109867/2005/330
Mission Media: Under cover in CNN-IBN

Excerpts from the case diary

SMELL THE COFFEE

Day 1 in office.

The Editor walks in, looks at the television screens in his cabin and shouts out , “Do we have this?”

“Yes sir,” the desk right outside replies promptly.

“Do we have this?”

“Long time back sir.”

“Do we have this then?”

“Sir, we did a live report on that.”

“OK, then do we have this?”

“We are checking it, sir.”

“Guys, smell the coffee, show some energy. It is 10 in the morning and I have to ask for things. Smell the coffee.”

Rajdeep Sardesai, not Dipika Padukone, is coffee’s biggest ambassador.

Kutty, the observant detective that he is, started drinking coffee straightaway.

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THE SPIRITUAL EDITOR

Rajdeep is a very spiritual man. He has immense faith in an old monk, not Asaram I can assure you. Till a few years ago, his good night tweets were dedicated to him. But sometime down the line, Bollywood numbers replaced the old monk. Kutty doesn’t know if the Editor still holds him in high regard, but his ward has become a fan of the old monk.

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NEWSROOM, THE JUNGLE

The Editor’s love for the wildlife is unparalleled.

What would you call people you love? Chunnu, Munnu, Gullu are Kutty’s favourites.  But not for Rajdeep.

So, we have pot-bellied Panthers, tattooed Tigers in the newsroom. Yes, we have tigresses as well.

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THE RAJDEEP TOUCH

It happened a few years ago. A young employee had quit to take an offer from a newly launched channel. No amount of cajoling by the bosses could stop him. But he ended staying back. The reason: his father got a call from Rajdeep telling him his son was committing a blunder.

He knew everyone on the floor by name. He would surprise even a fresher by calling out. What happens when he doesn’t know someone’s name? A new joinee was returning with a cup, you guessed it right, of coffee, the editor stopped him and said, “Hello, I am Rajdeep Sardesai…”

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CHILD PSYCHOLOGY

You have faced this situation many times before. Your neighbour’s child pulls a prank, you want to scold him, but can’t. What do you do? You scold your child instead. 

Now, what happens when you are dealing with some 100 people, all under your watch, all people you like. The Editor gives a dose of child psychology.

Example:

Kutty commits a mistake, his neighbour on the news desk gets the pounding. Usually everyone gets the message, but not Kutty.  Once the punishment is over, Kutty turns to the ‘subject’ of Editor’s anger, and says, “I told you, didn’t I?”

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THE IMPORTANCE OF MEDITATION

Often the Editor loses his cool, and forgets child psychology. This is when things get dangerous. He shouts at the person he actually wants to scold. You need to learn to deal with such a situation. This is how Kutty does it.

“This is the last time I am telling you.”

Kutty stares into the computer monitor. With all the belief he can muster, he starts reciting the school prayer.

‘Om sahano vavatu’

“If you can’t do this right, I will get someone who can.”

‘Sahano bhunaktu’

“What kind of English is running on the channel?”

‘Sahaviryam karavavahai’

“What the fuck is happening?”

‘Ma vidvishavahai’

“!@#$%^~!@$^%&*”

‘Om shanti hi, shanti hi, shanti hi’

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THE SMS THAT FOLLOWS

Often such exchanges are followed by an SMS from the Editor. He would apologise for losing his temper. The SMS comes even if you are wrong and deserved that tongue lashing. Many in the newsroom have saved those SMSs on their phones.

I know what you are asking. No, Kutty never got that SMS. Not because he did no wrong ever but because Rajdeep doesn’t have his number. Kutty couldn’t have shared his mobile number, he was on an undercover mission.

Jasoos Narayanan Kutty coaches Argentina

How Jasoos Kutty beat Brazil in a football match

Parankimala. A hill overlooking the sea. Years ago, when a group of explorers crossed the seven seas and reached here, it had many kinds of trees, mysterious flowers, plants of the kind never seen, but none that appealed to the visitors. They didn’t take the trouble to know what they were or why they were there. Today the hill is acres of rubber plantation that resemble Idukki and Wayanad, from where the adventurous lot had come. Somewhere between the hill and the sea a small town has come up. In appearance, in flavour, in colour it resembles any Kerala town, but drive a few kilometres here or there, you are in a different country. Brazil .



It is highly unlikely the Malayalees took the voyage to the Mecca of Football for their passion for the game. But once here, they embraced the sport, and showered it the love they never showed to kuttiyum kolum (Gully danda).



 When the football world cup came here, I had no doubts where I would set up base. Kutty Tea & Toddy came up in one corner of the town, with a clear view of the sea and the bikini. You might wonder what kind of shop mixes tea and toddy, but that is how I am. My day here involves loitering, drinking, eating, watching football and regaling my customers with stories of my adventures, of which I have a long list.



I was busy experimenting with my drinks when a group of youngsters entered my shop. I sized them up. Indians. Wealthy. Fatigued. Homesick. Vulnerable.



 “Murugaa 3 shikanji, 2 sambharam and 3 lime water for the beautiful ladies. Table No 5. Welcome to Kutty Tea & Toddy friends.”



“How did you know what we wanted?”



