I think it’s only fair to say we have now reached a point where, dear reader, you have done the hard yards, you have been through both frying pan and the fire, thereby proving your mettle and your worth. This most definitely earns you the right to join the story at its real beginning, to join the battle in earnest, so to speak. But before that, those of you who have started reading from this particular page, for those of you who have lost the first part of this book, and for those of you suffering from Parkinson’s, or any related disease, let me outline our present situation. Paul Huskee, half lured by love, and half by disgust towards Col. Jagee, has defected towards the Ball and Socket Party. Jagee will now do all he can do to fix Paul Huskee and his cronies. Paul Huskee now sees Col. Jagee as enemy number one, responsible for all evils plaguing society, including both the World Wars, dengue fever, gangster war, and the unnecessary implementation of service tax.
Jagee must be brought down and defeated in the next general election, but to do that his reputation should be thoroughly besmeared, and his support, power, and influence eroded. Whilst in the Ball and Socket ‘war’ room, plans are afoot. Col. Jagee was putting together a dossier that would destroy Paul Huskee.
Jagee’s words to his advisors were fairly clear, ‘Bring me everything on Paul Huskee.’ ‘Everything’ here is a concise version of that document on Paul Huskee.
‘Paul Huskee is a male Libran, born on October 7th into an influential Gyaandostaan’s political family in which all male members are known to shave. Inclined towards sports, his business acumen allowed him to come up with a few proposals for his grandfather Jay Huskee. This included an idea for a single seat belt in motor cars, that could be used on all four occupants of the car. Another idea was that of a liquidized version of ice, an invention which he was later told may have already existed. Then there was the scheme to transmit electronic currents to employee’s shoes, thus allowing the employer to give them a mild shock, from time to time, to prevent any slackening on the job. To each of his schemes, his encouraging grandfather greeted him with derisive laughter and wild gesticulations. The type that sends a message that the person in question is completely stark raving mad, and should be simultaneously medicated and committed immediately.’
There were other less emphatic observations, such as ‘Paul liked to wear socks while sleeping, and that the socks always had pictures of playful baby elephants on them. He also liked to sleep on his left side. Except at the time, he would be sleeping on his right side. Paul had or has little knowledge of politics, even less social and civic awareness, and is not known to be particularly charitable. He once gave a beggar the remains of his ice-cream cone, then changed his mind and took it back before the poor beggar knew what hit him. There is a chance that his grandfather’s strange disappearance through an open window may not entirely have nothing to do with him!!’
This last sentence got Col. Jagee’s juices flowing. He needed something to bring down the whippersnapper. And since he controlled the law, and the investigative agencies, these would be the right machinery to use against Paul Huskee. After all, that was the very nature of a democratic government. One in which the president could use official means to settle personal scores through untrue, unsubstantiated accusations.
Col. Jagee returned to bed that night very pleased with himself. Meanwhile in the ‘war’ room, the Ball and Socket think tank weren’t exactly idle, except for Mr Machado who had now spent more time in the lavatory than any respectable plumber would in his lifetime. But we’ll come to their counter plotting a little later because the next day, the President of Gyaandostaan had a very peculiar visitor.
6
Mr Bosh had done his schooling in Boston. He had a fluid New England accent and it left a very lasting impression. This was not because of his educational qualifications or his remarkable personality. This was because of his most peculiar name. His name was Bosh, Gomango Bosh. He was the chief public prosecutor in Bey, Gyaandostaan. Gomango Bosh was tall and thin, with shoulder length hair, not typical of the species of public prosecutor as seen worldwide. He had been summoned by the President who was presently jogging on his treadmill, backwards.
The President had on his shoes and his Saddam Hussein visage and not much else. Gomango Bosh preferred to retain his gaze on the President’s shoes.
‘Gomango, have you done it? D’you find anything?’ asked the President in a genuine middle-eastern drawl which seemed to be his thing for the day.
‘Yup, Mr President. To be fair, Mr Paul Huskee has paid all his taxes and has been an outstanding citizen,’ Mr Bosh exclaimed.
