For now though, everything remained cordial. D’Souza was urged to join the dinner table, which he did by holding on to the centre portion extremely tightly. After a few bites of the 2-week-old potato salad, he started to speak.
Now D’Souza mumbled and spoke very quickly. Generally, he was far less audible than Marlon Brando as Marc Anthony. Hell, he was less audible than Marlon Brando chewing paan and talking as Marc Anthony under water. In fact he was less audible than the actual Mark Anthony playing Marlon Brando!
Mr D’Souza: ‘In these matters you need a warning.’ (In truth, he said ‘Sector 36 is in mourning’. )
Sophia exerted him to eat more of last month’s salad. D’Souza continued now with the extra challenge of three medium-sized potatoes filling his cheeks.
Mr D’Souza: ‘He’s become really tall.’ (Actually it was ‘The people want Paul’. )
He went on to elaborate his point for the next half hour. Since his point wasn’t audible, the whole exercise took one and a half hours. For Sophia the good news was that he consumed, on his own, the entire contents of last year’s potato salad, and though she wondered why he hadn’t choked on it, she was pretty confident the best was still to come.
D’Souza’s discourse ran very clear. Apparently in the GYAANDOSTAAN constitution, on page 78 (right after the article on dog’s poop being the sole responsibility of the dog and his owner, in that order), it was mentioned that if a member of parliament died an unnatural death, whilst still in power, then a family member would take his place, even if the family member had never actually won or even fought an election.
As Mohan was too young, and more importantly wore mascara, D’Souza felt Paul would be the obvious choice. Of course there was the obvious fear—falling out of an open balcony and disappearing into a handful of seaweed may not be considered completely unnatural. However, D’Souza felt he could cross that tributary only at the right time. He asked the family to think about this, as the wounds were still fresh. Sophia responded by dragging out some even older potato salad which she packed into a doggy bag for the ol’ faithful to take home.
As he exited the room, Sophia could have sworn she saw some orange material caught in the zip of his briefcase. Could it be? No way. Could it be that the famous highly coveted, orange saree was with Mr D’Souza? This threw up a whole heap of unanswered questions.
How did he get the orange saree? Did Jay Huskee and him share the orange saree? Was there a second orange saree? Was Jay wearing the saree when he flew out of the window?
And did D’Souza know that Jay Huskee knew that she knew about Jay Huskee’s saree, and also knew that she knew that he knew she knew? And that she pretended not to know that she knew, he knew, she knew?
As the door shut on the man in white, Sophia returned to the dinner table. She seemed greatly relieved. Not because D’Souza had left, but because she had finally successfully offloaded that awful salad. Soon, the family resumed what appeared to be a normal dinner experience at the Huskees. This could be gathered from the simple fact that no family member said a word to another. Mr D’Souza’s words reverberated in their ears. As usual no one was completely sure what those words were. But for the sake of expediting the process, we must all take it as pushing Paul’s name forward.
2
A large collection of phenyl, uric acid, and decomposed liquid fertizers divided the city of Bey into two halves. Of course this was initially a river, but now its deep purple chemical colour meant if you washed your face in it, you lost your eyebrows. The upper side was where the rich lived and the poor worked. The lower side was where the poor lived and the rich made the poor work, more.
The Huskee patriarch’s office was located here downtown. It was a three-storey building called Daffodils. In Gyaandostaan, it was customary for every major city to have at least one building called Daffodils in it. Three decades back, it was the name Sunflower which ruled the roost. Of course before that it was the era of Petunia, which itself rose from the glory days of Rose.
Paul sat patiently in the main chamber, listening patiently to Mr D’Souza’s offerings. Patience being the key word because, as I said earlier, with D’Souza you had to listen to what he said, and then decipher the words correctly—a two-pronged process which always led to prolonged time consumption in even simple dialogues.
D’Souza’s very opening remark caused a ten minute to and fro, tete-a-tete. Paul clearly heard ‘hey’, but it actually was ‘they’. However D’Souza couldn’t complete his sentence because Paul kept replying to the greeting. The opening remarks went from Paul’s point of view:
D’Souza: ‘Hey...’