“He is Jasoos Narayanan Kutty. He knows all,” shouted Georgio, two tables away.



Georgio is a regular here, comes to read newspapers, talk football and listen to my heroics. His real name is quite long, I have jotted it down somewhere, it could be on the calendar, on a newspaper I read months ago, on a restaurant bill...



“Oh, Kutty. You must be from Kerala. How did you land here,” one of the guests asked.



“It’s a long story. How I, after opening my tea shop in Everest, Moon and Mars, landed in Parankimala.”



“A story worth listening to,” Georgio gave his approval. The bait was set, but will the prey fall for it?



“Mallu tea shop in Everest and moon, the old joke,” one of the visitors said.



“No, no. Kutty can do anything. You just don’t know him,” Georgio plodded on, “Kutty, tell your story.”

”We anyway don’t have much to do,” said one, “How did you come here?”



“Like I said, it is a long story. It happened long before the Goddess of Small Things won the Booker, Maradona won the World Cup, arrack was banned in Kerala and before I did a Marquez in Malayalam… Speaking of my novel in Malayalam, that is also quite a story. Very interesting and exciting. Should I tell that story first?”



“No. Tell us how you came here.”



“OK. As you wish. See children, football in this part of the world is a bit like cricket in Mumbai. It is the lifeline of Brazil . Every town, every village has its own football stories to tell. Every Brazilian identifies with a football team. And they are passionate about their teams. This much you know. What you don’t know is the extremes a team will go to to ensure they have an advantage over their rivals. Add to this the rivalry with Argentina  and the scouts from Europe . Each of them trying to spot  talent. This is where I came into play.”



“I thought you were a spy.”



“Yes I am. But a CIA friend of mine asked a favour for his friend who was working for a European club. I was asked to search the alleys and beaches of Brazil for the player of the future, the chosen one. Even a headstart of two years would help them buy talent cheap. ‘Bypass the system’, he said, ‘We do not want to wait till he plays the local league’.”



“Some kind of inside info.”



“Exactly. I infiltrated a community in Rio de Janeiro first. Mingled with them, went to football matches with them, and finally I joined the local team of what we call in India the galli players.”



“You play football also?”



“Central defender. Not many appreciate us defenders. But we are the backbone of any successful team. The unsung heroes. The world worships the strikers but how many know about Puyol, Baresi, Maldini.”



“Only the connoisseurs.”



“Actually, I have won several tournaments in India. As a central defender, I even scored a few goals. One of them I remember vividly. It so happened I took the ball out of our box, and kept running, running and running, dodging one opponent after another. All of a sudden I found myself again in the penalty box. Then I heard someone shout, ‘shoot ch****e, shoot.’ I didn’t think twice, kicked the ball hard. Goooooooaaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllllll.”



 “You made up the story, didn’t you?”



“You don’t believe me. See this is how I did it.”



I took a football from the shelf, took aim at an imaginary goalpost, shot the ball to the top left corner of the post. Seconds later we heard the egg seller down the road scream, giving us an exact location of where it landed. It happens. You need a large heart to understand football, and Brazilians have it. But this particular egg seller walked down, seeking damages. My worst fears were confirmed. He was a 24-carat Malayalee. People like him sully Brazil ’s name. I had to shell out a few reals to get him off my back.

“That must have been quite a goal.” 

“Kutty omitted one bit,” said Murugan bringing our guests crispy vadas soaked in sambhar, “It was a self goal.”



Let me tell you one thing, man to man, heart to heart. Never, ever help a bachpan ka friend. Even if you want to, never employ him in your business. These langotiya yaars will out you every chance they get just to prove how close we are. 

“Kutty and I are childhood friends. We went to the same school, sat on the same bench, ate from the same plate, when there was no food in his house, I used to get him pazhankanji. He still remembers those years. He brought me here, to Brazil, gave me work. So what if it’s just a waiter’s job, at least he did that much.” 

See this is what I said. Never, ever employ a bachpan ka friend, he will do this to you.

“The referee called it a self goal. But to this day, I believe there was some fixing.”



“Kutty, I believe you,” said one of the women, and gifted me a lovely smile. 

“If not for you, what would this world be! What is your name?”

“Let us say my name is Dhanno.”

“Such a nice name, Basanti would have been better.”

“Kutty, the story please.”

“Yeah the story. Which one?”

“Your clandestine mission in Brazil to scout soccer talent.”



“The team I joined, I again became the central defender. We played in several cities, villages, on the streets, in the fields, on the beaches, on every vacant bit of land we could find. But soon I found myself in trouble.”



“What happened?”



 “See, I take my job very seriously. In this case the defender’s job. I perfected the art of adangi maarna there. No striker worth his salt could get past me. Soon maar adangi became a common phrase in our part of Brazil, and I became the focus of attention. Bigger local clubs started approaching me to sign me up.”



“Did you sign for any club,” asked Dhanno.

“No. I was here on a different mission. I couldn’t have. Then one day I met my match. A striker who could break the chakravyuh I built. A young boy with magnetic boots. Unbelievable ball control. As if the ball was tied to his boots with a string. He decided if he needed to loosen the string or tighten it. He dribbled like a ballet dancer, swerving, ducking, leaping... what a beauty. You could compose music to match his moves on the pitch. He broke down our defences at will, scored two goals.”



