Schoolmaster was in the kitchen with a big knife. He was waving the knife at the cook. Schoolmaster looked very angry. Not normal angry, but serious angry. I said to Iqbal, should we go? He said yes, definitely. So we got up to go.
Before that could happen the schoolmaster returned to the hall. He did not have the knife and so we stood quietly. He looked okay so we sat down again.
Sorry, said the schoolmaster, but when you said onion problem I remembered that today I am having a small get-together for my tuition children. These youngsters like the pizza, so I had instructed the cook to make pizza snack. High onion content of course. But when you said onion problem I had to go and stop the cook from cutting the onions. Because now if there is onion problem, then value per onion immediately increases. It is a simple case of supply and demand.
Immediately Iqbal and I perked up. Supply and demand, we said, that is why we have come. Then we asked the schoolmaster to explain. So he explained.
Now see, he said, supply of onions changes from month to month and year to year. Sometimes it increases. Sometimes it decreases. But demand for onions does not change so much. And even when demand changes, it changes in only one way. By increasing.
So we said how is that? Is it because the Jains are losing their faith and increasing their onion demands? Is this the problem? The Jains are causing onion problems with their demands?
No no, said the schoolmaster. Jains are not creating any onion demand. Increase in onion demand comes from increase in population of Mumbai.
So why not simply decrease the population of Mumbai, I said. Iqbal shook his head, but it was too late. I had already said it.
Stupid man you are, said the schoolmaster. He became irritated. There is some button for population decrease, or what? Stupid bugger.
I felt very bad. I said sorry.
Then Iqbal spoke up. Why not increase the supply of onion, he said.
Schoolmaster nodded. Yes, that is smarter. But it is not easy. Supply of onion can only be increased in one of two ways. One way is to increase yield of onion.
Means what? I said.
Means you must try and enhance the onion so that more onions can be grown per hectare per year.
Enhance? Impossible, I said. Onion is perfect, so therefore it cannot be enhanced. And so increasing onion yield must be a futile task. The onion has reached a state of perfection. This can be inferred by its round bulbous form. Roundness is a sign of perfection. I rubbed my round head and smiled. Now the schoolmaster cannot call me a stupid bugger.
But the schoolmaster slapped my round stomach quite hard and told me to be quiet. Stupid bastard, he said. You shut up.
I almost got angry, but Iqbal gave me a look and I remembered our goal. We are in the pursuit of truth. And in that pursuit we may have to bear hardships and suffering. So I will bear up.
The schoolmaster continued. Your reasoning is incorrect. But your conclusion is approximately correct. Onion yields cannot be increased much more. They have increased over the years, but now we are achieving diminishing returns to scale.
Means what, said Iqbal.
Means that onion yields can now only be increased very slightly and only with great effort. Whereas previously onion yields could be increased greatly with only slight effort.
Iqbal nodded that he understood.
I nodded also, even though I did not understand. But if one of us understands, then it is okay I think. Plus, after all that tea and biscuits, I could not take much more abuse to the stomach.
Iqbal said fine, then what is the other option for increasing onion supply?
Other way is to increase the amount of hectares used for onion cultivation, said the schoolmaster.
Now I knew the answer for sure. I spoke up. So we must reclaim land from Pakistan and Bangladesh and China, I said.
The schoolmaster looked at me. That is one way, he said. But it is a stupid way. Most of the land bordering Pakistan and China is very cold and mountainous. Not good for onion.
Then Bangladesh, I said.
Maybe Bangladesh, said the schoolmaster. But there will be flooding problems. Okay for rice. Not so okay for onion. No, there are two other ways to increase onion growing area without annexation of neighboring countries.
What other ways, said Iqbal.
The schoolmaster lifted his finger. One way is to simply expand onion cultivation into places where currently nothing is being cultivated. But this is tough. Not much suitable land is available now, he said.
Then what? I said.
Last way is to reduce the land used by other things and divert it to onion usage.
You mean like reduce tomato crop and increase onion crop by replacing tomato fields with onion fields? Like that? I said.
Yes, said the schoolmaster.
