Operation mother's curry

 It was a quiet Sunday evening. The inspector  had just settled into his sofa, planning to binge-watch his favourite crime series and order some butter chicken. Across town, the Fire Officer  was halfway through dismantling his ancient scooter for the fifteenth time, and the off duty ambulance driver just came out of his slumber, a much needed respite after many days of inadequate rest.

Then, the phone call came.

“All units, report immediately. This is a high-priority VIP operation,” the dispatcher barked.

 In the next 20 minutes, 15 police officers, 2 army jawans, 1 ambulance crew, and a fire engine team assembled at the city’s main intersection—lights flashing, sirens ready, and tempers quietly boiling.

 The briefing was short.

“A senior government officer will be visiting his hometown tonight,” said the coordinator, “and he requires full security and emergency coverage.”

Everyone nodded solemnly—until the next line came.

“He’s going to his mother’s house… for her special Sunday mutton curry.”

 There was silence. Someone coughed.

The fireman whispered to the ambulance driver, “I thought it was an emergency.”

“It is,” replied he, “for his stomach.”

 The convoy revved into action: the police cleared traffic, the army guarded the gates, the fire truck parked for “just in case the curry catches fire,” and the ambulance stood by for “overenthusiastic eating incidents.”

Inside the modest home, the officer’s mother lovingly served him steaming portions, unmindful that 20 highly trained professionals had abandoned their evening plans so her son could travel hundreds of kilometers to have a meal.

They sat outside on the pavement with no safeguards against the hostility of the local mosquito force delighted at the  opportunity to draw fresh blood.

The moon light reflected the message," in the service of the nation" on all of the one dozen odd jeeps and motorbikes with an ambulance and fire engine for good measure. 

Hours later, the mission ended. The officer, patting his satisfied belly, thanked his mother saying, mummy I will do anything for a repeat" as he took her leave.

 The convoy left with their satiated VIP leaving behind a swarm of bloodthirsty mosquitos not really satiated.

Of course, it is irrelevant that it was too late for the twenty to satiate their hunger.