To: Mr. Donald Trump Any of the Trump Towers, Any of the Major Cities of the US, United States. The World (which is obviously too small for you.)
From: Anand the Parodist, His Cluttered Desk, Somewhere near Delhi, India, The Word (which is obviously too large for this small fish.)
Dear Mr. Trump, After wishing you another fun-filled, green-tinted, dollar-sequined day, I’d like to come straight to the reason that brought about this letter.
What prompted me to write this, is your recent appearance on the Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon – specifically the part where Fallon tried to ape your affectations with little success. Following are my observations along with their analyses. I present them to you with a hope that in future, you will allow no one, repeat no one to imitate your glorious self, unless they can really portray the real you – because yyooouuuu are you!
Here are some reasons why Jimmy Fallon’s imitation of your sparkling-self fell revealingly short of my expectations.
His pout looked like a tear in a piece of paper, while yours looks like a portal between two parallel universes – mine and yours. Mine where I must write these letters to you in a hope to earn a few smiles, and yours, where you can decide to spend a billion dollars trying to get the American people to vote for you.
His thatch of dirty-blond mop, looked nothing, repeat nothing like yours. I have a feeling that when Bobby Jindal talked about the squirrel squatting on your head, he had your hair confused with Fallon’s wig. Your silken dome of golden hair glows from the inside. I presume it’s the glow of your faaantaastic, repeat faaantaastic mind that escapes through the pores of your scalp and lights it up. Fallon’s wig, on the other hand, could’ve been made from the fur that my dog sheds every summer. There was no inner glow, no Trump-energy. Because yyooouuuu are you!
His imitation of your gestures was, in one word, a travesty of the grandiosity that is Trump. They lacked your energy, your charisma, your strength, and your purpose. Your gestures have all of these, and the viewers I am sure realize that with every twin-jab of your index fingers, you make double the point, with every palm-down gesture, you pat the point down in the heads of the bewildered American voter – the point being, Donald Trump is the guy who can actually “Make America Great Again.” At this point, I’d like to mention that the only gentleman who can come close to you in gesturing is India’s home minister, Mr. Rajnath Singh. (Please visit this link to appreciate the similarities.)
Mr. Trump, I am writing to you with the hope that in future, if at all you decide to appear on the Tonight Show, you dedicate a tiny part of your $1 billion election budget to get Fallon a good makeup artist. That will take care of the hair-issue. The gesturing and pouting could be trickier to handle – perhaps, you could coach him personally – and I know you can do it – because yyooouuuu are you!
I hope that you will take cognizance of the issues I’ve raised in this letter, and ensure that your next appearance on the Tonight Show is with someone who is really you.
I would also like to extend an invitation from wifey, mom, dad, and the dog; and from me of course. Be our guest when you visit India. We would love to host the man whose ability to make people laugh exceeds that of Kapil’s.
Wishing you the best for your election campaign. Anand and Family (Signed: Anand, Wifey, Mom, Dad, and the Family Dog.)
Behind the scenes: Mom: Puttar (Son,) you’ve added your wife’s name before your mother’s! I knew that one day she’ll come between us!