But this requires comparison of onion with other vegetables. How to decide, said Iqbal.
It is not easy, said the schoolmaster. It requires judgment.
I shook my head. No judgment required, I said. If onion is perfect, then there is no comparison with other vegetables. We can pick up any vegetable and replace with onion.
The schoolmaster looked at me. You are a stupid bugger, he said. Nothing is perfect. Not even onion.
Now I was quite unhappy. And maybe even little angry. So I looked at the schoolmaster with my unhappy and slightly angry face. So what now, I said. How can we compare two imperfect things with one another? Speak up now, O Mister Smart One. So what is the answer?
The schoolmaster raised his hand to slap me but I was too quick and I jumped to my feet. Unfortunately, in doing so I knocked the tray from the table and the nice tea set fell to the clean tiles on the floor. Of course, the tea set broke into pieces. Every element of the tea set broke—cups, saucers, tea pot, even the spoons.
Iqbal, my brother in life, snatched me by the hand and pulled me out of harm’s way. And in this case the harm was coming directly from the schoolmaster. And directly towards me. Harm in the form of a slapping hand. I shouted in fear and the schoolmaster shouted in anger. Iqbal just shouted for me to get out. So I ran to the door with Iqbal behind me. Iqbal was pushing hard against my back. Luckily the schoolmaster does not allow the shoes indoors or else he would have taken his shoe and thrown it at my round head. That would have been a bad scene. Being hit by shoes is like covering injury with insult.
So now we were out on the road once again. The rain was gone, which was good because I had left my black umbrella at the schoolmaster’s flat. And now it was impossible to return to claim it. Doing so would only alert the schoolmaster to the availability of a weapon for use on my perfectly bulbous round head or stomach.
I was pleased to be outside and safe on the dry Mumbai roads. Actually wet roads, but soon to be dry because of stoppage of rain and startage of sun. But quickly my pleasure became displeasure when I caught sight of Iqbal’s worried face. I told him not to worry. The schoolmaster only wanted to harm me, not him. His relation with the schoolmaster will be unaffected.
Iqbal said no, that is not my worry. My worry is the original problem. Onion problem.
I said no, that can no longer be the major worry. Now we are in a pursuit situation, and all else must become secondary. Is that not the commitment we have made as Gandhians?
Iqbal nodded his head as if to say yes.
Then I reminded him that did Gandhiji not say that all other problems will be solved as a byproduct of a sincere pursuit of the truth?
Iqbal nodded his head and even may have said yes quietly.
So, I said, we must continue our aggressive pursuit of the truth, and your original onion problem will be solved as a byproduct. Is that not logical?
Now Iqbal nodded his head and said yes loudly.
I smiled with satisfaction at my own powers of persuasiveness. I put my arm around my brother and pointed up to the sky. So, I said, our next step is to perform a comparison amongst imperfect vegetables to determine how to increase surface area devoted to onion production.
Iqbal sensed my anxiousness and calmed me down. He said not to worry, we will seek the advice of a specialist on the vegetable comparison.
But how, I said. The vegetablewalla said we are bastards, so we cannot ask him.
Iqbal said no, the vegetablewalla may sell vegetables, but he is not a specialist in the use of vegetables. We must go to the person who makes crucial decisions involving vegetables. The man whose very life and existence depends on accurate judgments regarding the suitability of one vegetable over another.
Yes, yes, I said. But who is this person?
Now Iqbal smiled and raised his finger. The pao-bhaji-walla, he said.
Even I smiled now. Yes, yes, I said. That is an excellent plan. Let us go to the pao-bhaji-walla.
Actually I did not completely follow Iqbal’s plan, but I like pao-bhaji and so I was happy. Plus, it was almost two hours before lunchtime and so I was quite hungry already.
