Bunker Bulletin

No 27’s in search of body oil. One of the make-up girls from Franck Provost hands him a bottle of hair serum instead, which he proceeds to apply on his chest. ‘‘All silicon,’’ she winks.

And then the messy narrow room with its lumpy, West Delhi-style carved sofas and plastic white chairs is deserted once again as the contestants at Grasim Mr India rush outside and up on to the 35-ft-high stage at a suburban sports complex in Mumbai.

The make-up women change out of their regulation white tees, and into minis. They apply liner expertly, peering into the mirrors that envelop one wall. ‘‘Let’s go watch,’’ one says.

The labels on the hanging jackets that stay behind sum up the usual story of small-town dreams. Dreams that stopped en route at Shelka in Ludhiana’s Puri Plaza and at Monalisa in Jammu’s Raghunath Bazaar.

The boys are back, it’s time for the suit strut. Shoes Sachdeva doesn’t know how to knot a tie. He looks to me for assistance. I roll my eyes. The make-up women are helpless too, finally an organiser steps in.

Twenty-one-year-old Amal Sehrawat from Haryana (No 5) says every time he goes for an audition, they want to know if he’s related to Mallika.

The Provost pack are rooting for No 14, Karan Hukku. The 19-year-old’s bio says his mother’s his strength. A naturopath in Jaipur, she helped him get rid of his pimples. No wonder he likes her.

They’re gone again; only Freddy lingers. No 9, from Surat, can’t find his tag. ‘‘C’mon Freddy, forget it.’’ And there’s peace again.

On stage, the Best Dressed tag goes to the pinstripes from the West—Sandeep Menon, a wicked baldie from Mumbai (my favourite) and Viraf Phiroz Patel from Pune. Baldie, No 23, says his four-button was designed by a Mumbai designer I haven’t heard of. Low profile, he adds.Alas, Baldie’s been eliminated to the background drone of ‘‘Tomorrow is another day and you are all winners…’’

‘‘You should have kept your hair, man,’’ someone tells him. ‘‘I’m meant for something else,’’ he shrugs. Sachdeva doesn’t make it to the final nine either. ‘‘I never give up,’’ he says.

Now the buzz is different. Everyone’s on the cellphone, chugging cold coffee and chocolate cake; some gloomy souls are avoiding the camera.

Not 27-year-old Shaunak Choudhary. He’s ripe for a binge. ‘‘No booze, no smoking, no anything. It’s been a while. I’m going to swing the other way tonight,’’ says No 25, a Delhi architect.Down to the final six. Hukku’s in, so is Viraf of the pinstripe fame, Sehrawat and Mr Best Smile Abhinav Shukla.

Shukla’s notes left backstage include a painstakingly written, fits-any-size introduction: “It’s not destiny, it’s what you do. That’s me Abhinav Shukla, a 22-year-old engineer from Punjab who’s part athlete, part mechanic, part scientist and part philanthropist.”

On Ground Zero, last year’s winner Sunil Mann comes visiting, hugging one and all, lecturing in Hindi with a Haryanvi accent.

Nineteen-year-old Adil Ahmed Din from Kolkata is devastated. The baby of the contest didn’t make it. ‘‘You’re going on a date with me,’’ an organiser tells him. But Adil looks like he’s going to cry. ‘‘Bechara sharaab bhi nahi peeta hai,’’ Shaunak informs me.

Baldie’s won Most Popular. Dressy counterpart Viraf looks like he owns the room. Back on stage, finally, the winners are announced. Hukku’s second runner-up (the make-up team is yelling) and Kushal Tandon (‘‘an airhead,’’ I’m told) is first. Pune pinstripe Viraf snags the crown. ‘‘Told you,’’ Nos 15 and 25 chorus.