Intrepid reporter Tintin finally got a by-line. It wasn’t for a story on his latest most exciting adventure, nor was it related to the recently released Steven Spielberg film; it was for his interview of Cutts the butcher, in the tabloid Paris Flash, on how small businesses would be impacted by the decision to allow Foreign Direct Investment in the retail sector. Cutts the butcher, however, was hardly bothered. “Have you been to Big Bazaar?” he asked Tintin.

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“No, Nestor does all the shopping,” Tintin said, guiltily. “Sometimes Captain Haddock goes with him.”

“Whereas I deliver to Marlinspike, and Big Bazaar does not,” Cutts the butcher said, triumphantly.

Anyway, as far as Cutts the butcher was concerned, the whole FDI debate was meaningless. What he really wanted to know was whether or not the government was going to introduce, debate and pass the Lokpal Bill. “There seems to be no end to corruption,” he said. “We need to put a stop to it. We need a Lokpal.”

Also, he added, the phone lines had to be fixed. Even with 2G, calls between his shop and Marlinspike were getting mixed up.

It wasn’t much of an interview, but the readers lapped it up; they were apparently sick of corruption even if their leaders were not. The interview was the most popular article on Paris Flash’s website, garnering lakhs of hits; and even the TV news channels lapped it up. One TV news channel, hailing Cutts the butcher’s hard-hitting analysis, did a “phone-in” with Cutts the butcher, but inadvertently put a Chief Minister’s photo on the screen while the butcher spoke. The TV news channel was hit by a Rs 100 crore lawsuit.

Some quarters were most unhappy with the media having revived the Lokpal Bill debate. One such irritated person was Bianca Castafiore, the preening and melodramatic Opera diva. The Milanese nightingale summoned her staff: “Irmaaaa!” she sang out.

Ms Castafiore’s harried maid came running in, duster still in hand. Irma was struggling. No matter how she tried to clean the TV set and the newspaper rack, some muck was always surfacing. The worst was the tabloid Paris Flash; it even once dared to suggest that Madam was engaged to Captain Haddock. “I’ve even asked the Department of Amply Vain Politicians to stop giving ads to that rag,” she wailed.

“And that hasn’t worked?” Castafiore asked. “Hmm. Let’s ask our friend Jolyon Wagg.”

Jolyon Wagg, insurance salesman, was not really fond of “The Jewel Song” from Faust but he knew that Madam could be a tough customer.

Opera was so anti-people, he thought, so undemocratic. Yet, he did what he had to in service of Castafiore because power was more intoxicating than even Loch Lomond whiskey.

“We could dig up some dirt on the Paris Flash,” he suggested.

Jolyon Wagg summoned his two best detectives, Thompson and Thomson. Thompson headed the Intelligence Bureau while Thomson headed the Research and Analysis Wing. “Find out about the Editor of Paris Flash,” he ordered the two-some. “Maybe he’s an RSS agent. Or maybe he’s a CIA agent.”

The detectives returned sometime later with the case solved.

“Thomson is the RSS agent,” Thompson said.

“And Thompson is the CIA agent,” Thomson said.

Castafiore slapped her forehead in dismay, and she glared at Jolyon Wagg. “What can I do, Madam?” he wailed. “Force the tabloid to sack its Editor?”

Castafiore pondered this. “Not a bad idea,” she said.

“We can’t do that,” Irma objected. “It would certainly backfire.”

“Maybe we can do something about Tintin,” Jolyon Wagg suggested. “He’s going to keep on digging up dirt about us. If we try to dole out pre-poll sops, for instance, he’s bound to write about them and use words like sycophancy, nepotism and corruption.”

“Why not poison Snowy’s dog food?” Castafiore said. “That will keep his master in line.”

“Madam,” Irma said. “I have a better idea.”

After this sinister meeting, all sorts of news stories began to drop into Tintin’s lap. They were of a wide variety: some had to do with foreign luxury brands in tier-II and tier-III cities, some had to do with visiting music and film celebrities, some had to do with the changing sexual mores of the middle-class, some had to do with gourmet food, and some stories had to do with latest gadgets. Yes, Tintin and his tabloid declared: the country had arrived.

With so many stories to do, pleasing to the advertisers and to the business-minded management of tabloids like Paris Flash, Tintin was left with little time to investigate matters like loot in high places. Instead of jetting off on one adventure or another, he and Captain Haddock and Snowy were jetting off to one mall opening or another. “Ration my branded rum!” a satisfied Captain Haddock bellowed.

Castafiore was impressed. “Irma,” she purred. “You really know how to manage things. Now do something about the Emir’s son, Crown Prince Abdullah. I’m at my wit’s end over what to do about him.”The writer is the Editor-in-Chief, DNA, based in Mumbai