5
For those of you that have not been to Mumbai and are therefore unfamiliar with the wondrousness of pao-bhaji, allow me to explain. Pao-bhaji is a wondrous thing. It is a combination of a simple thing and a complicated thing, and the result is wondrous in its simple complexity. The simple thing is the pao. Pao means bread. A simple bun of soft and fluffy white baker’s bread. The complicated thing is the bhaji. The complexity of bhaji begins with the name itself. It can mean many things. In the north, like in Punjab, they call each other bhaji like how I call Iqbal brother. In Mumbai we don’t say such things. How silly it would be if I introduced Iqbal as my bhaji in life? Silly, isn’t it? Iqbal is nodding now. He agrees that it would be silly to call him bhaji.
But the other meaning of bhaji is a mixture of vegetables. And this is the meaning taken by the word that combines with pao to create the wondrous pao-bhaji. So now it is clearer to me, and to you also I hope, why the pao-bhaji-walla is a specialist in comparison of vegetables. After all, he mixes all the different vegetables in the precise combination to provide this wondrous creation that is eaten far and wide in this greatest city of Mumbai.
So in short time we arrived at the post of the pao-bhaji-walla. He occupies a position at the front of the lane, at the exact intersection point of our lane and the main road. This is prime territory for him, because this way he gets all the regular traffic from the lane as well as casual customers from the main road. Of course, me and Iqbal are regular, not casual. Actually I am quite a serious customer. Not casual at all.
So we stood and watched the pao-bhaji-walla as his helper served the few casual customers that had placed orders and were standing around his open-air stall. The pao-bhaji-walla was in his usual white vest and was facing a massive open pan on which the bhaji was cooking. He was mixing the bhaji with his steel spatula in a perfect timed motion: tuk-tuk-tuk, tuk-tuk-tuk, tuk-tuk-tuk.
It was a sight of absolute synchronized bliss. Complete proof of the mathematical precision that underlies the universe. I looked at Iqbal and smiled. He too understood the perfection implied by the pao-bhaji-walla mashing and pushing and pulling the bhaji across the big flat round open pan.
Tuk-tuk-tuk, tuk-tuk-tuk, tuk-tuk-tuk.
We waited and watched as the other customers ate their fill and drank their juice. We smiled as the customers touched their heavy stomachs and nodded their approvals. Yes, the pao-bhaji-walla was definitely the person who could explain how to compare the vegetables.
But first we ordered two plates of pao-bhaji from him, of which I myself ate one-and-half plates. Each plate comes with two breads, and I finished total three breads. See, I am quite good at maths, as I said. I am also good at philosophical questions. Not so good at answers though. It is Iqbal, my brother in life, that is the answer-man.
So we finished our pao-bhaji and drank our juice and waited until the helper had taken our plates and glasses to the bucket of water that contained the other plates and glasses. Then we looked at each other and looked at the pao-bhaji-walla. Iqbal gave me a look that meant I should do the asking. I was nervous, but I understood that since I am the more serious customer, it is logical that I ask the first question. So I rubbed my bulbous head for good luck and went ahead. I asked him the big question.
Bhaiyya, how you can make such judgments of the relative value of onion versus other vegetables, I asked him.
The pao-bhaji-walla looked at me but he did not say a word. He simply continued with his mixing motion: tuk-tuk-tuk, tuk-tuk-tuk, tuk-tuk-tuk.
I was little taken aback at this point. After all, I was quite a serious customer. Not casual at all. Perhaps the pao-bhaji-walla did not hear me over the noise of his mixing sound. So I asked him once again.
The pao-bhaji-walla looked at me again and still he did not say a word. But this time he gave a small smile. Very small smile, almost too small to notice. But I noticed. I am very observant. I thought he would answer now, but he did not. He simply mixed the vegetables: tuk-tuk-tuk, tuk-tuk-tuk, tuk-tuk-tuk.
Now I was unsure whether to be annoyed or scared. This pursuit of truth was not going as fast as imagined. I turned and looked to Iqbal for some guidance. Iqbal is the answer-man, after all. Iqbal simply made a gesture that indicated I should ask once more. So I asked yet again.
This time the pao-bhaji-walla looked at me and then he did one more round of mixing and suddenly stopped mixing his vegetables with a loud last TUK. He held out his hand and the helper gave him a small towel. The pao-bhaji-walla mopped the sweat from his face and arms and neck. Then he looked at me and smiled.