PAUL: ‘Hey.’
D’Souza: ‘Hey...’
PAUL: ‘Hey.’
D’Souza: ‘Hey...’
PAUL: ‘Hey.’
Now to open your eyes, dear reader, and to show a balanced, healthy, and unbiased view point, let’s examine the same dialogue from D’Souza’s viewpoint.
D’Souza: ‘They...’
PAUL: ‘Hey.’
D’Souza: ‘They...’
PAUL: ‘Hey.’
D’Souza: ‘They...’
You can see that D’Souza was not popular on the cocktail circuit and phone calls were simply unbearable. Once again we need to fast forward to a point where this conversation takes a turn for... well... let’s just leave it at, takes a turn.
PAUL: ‘Hey.’
D’Souza: ‘They... let me complete Paul.’
Paul: ‘Did you say “what strong forearms, doll”?’
As the hours passed, in order to stop himself from choking D’Souza to death, Paul insisted they turn to the computer and take a more 21st century approach to chatting. So they sat back to back and continued the introductions on their respective computers.
Since the whole ‘chat’ took over two hours, and I know you dear reader cannot absorb any chat that goes over one and a half hour, I shall condense it into one paragraph which may or may not be on this page.
Essentially, D’Souza exhorted Paul to take over his uncle’s political position as the Honourable Minister of Parliament and preside over all his charities and humanitarian efforts, which would all come to naught if the MP position was not occupied by a family member quickly. The list of charities included a printing press, a rubber factory, two high-rise commercial buildings, a fleet of high-end private taxis, tuition classes, an engineering college, a waste management factory, and the one NGO his grandfather was most passionate about and proud of—an air conditioner manufacturing business with the famous tag line, ‘You’re never too old to be cold—HARPOON Air conditioners’!
After the verbal tennis marathon passed, D’Souza brought in the crack team that Paul had inherited from his grandfather. These would be the sultans that would support his political career as well as execute far more important functions like carry his bags, point him in the right direction, help him avoid being hit by a bus, teach him to floss and gargle simultaneously in an effort to save time, and help him garner a large bank of excuses, the fundamental unit on which a lasting political career is made.
Now before we go further, please understand, again, the names we are about to reveal (yes, I ‘m not writing this account alone; for God’s sake there are thousands of contributers) may sound fiendishly similar to subcontinental names. However, this is just a coincidence. They are in fact pre-Gyaandostaani names, purely and solely the property of the Republic of Gyaandostaan. To infer otherwise could lead to serious litigation from the Gyaandostaani legal team, who are the only legal team in the world with their own legal team presiding over them—the legal team, that is.
They entered the room one at a time. The first was a guy called Ray Chow. Ray was of Chinese descent. He had come to Gyaandostaan many years ago on a student scholarship. But he lost the college’s address on the boat coming over. You see when he heard the ship’s alarm go off, he cleared all his pockets, then removed his clothes, and jumped overboard in a bid to save himself. However it was
n’t a red alert, but just the call to dinner on deck. By then a highly embarrassed Chow had already hit the water and to compound matters a little more, he didn’t know how to swim in the first place and so in fact, ultimately did have to be rescued. This entailed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation provided by a four-foot nine-inch male nurse, as well as a physical examination of all his organs, some of which made it back on deck with him. Chow, having lost all his important documents, along with 8 percent of his self- respect and 59. 5 percent of his self-confidence, found himself in a busy bazaar in Gyaandostaan’s Bey area. It was here that something really strange happened, a tryst with destiny, something that made him believe that there was a higher power and that power was not a four-foot nine-inch male nurse with saline breath.
He bumped into Jay Huskee. Okay, all right, you caught me, I lied. In fact, Jay Huskee bumped into him. Reversing a Cadillac is never the easiest of tasks, so to do so in a busy bazaar without once even using your car mirrors or tossing your head back can be hazardous. That day Huskee Sr. mowed down 11 people and a kiosk, but none left as strong an impression on him as Chow did. Although it may be said the impression the Cadillac left on Chow was even worse and took seven months to come off.
