Of Thought Streams

It is said that our earth is full of invisible, intangible packets of deep currents of thought, that vary in shape, size and distance they reach. Some of these thoughts are so strong that they can change the course of visible elements, by transcending the world and re-routing logic.
Don't bother scouring the internet for a corroboration of this theory. There might not be any. Theories are not for Mithun-da. He chews on them daily thrice. We are ordinary men and women, slaves of gravity. Our thought streams are small, affecting hardly anyone. Our thought streams are strands of hair, blowing aimlessly, forgotten even by their creators. Mithun-da is not one of us. He has divine strength, he has a tantrik metabolism about him, the power of One, the power of Him.
In Military Raaj, all this is so visible. He plays, remarkable as it might seem, a military man. He safeguards honesty, duty and has his plans to defeat diabolical catabolism. Aditya Pancholi also plays a part here. He of course was seen as heir apparent (when he had a lot more hair) to Mithun-da. How promising he was while playing a warrior husband to Madhuri in Sailaab. He had almost made it in Awwal Number when the bomb just wouldn't blow the cricket pitch away. Alas!
Talking of pitches, there is a lot of bounce in the thought stream around Pratibha Sinha. As if on anabolic steroids, her books of other bards act mentally insane. It is this blatantly oppressive outward bound show that draws men into B centers in droves. Then the da takes over.
Akin to the old maharajas who surveyed their lands at night to target nefarious activities, Military Mithun-da goes looking for trouble. He finds a guy asking for "paisha, paisha and more paisha" in a gambling den. Da rounds him up and takes him to a cell.
What follows is the magic of the most fertile thought stream. The goons act like they were direct descendants of Hitler's driver and insult da. Patience is a virtue in da, yes, but impatience is his strength. He decides that it is time for some good ol' ultraviolence and disrobes the military cap off his cabeza (head, in Spanish). But mademoiselle, where does he hang it? Cells don't come with nails to hang your van Gogh and Picasso, do they? Not in these times, no.
So da sends one of his thought streams to find Fleming's right-hand rule. It comes back and this conversation follows:
Thought Stream: Da, Fleming's right-hand rule says that as long as your middle finger faces the camera, and you rotate your index finger clockwise, an electromagnetic flux drives it straight through barriers .
Da: You sure that wasn't the left-hand rule.
TS: Dunno, da. I couldn't confirm it as no one was there.
Da: You should have asked Flemmo himself.
TS: He's retired. Danny is in his place.
Da: Tuck if.

And da nonchalantly applies the right-hand rule. He bores a hole into the wall. Plugs his Reynolds into the hole. Hangs his cap onto it. Hammers the villain. Bravo.