We briefed the pandal dada as the most modern of Kalighat big-men — the Durga-puja committee chief whose authority is entirely self-conferred, in the direct line of the self-important babus the 19th-century patuas loved to puncture. He sprawls frontally in a navy-blue plastic chair drawn like a throne, one hand raising a microphone mid-announcement, the other clutching the all-important notebook, a laminated lanyard worn across his floral shirt like a medal of office. We kept him seated and centred so the whole picture is about occupying space, and gave him the small gleam of a gold watch, ring and chain — the patua's shorthand for a man pleased with himself. The plastic chair is the only modern object, and it earns its place because the comedy is exactly that: a kingdom held together by folding furniture. No banner, no sponsor board, no logo — the satire is the posture, the mic and the badge.