Prez: ‘I hope that’s not what you’ve come here to tell me. Remember public prosecutors who are dismissed in the middle of their term don’t find work that easily. Mr Crenshaw, for instance, is a parking attendant.
GB: ‘I’m aware of that, Sir. I just handed him my car. Allow me to finish please. There is one tax however that’s escaped deduction. It’s an old archaic tax called the parliamentarian’s tax, meant to be paid by parliamentarians. I did the math, and from Jay Huskee’s term, for the past 29½ years, the Huskees owe, if you account for inflation and compound interest, 16 crore Ragoos.’
Prez: ‘Are you sure?’
At this point, President Jagee was so excited that he stopped running for a couple of seconds, causing him to get swallowed up by the treadmill and finally land in a heap on the floor. One of his minders fetched his bathrobe, which for some reason had the words SPERM WHALE embroidered on it. President Jagee sat himself down and continued.
Prez: ‘That is wonderful news. 16 crore Ragoos, that’ll bury the traitor alive.’
GB: ‘There is one small issue though.’
Prez: ‘I don’t care, just hang that bastard for this... this...er... beautiful parliamentarian’s tax. Whose brainchild was it anyway? We should declare a national holiday after the founder of this tax.’
GB: ‘It was the brain child of Jay Huskee on his first go as Finance Minister under the auspices of your father who was in a state of coma at the time.’
Prez: ‘Oh, so maybe a national holiday will be too much. We’ve got too many anyway, 33 on the last count. How about a statue? We need statues. We can do with another statue. Yup, I think we’ll give him 2 statues. After all the poor man fell out of a window. which is not so uncommon an occurrence as people think.’
GB: ‘Sir, but please hear me out.’
Prez: ‘Don’t tell me we can’t afford a statue, for God’s sake. It could just be a bust, you know a little head, a little shoulder.’
GB: ‘Sir, the problem is the entire parliament has not paid this parliamentarian’s tax.’
Prez: ‘No one, not one. okay let’s keep the statue on hold for a little while, shall we?’
GB: ‘Not a single parliamentarian in the past or present has paid even a Ragoo of this parliamentarian tax. So if we take action against Paul Huskee and his family, we’d have to take action against all parliamentarians. Every single last one of them.’
Prez: ‘Now wait a minute Gomango, my fine young man, you may have got something there. Wait just a goddamn minute. Let’s punish the whole lot.’
GB: ‘The whole lot won’t be able to afford the accumulated back taxes. We have to toss your entire parliament into jail.’
Prez: ‘Best news I’ve heard in thirty years. No need for any statue. Let’s jail the lot. I’ll declare a state of emergency and go on holiday, just like dad did in ‘79.’
GB: ‘But Sir, most of the MPs are from your party, they are loyal to your work for you, and if I may be so bold, earn a line of “credit” for you. Their 2+2 is your 4, if you know what I mean.’
Prez: ‘You see Gomango, there is a difference between a Napolean, i. e. me, and a Gomango, i. e. you. You see a problem whereas I see a fantastic situation which will allow me to save this country that I love from incompetent untrustworthy buffoons like Paul Huskee and his crew. I say jail them all, for life if possible. It’s a win-win situation. If they pay, good for o
ur economy; if they don’t, there will be one less moron to deal with. I could declare a state of emergency and run this state of Gyaandostaan in the democratic and egalitarian spirit of my ancestor Alexander the Great of whom you know I am a direct descendent. from his... er... mother’s side.’
Colonel Jagee, on uttering the words Alexander the Great, slipped out of his bathrobe, puffed out his chest like a giant magpie, and started waving to an imaginary crowd in earnest. An effort more Caesar-like than Alexander, although, truth be told, one has never got to observe either.
GB: ‘Oh, but there is one more thing sir, if I may be allowed to complete?’
Prez: ‘What is it man? Can’t you see how busy I am?’
At this point Col. Jagee had raised both his hands like a victorious heavyweight boxer, his ears were ringing with the cheers from an imaginary crowd.
GB: ‘Sir, there is this small matter.’
Prez: ‘Hurry up man.’