“You lost the match.”

“We scored two of ours. But it became a prestige issue for me. If he breaks down the fort I built, then he will have to become Abhimanyu, I decided. We asked two of players to mark him. If he gets the ball in the box, create a melee out there, a free for all. It worked fine till the 90th minute. He came like a raging bull, skipping every adangi on the way.”



“Then what happened.”

“Well, there was no way I was going to allow him a goal. I did what was required of me.”



 “You brought him down.”

“You kicked him”

”You broke his leg.”

“Something similar. I hit him where it hurts most.”

“What do you mean?”



“The oldest trick in gali football. I caught him by his balls.”

 “No, you didn’t .”

I took Dhanno’s sambharam, poured a little vodka into it, drank it in one go and started telling them the story of my novel in Malayalam. It is better than Marquez, I guarantee.

Jasoos Narayanan Kutty's exploits in Brazil

Work will wait because Messi won't wait

Are Jasoos Kutty and Saramma splitting?

This is the All India Radio.

News read by Saramma

Prime Minister Narendra Modi directs his party MPs not to touch his feet any more. The order comes after his first meeting with the newly elected MPs of the BJP. Political analysts have hailed the move, calling Modi’s initiative an attempt to end a centuries-old feudal ritual.

But Modi’s directive has put his own party and many others in a quandary. Congress leaders, in particular, who are opposed to toeing the Modi line on anything, are now insisting on touching Rahul Gandhi’s and Sonia Gandhi’s feet. The question however they are asking is: is that enough? One particular leader was seen asking if he should touch Modi’s feet as well in protest against everything that the Prime Minister stands for.

Congress MP from Thiruvananthapuram and Jasoos Narayanan Kutty’s close friend Shashi Tharoor is once again in trouble. Many losers in the Congress who could not hold on to their Lok Sabha seats are targeting Tharoor for what many are describing as his ill-timed praise for Narendra Modi. Tharoor, in his defence, says he only said Modi is trying to rebrand himself as a development avatar. He gave this explanation at party press conferences and interviews to several television channels across the country. His message however didn’t reach the high command, who don’t seem to watch television news or read newspapers and base their decisions and opinion on advice from a closed group of senior losers. Tharoor was forced to write a letter to the top leadership and now hopes for a fair hearing on his mercy petition.

The Tharoor story doesn’t end there.  Sources are now telling this news writer that some Congress leaders were advised that the high command could nominate them as MP from Thiruvananthapuram in Tharoor’s place. Constitutional experts, depending on political affiliations, are divided on this.

In sports news, the football World Cup begins on Thursday. Sports fanatics from across the globe are flocking to Brazil to witness the greatest and biggest sports carnival ever. Jasoos Narayanan Kutty has announced his intention to attend the event, but there is dissent within his establishment. Kutty’s secretary has shot off a mail warning of severe rise in revenue, fiscal and current account deficits if he were to embark on this costly trip that is certain to wipe out his meagre foreign exchange reserves earned through months of slogging in the Gulf.  Instead the secretary advises him to invest the money in Kanchipuram sarees and Joy Alukkas jewelry.

More signs of differences in the Kutty establishment. Sources tell this newsreader his secretary is very upset about the contents of fan mail he has been getting. Some of these mails tend to be obsessive and many a time very passionate in nature. We have come to know from quarters close to the secretary that she might walk out if Kutty doesn’t mend his ways.

That is all for now
This is Saramma signing off.

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Dearest Sara Kutty

Your imitation of Seema’s love letter to Mammootty remains just that: an imitation, a very bad one at that. Leave satire to people who can write it.

I will leave politics out of this letter. In any case Modi is the only around it seems, others are looking like pygmies.

Now the trip to Brazil.

An in-depth study of the Malayalee male psyche would reveal he loves alcohol, football, Shakira, etc in that order. I am no different, my stay in the Gulf notwithstanding. Having spent so many years with me, you, by now, should have learnt this.

Terms like fiscal deficit, current account deficit, foreign exchange depletion, revenue shortfall don’t scare Indian finance ministers, why should they worry me?

I can see a hint of jealousy in your references to the fan mail I get. Saramma, the most famous Malayalam literary critic once explained the state of love, breaking it down into 4 stages.

1) Ragam: The feelings are one-way. I may have a liking for you, but you may not even be aware of it

2) Anuragam: The feelings are mutual. Both of us like each other, but love is yet to blossom

3) Premam: Finally we are in love, but there is room for jealousy. You can’t stand my proximity to another woman. Same with me.

4) Pranayam:  The ultimate form of love. There is no jealousy. You love me irrespective of whether I go around with other women.

Saramma, God is testing you. Don’t give up. We have to reach that true form of love bereft of want, longing, jealousy

Let us be in pranayam, not the Sri Sri version.

Yours only
Jasoos Narayanan Kutty

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Beep, beep.

Message from Saramma.

“Dearest Kutty, fuck off.”

Is Jasoos Kutty fit to be HRD Minister?