Rajpal Yadav is working in Mumbai as an assistant in daily chores to Akshat Kumar. Hailing from a small village in Uttar Pradesh, he often felt like a fish out of water, yet he held onto his crucial role as the personal assistant to Akshay Kumar. It was a job that provided stable earning but it also kept him far from his new bride Radhika
They had been married only a few months ago and Rajpal felt like the luckiest man alive. Radhika was truly breathtaking – very beautiful. But her beauty was also his constant worry. He loved her fiercely, but a nagging fear gnawed at him: people stared. Everywhere. He’d seen the admiring glances in the village, the way heads turned. He cherished her, but her allure also made him incredibly anxious.
Today, however, Rajpal's anxieties about Radhika's beauty were momentarily overshadowed by his boss's troubles. Akshay Kumar was grappling with a quieter, more personal battle. He and his wife were struggling to conceive, and their hopes were now pinned on an IVF centre. Rajpal, ever the loyal assistant, accompanied him.
Inside the sterile, hushed waiting room, Akshay and Rajpal sat and Akshay obviously worried ,Rajpal watched him, a pang of sympathy in his heart.
Suddenly, a vibrating buzz in his pocket startled Rajpal. He pulled out his humble mobile phone, his thumb fumbling to open the message. It was from Kishori Lal ji, his next-door neighbor back in the village.
The words, stark and joyful, popped up on the screen:
"Mubarak ho, lala hua ha!" "Congratulations, you have a baby boy!"
For a moment, the words swam before Rajpal’s eyes. A baby boy? His baby boy? But how? When? Before he could process the sheer impossibility, his deepest, most irrational fear about Radhika’s beauty, the constant dread of betrayal, exploded within him.
"WHAT?!" he shrieked, leaping from his chair as if electrocuted. He shouted and his cries echoed through the quiet reception hall. "All women are unfaithful! All women! I knew she would deceive me! I knew it!"
Akshay Kumar, startled out of his quiet meditation, opened his eyes to see his assistant flailing, red-faced, and screaming about infidelity. "Rajpal! What in the world has happened? What are you shouting about?" he demanded, bewildered.
Rajpal thrust his phone into Akshay's hand, trembling. "Look, sir! Look at this! The proof! She broke my trust! She broke...!"
Akshay took the phone, squinting at the screen. His eyes scanned the message, then widened in disbelief. "Mubarak ho, lala hua ha?" He looked from the phone to Rajpal, then back again, a slow, dangerous flush rising on his own face.
"Rascal!" Akshay roared, his voice now matching Rajpal's a hundredfold. "You are having a baby staying here in Mumbai, enjoying life, and I am doing all this IVF and staying with my wife, hoping, praying, and I am still childless?! You dog! This is your secret life?"
Rajpal, momentarily distracted from his own fury by Akshay’s unexpected wrath, stammered, "No, sir, it's not... I don't know..." But the message was clear. A baby. A baby boy. And Radhika, his beautiful, alluring Radhika.
"Sir, I have to go," Rajpal pleaded, snatching his phone back. "I have to go home. I have to... to leave her!"
Akshay, still fuming but also in a strange state of shock, waved a dismissive hand. "Go! Go! Just... take care of the baby, you cheat!"
Rajpal barely heard him, already tearing out of the IVF centre, frantic to catch the first train to his village. His mind raced, a chaotic mix of anger, hurt, and utter confusion.
Back in the village, Radhika was in a predicament of her own. Rajpal had gifted her a brand new television, a luxury for their humble home, so she wouldn't feel lonely while he was away. But in a moment of distraction, the unthinkable had happened. The screen was cracked, a spiderweb of despair across its glossy surface. She fretted nervously, knowing how much Rajpal loved that TV.
Just then, his angry call came through. "I knew you would break!" Rajpal yelled into the phone, . He meant his promise, their bond, his trust.
Radhika, thinking only of the broken screen, meekly replied, "It was a mistake, ji... I didn't mean to."
"Oh my god, you are not even ashamed of what you have done! It's a mistake?" Rajpal’s voice climbed higher, his belief in her betrayal solidifying with every word. "Who will take care of it now, Radhika? Tell me, who?" His question, for him, was about the baby, the consequence of her "betrayal."
Radhika, desperate and still thinking of the TV, replied, "There are many in the village who can take care of it, ji. Don't worry so much." She meant electricians, the local repairmen.
Rajpal's blood boiled. "Many? Many in the village? So, you already have options, do you? You shameless woman!" He hung up.
He reached his village, sweat pouring down his face, eyes blazing. He stormed to his little home, flung open the door with a loud bang, and found Radhika sitting on the floor, looking distraught at the broken television.
Rajpal didn't even glance at the TV. He strode towards her, his voice low and dangerous. He leaned down, his eyes fixed on her mid-section. He even skirted up her saree slightly, near her navel. "what are you doing , she asked?”
Radhika, utterly bewildered by his strange behaviour and still fixated on the TV, looked up at him with innocent, tear-filled eyes. " It broke, ji, . It cracked right through the middle." She then tilted her head, confused. "
"Broke? What broke? What are you talking about, woman?" Rajpal snarled, confusion momentarily replacing his rage.
Just then, Kishori Lal ji, ambled into their open doorway, a wide smile on his face. "Rajpal! Good that you have come!"
Rajpal glared at him, still reeling. "Good? What's good, Kishori Lal ji?"
"Where is Rampal?" Kishori Lal asked, looking around the small house. "His wife just delivered a baby boy!"
Rajpal blinked. Rampal? "Rampal? What does Rampal have to do with anything? He must be at work, how do I know?"
Kishori Lal chuckled. "No, no, I messaged him to come here. His wife has just delivered a baby boy, but he hasn't come. I wonder if he even got my message."
"What? He also has a baby boy?" Rajpal asked, a strange, dawning horror creeping over him.
"Yes! Who else has?" Kishori Lal asked, genuinely confused. He then pulled out his own phone. "I sent him the message. See, I even typed his name." He scrolled through his sent messages and showed it to Rajpal.
The screen clearly displayed: "To: Rajpal. Mubarak ho, lala hua ha!"
Rajpal stared at the message, then at Kishori Lal, then at his beautiful, utterly innocent wife, who still looked confused about a "bump" on a broken TV. The world tilted on its axis. It was a typo. A similar name. A colossal, catastrophic misunderstanding born from his own irrational fears.
"Oh... oh my god," he whispered, finally comprehending the immense, ridiculous mess he had created.
He didn't say another word, simply turned, and walked out. The first thing he did was head to the nearest electronics shop and buy Radhika a brand new, bigger, better television. He then sheepishly made his way back to Mumbai, dreading his next encounter with Akshay Kumar.
Meanwhile, back in Mumbai, Akshay Kumar received his own message from the IVF centre, just moments after Rajpal's dramatic exit. It was a simple, yet profound text from the doctor: "Congratulations, Mr. Kumar. The initial results are positive. It seems our efforts have paid off."
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