GB: ‘You’d also be eligible.’
Prez: ‘What? How dare you? What?!!!’
GB: ‘You’d also owe, after 34 years in office, close to 200 crore Ragoos in tax. Plus, as President, the number has to be magnified tenfold according to the law. So we are looking at 200 crore Ragoos.’
Prez: ‘Who came up with this “magnified” nonsense? Which complete idiot? Who?’
GB: ‘The former President, your father, just after coming out of coma and going in for severe liposuction. Shall I give the order for implementation and collection of the pending parliamentarian tax, sir?’
But Col. Jagee had quietly slipped his robe back on. Alexander, Caesar, and Saddam Hussein had left the building.
Paul Huskee decided they needed to think out of the box. In fact, out of the next couple of boxes. A brainstorming session was indeed the need of the hour. However, he wanted a different geography. He felt that this would facilitate lateral thinking. He’d have the meeting at sea. Luckily, Amama owned a small boat, an inheritance from an uncle who was a shipping magnate and consequently, the owner of four large ships none of which he bequeathed his nephew. He did bequeath (I’ve just been informed from reliable insiders that the word bequeathed is now extinct like the mammoth though the word mammoth itself is not extinct) Amama this small tub that could fit 7 people. 7½ if they all held their stomachs in. The boat was named after Amama’s maternal grandmother who is said to have drowned while bathing in her bathtub many years ago. Her name was ‘Vesuvius’. But remember, Vesuvius in Gyaandostaani had nothing to do with the ancient volcano, although Amama’s grandfather was known to have said he’d have preferred a match with the volcano instead.
The moment Paul set foot on the Vesuvius, he declared it to be the dirtiest boat he’d ever stepped on.
The boat smelled of stale banana leaves, possibly because thousands of old banana leaves were cluttered all over the Vesuvius. It had three steps in the boat’s centre which led to nowhere. And the engine room was a bigger misnomer. There was no room, and there was barely an engine. That was, in fact, what looked like a hybrid between a typewriter and a sewing machine, which was unsuccessfully covered by a blue plastic sheet. Though a lot of ideas were exchanged on the vessel, none could actually be heard. This was due to the wailing sound of four old women on board who later turned out to be the engine itself.
The Gyaandotsaani seas were a source of pride and joy. But that was about 1500 years ago. It is said the great Macedonian loved the pristine blue water so much that he insisted on having a swim. And it was on this swim that he discovered shrimp for the first time, although there was some confusion about a shrimp being first discovered in his loincloth. Today, the seas were a different story. Most of the shrimp had choked to death with pollution and those that were left had committed suicide, some more than once. Many would have happily preferred the loincloth. The waters were deep grey, with all the muck and debris gifted to the sea by urban Gyaandostaan. Human divers were known to change colour within twenty minutes of being in these waters. In some rare cases, they were even known to change gender. Though that may have something to do with a few irate shrimps. Paul Huskee nevertheless went on with the expedition. A change of scenery was a change of scenery and just because in this case there was no scenery at all, it didn’t mean there wasn’t a change. It was Shabbir Hoossein who set the ball rolling. This he did by vomiting first on Amama, then into the deep sea, and then on Amama again. Most thought of this as divine retribution. Punishment for Amama. He deserved punishment for getting them on the boat. Amama himself felt quite relieved.
The smell of the stale banana leaves had made the journey unbearable, more so for Shabbir Hoossein whose nasal cavity made him suffer 75 percent more olfactory damage than the next person. But by repeatedly vomiting, Shabbir Hoossein had ensured the trip was aborted within 17 minutes of leaving the shore. As the boat (Gyaandostaani maritime regulations regulate that we must call it a boat, even though it was more like a few broken wooden boards and rusty nails interspersed with banana leaves than a boat in the rudimentary sense), meandered back to shore, Shabbir Hoossein had a Eureka moment. Except that since he had a bucket on his head at that time, no one could share this moment with him. Then Bella Terrace ripped the bucket off his head, not in order to hear Hoossein out, but to do a little vomiting of her own. Hoossein spelt out the proposal. ‘Let’s hack Jagee’s personal computer. We’ll know what he’s up to and can stay one step ahead of him. We just need a way to get into his space.’