The car’s bumper hit him on the run and Chow went down for the second time in twelve hours. The car proceeded to roll over him in reverse and he ended up in front of the car. Chow looked up and was surprised to see Jay Huskee’s awkward expression. Jay was even more surprised to see Chow, as there were no Chinese restaurants in the Bey bazaar area; he presumed the Chinese had invaded Gyaandostaan as they had been threatening to do every alternate weekend. The patriot in him immediately surfaced, and he put both his hands above his head in the universal gesture implying ‘I give up’. As he did so, his leg inadvertently pressed the accelerator and promptly ran over Chow again.
It was then that the two men bonded. Well, actually over the whole three-month hospitalization period. After all, the only man Chow knew in Gyaandostaan was the man who nearly killed him, er... twice.
Once Jay Huskee had got clarification that Chow was not part of a Chinese invading force, vanguard (this was done in the first month itself), he started visiting him in the hospital with an interpreter. Of course, after a month or so, Huskee sacked the interpreter as he realized that Chow spoke perfect Gyaandostaani, and the interpreter was fluent only in French and Russian.
Now Chow’s back story is important, not just because we want to sell this book in China, but also because it helps define the relationship between the older Huskee and the younger Chow, going forward. Also, in case we don’t mention China again, we really should bore you, the reader, with something.
Huskee would soon become very close to Chow. The relationship would best be described as ‘fatherly’, though why Huskee thought of Chow as a father figure escaped the comprehension of all political pundits around.
In the course of their bonding in the hospital room, Huskee Sr. offered Chow a job. Chow accepted with one rider—Huskee was never, never to fetch or drop him by car again. Huskee on his part was very impressed with the young Chow. After all, he had survived two accidents, that too in the space of seven seconds. But mostly he was impressed with Chow’s most powerful quality—he was Chinese. In a world rocked with recessions and depressions, China alone was swimming against the tide. With Chow in the mix, Jay Huskee had grandiose plans of reviving Gyaandostaan’s flagging economy.
The partnership endured and when Huskee eventually became finance minister of Gyaandostaan, Chow became a very powerful figure. Though Chow continued to have an aversion to Cadillacs, he was instrumental in the neo-liberalization policy that brought cheaper Chinese cars into Gyaandostaan’s market. Through this, he achieved two important objectives: 1. China made even more money and 2. Cadillacs were quietly phased out of Gyaandostaan.
Paul and Chow hit it off quickly. Chow liked relating to a younger Chow, and Paul finally had someone in the room who was audible.
Shabbir Hoosein was one of those guys who was determined and defined by one feature—he had a very long nose with nose hair spilling out of his nostrils like two grey strands. Shabbir was by profession an accountant, but Jay Huskee loved to have him along as he always created a diversion with his nasal cavity. The nicest thing anyone said about it of course was to call it the 8th Wonder of the World. However this was a ludicrous suggestion. It quite clearly belonged in the top 7.
Shabbir was a big hit at cocktail parties and social gatherings. Compulsorily, the first half hour would be spent by all the other guests staring at his nose.
He was eventually banned from theatres and cinemas, as when he was in attendance, no one would look at the stage or the screen.
Chow and Shabbir shared a unique relationship. Shabbir would often go to Chow for help on urgent matters. Chow, in turn, would make Shabbir feel special by often hanging his coat on Shabbir’s nose, or charging children 3 Ragoos (1 Ragoo is equal to roughly 10 rupees) to pat it ferociously and 5 Ragoos to attempt chin-ups on his nose hair using a tricep grip, palms facing down.
Shabbir had some good ideas though. When Jay Huskee was finance minister and the country was in the throes of a recession, it was he who suggested that all members of team Huskee take a 10 percent cut in their salaries and set an example for the entire nation to follow. It was a novel idea, ahead of its time, and much appreciated by all. Of course, in the end Chow’s idea of cutting 50 percent of Shabbir’s salary alone is what they went with, as the whole sacrificial method came from Shabbir. The rest of the crew took exactly 25th of a second to vote in favour of this idea. In fact, Chow even said Shabbir should sacrifice 90 percent of his salary to really get the nation’s attention, but as by then Shabbir was weeping uncontrollably, they settled at 50 percent.