RK-sahib, you have eaten well, no? he asked me.
Yes of course, I said.
Sure? All is fine at home? he asked.
Yes, yes. Very much so.
Then why you ask me to tell you how I make my bhaji?
Now I understood. No, no, I said. I do not want your recipe. I only want explanation of how you decide on your recipe.
The pao-bhaji-walla closed one eye and looked at me with the other eye. Smart man you are, he said. You do not want my recipe, but you want to know how I created my recipe?
No, no, I said. See, the situation is this—
I see nothing, he said. Situation or not, I do not care. These are my secrets. I am a businessman, you know.
I became quite worried now. The pao-bhaji-walla looked slightly angry. And his helper looked very scared. Then suddenly I became very scared also. What if pao-bhaji-walla puts me on the black list? Actually I do not know if he even has a black list. He is a roadside vendor after all. And he cannot read or write of course. Still, as a serious customer, I was quite concerned.
Iqbal, my brother in life, sensed my high degree of concern and stepped into the situation. He put his hand on my shoulder to indicate that I should not speak for little while. Then he smiled at the pao-bhaji-walla.
Bhaiyya, he said, RK and I are Gandhians, and we are in the pursuit of truth.
Truth of what, the pao-bhaji-walla asked. Truth about the universe? Life? God? Death? Love?
Pao-bhaji-walla was serious. After all, this was India. All kinds of people are running around searching for truth in all these high-funda matters. And many of these people talk about such things when standing near roadside pao-bhaji stalls.
Iqbal laughed and said no, we only want truth about onion problem.
Now the pao-bhaji-walla made a very serious face. Yes, he said, I have heard about onion problem.
Now Iqbal became anxious. What have you heard, he said.
Pao-bhaji-walla was quiet. Then he spoke, but quietly. First you tell me what you have heard, he said.
Iqbal looked at me and then back at the pao-bhaji-walla. I have heard that onion prices have become very high. This is because of simple case of supply and demand. But supply and demand is quite complex actually. See, demand
only increases because of Mumbaikar population increase. And supply may increase or decrease depending on many factors.
Such as onion supply decrease because of encroachment by China on our borders, I said. Iqbal looked at me as if to say shut up. The pao-bhaji-walla looked at me like I was mad. I shut up immediately. Let Iqbal speak, I thought.
Iqbal continued to speak. See, he said, if demand increases, then the only way to stop price from increasing is to also increase supply of onion. And there is only one feasible way to do so.
The pao-bhaji-walla was looking very interested. Even his helper was listening with great interest.
Iqbal was speaking louder now. So, he said, the one way is to increase surface area used for onion production by reducing surface area used for production of other vegetables. And therefore we must understand how to pass judgment on which vegetable is inferior to onion. In this way we can find the truth about how to increase onion supply and maintain stable onion price, which will solve the onion problem. And we know that since you are mixing the vegetables daily with great precision and perfection, you would know how to pass judgment on which vegetable is more or less important than onion.
The pao-bhaji-walla nodded his head as if to say yes, he understands. Then he shook his head as if to say no, he cannot help us. See, he said, it is impossible for me to pass such judgment.
But why, said Iqbal.
Because this judgment cannot be made. My bhaji is different from all other bhajis. The pao-bhaji stall in the next lane uses a different proportion of onion in the bhaji. And that is different from what you will get when you order pao-bhaji at a proper restaurant or hotel. And that will be different from my bhaji also. So for me to pass judgment on basis of all bhajis is not correct. It is quite impossible. No, I cannot answer your question. You will have to look elsewhere.
But you must know something about this, said Iqbal. After all, you are a master of mixing vegetables. You know which vegetables are more useful and which are less useful.
No, it is not possible to say, said the pao-bhaji-walla. Some vegetables may be used in small quantities by me but in large quantities for other bhajis. And although I know my own bhaji is superior, I have come to accept that some people prefer other bhajis to mine.
The Gandhian Adventures of Raj & Iqbal: A Novel Page 2