Paul loved the idea. ‘Great idea, but who will do the hacking, and besides, how do we get into his office undetected?’
Shabbir Hoossein had no answer. I mean he had an answer, as we’ll find out later, but at that moment he was engaged in a pitched battle with Bella Terrace for control of the bucket. Bella Terrace won and Shabbir Hoossein had no recourse but to make Amama his recipient once again.
The man who was selected to hack into the President’s computer went by the name Shampoo. Shampoo was about 5 feet 9 inches tall, of medium build, and was known as a friend and junior associate of Mr D’Souza. Nobody knew his origins or if he had any other name.
All that people know was that he’d been around for many years, and served in some professional cum personal capacity at Mr D’Souza’s office. Since he always smelt of shampoo, his name was well served. He was also a friend of Paul Huskee’s younger brother Mohan.
Also, like Mohan, he was incredibly feminine. Shampoo wasn’t just a little girlie, he was far, far, far out girlie—the far end of the girl spectrum. The girliest of all girls. He was brilliant with computers. You know the tribe. They use PCs like concert pianists use their pianos. These two qualities meant that Shampoo was meant for the job, even though he was caught off guard with the make-up and the costume that came with the job.
Paul Huskee and his coterie decided the best way into the President’s office would be through the route of an interior decorator. Word had it that Col. Jagee was trying to redesign his office. Like most of Col. Jagee’s projects, he would start and soon forget the idea which is, thank God, why he didn’t have any children.
Shampoo was given an all access pass, easily arranged as links and influential phone calls was par the course in Gyaandostaan.
A day was chosen when Col. Jagee and his cronies had left the country, ostensibly on some ‘official’ business, but everyone knew that official actually meant ‘massage therapy’, Col. Jagee’s favourite sport.
Getting into the office was extremely easy. No one even checked Shampoo’s accreditation. This in spite of the fact that he was dressed in a tight fitting blouse and skirt. His well-shampooed hair was well hidden under a brown-coloured ladies’ wig.
Shampoo (let’s call him ‘her’ here, for the purpose of this visit and to avoid unnecessary confusion) settled down on Col. Jagee’s desk and even ordered a cheese toast and watermelon juice from the canteen, as she started to browse through the files. Like most world leaders, Shampoo had to sift through lots of adult erotica, before she found a file
named Paul Huskee code named ‘Open Window’. Shampoo was in the process of opening the file when the door was flung open, and who should enter? Col. Jagee looking highly anxious and impatient.
Shampoo put her hand on her heart realizing that it was actually a false breast. She then put her hand on her head. She felt she was taking her last breath on earth, but at least the head was hers.
‘Ah, thank God you’re finally here.’
Col. Jagee rushed to her and pulled Shampoo out of the chair, planting a kiss on her well-painted lips. If Shampoo thought she had died earlier, she really wished she would die now, and with immediate effect.
What followed was the most shocking moment of Shampoo’s entire life. The President of Gyaandostaan removed all his clothes and lay with his face down on the sofa cum bed in front of the desk. ‘What are you doing?’ Shampoo said.
‘Ah you’re right, give me a second.’ So saying, Gyaandostaan’s most powerful man got up, starkers, locked the main door, pulled out a bottle of oil from behind the desk, starkers, drew the curtain, and pulled down the blind, starkers, and then proceeded to hand the bottle over to Shampoo. Then, still starkers, much to Shampoo’s horror, Col. Jagee, President of Gyaandostaan, lay down on the sofa cum bed, starkers, but this time face up.
The President of Gyaandostaan removed all his clothes and lay with his face down on the sofa cum bed in front of the desk.
‘Now love, the last time you were a bit rough, so let’s have a gentler, smooth time of it today, okay?’ said the Colonel.
Shampoo couldn’t make eye contact. She had been struggling with her own sexuality for the past 17 years. This powerful behemoth, starkers, was the last sight she needed to register, ever.
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