The 4th pillar was Amama. Now in Gyaandostaan, mama isn’t like the western word mamma or momma or momsy or monsticle, neither is it like the Indian word mama which apparently may mean effeminate or affectionate uncle. And when you say A. Mama in Gyaandostaan, you say the whole thing together— Amama—it’s a full name.
Amama was a philosopher, a planner. He had the vision which Jay Huskee lacked. He knew what the country needed. It was he who insisted they only hire struggling female ramp models as stenographers, thus fulfilling a social vacuum in the society—providing employment to hundreds of pretty women who couldn’t all fit on the few ramps available in the country at the same time, and who weren’t prepared to work more than fifty minutes a day in any case.
It was he who came up with the scheme of musical chairs. For the sum of 5 lakh Ragoos (50 lakh rupees), you could get a chair built on a main road or pavement with the name of your choice on it. And (and this was the USP), when one sat on the chair, your favourite song would play continuously till the chair was vacated. Both the song and the name of the chair was decided by the donor. This worked very well. Initially over 350 chairs were placed all over the streets and pavements of Bey. But after more than a thousand people were injured in accidents in the first ten days itself, the scheme was scrapped. Chairs on a highway, though a great idea, was still way ahead of its time. Its time would only come once cars became extinct—cars or drivers, either one.
That turns us to pillar number 5, the only female in the group—Bella Terrace, known to history as BT.
Bella Terrace was an extremely pretty girl. But that was about 38 years ago. Now she was filled with the aggression and drive you see quite often in women who are at the top of their professions. Social scientist Zakme Beev put it fairly succinctly in his book, How a Woman is More Like a Man. Beev explained that women at the top of the heap had an excess of testosterone, which caused them to become very womanlike, very male in their appearance. This manifested itself in the growth of side burns or hair on the lower back and shoulder. They also often walked with a limp, cursed like a sailor, or indulged in upside down standing push-ups during their lunch breaks. Bella did all this and more. Add severe acne and scratching in public, and you have the
complete package.
But if you wanted dynamism, Bella was the one. She also had one more credential. She was the niece of the present President—Lt Colonel Jagee.
Now that we’ve met the Famous Five, let’s understand the political beast that prevailed in Gyaandostaan.
Gyaandostaan was, what we political pundits call, a junior democracy or a democracy for juniors, based on the sound principle of democracy and children. How with children do you allow a democratic atmosphere where they can ask questions freely and aren’t restrained? Then, if they ask too many questions, they are given detention or locked up, or worse still have their PSPs and iPads confiscated. Also known as democracy with a firm slap, it’s the most effective, and dare I say ‘egalitarian’, form of government going around. Keep in mind ‘Democracy’ is a fascinating word which has different meanings for different nations. For the Japanese it means freedom. For the North Koreans it’s just a long word. For the Indians it’s just something you mention in passing, but never elaborate on. GYAANDOSTAAN? Well, GYAANDOSTAAN was no different.
At this stage, let me share with you some information that was either given to me or occurred to me, I’m not sure which.
In 324 BC, Alexander the Great conquered Gyaandostaan. The people of Gyaandostaan offered resistance to Alexander’s commanding forces which lasted all of seven minutes and ended when the Gyaandostaanis tied up their own king from head to toe and offered him to Alexander as an olive branch. The branch broke and the king hurt himself and this caused much mirth among the Macedonians.
So happy was Alexander with this action that instead of killing all the women and children as he had planned, he burnt down all the schools and libraries as a gesture of good faith. Alexander then did what he always did. He named everything after himself. Cities, streets, buildings, colonies were all called Alexander or Myself or Me or Zanders. The influence of Greece and Macedonia is still felt to the present day as Macedonian words like ‘Alexander’, ‘myself’, or ‘me’ are now part and parcel of the Gynaadostaani lingua-franca.
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