Baig speaks next. ‘Sharmaji, there is nothing Bishnoi or Brahmin about it. Love crosses all barriers of race, religion, caste, wealth and poverty. Mirza Ghalib’s lines on ishq—love—say it best:
‘No power can hold it back; it is a fire
When you try to ignite it, it refuses to ignite,
When you want to put it out, it refuses to be put out.’
‘Ishq-vishq, love-shove, all bullshit,’ Boota cuts in. ‘Baig Sahib, lust is real, love is the gloss romantics put on it. Lust is natural. It begins to build up in infancy, assumes compelling proportions in adolescence, and lasts till old age. Boys start getting erections and want to put them in other boys’ bottoms or girls’ bums; girls start getting damp in their middles. Nature compels all of them to put their thighs together, fuck away till they are spent. Let me tell you what probably passed between the Bishnoi and the Brahmini. The Bishnoi wanted a new woman and was on the prowl, looking for a dainty dish. The Brahmini in her mid-thirties, fair-skinned, black curly hair hanging down to her shoulders, eyes of a gazelle, bosom like this Bara Gumbad in front of us. Their eyes meet. Lust is aroused. So they get down to the act: Tamaam shud—that’s all.’
‘Bhai Boota, no one can answer you,’ protests Baig with a smile. ‘You get down to the basics. Don’t forget that love, not lust, has generated the greatest poetry in all languages of the world.’
Sharma cuts in impatiently: ‘Forget love and lust, aren’t you concerned about the harm such illicit liaisons do to society? A married man with a family and also deputy chief minister of Haryana should be setting an example in propriety. And that woman, a lawyer, advises him that the easiest way to avoid being charged with bigamy, which is a crime, is to convert to Islam which sanctions bigamy. Disgraceful!’
Baig is not one to let Sharma get away with a slur on Islam. ‘Sharma Sahib, Islam does not sanction bigamy; it permits it if a marriage does not work out. You must know a lot of Muslims: can you name even one who has more than one wife? I can name several Hindus in important positions—chief ministers of states, MPs, film stars, dancers, business tycoons. Not one has been prosecuted for bigamy. Nevertheless, everyone blames Muslims for being bigamous. Here am I, who finds it hard enough to cope with one wife!’
‘I am sorry if I hurt your feelings. But you take it from me that the Chandra Mohan-Anuradha drama is not yet over. There will be lots of ups and downs in the time to come.’
‘I agree,’ says Boota, slapping his thighs loudly with both hands. ‘We are a people full of contradictions. On one side we have a couple who break all rules of propriety, on the other we have fundoos like those of the Ram Sena in Mangalore who beat up boys and girls for drinking beer in a pub. These goondas should be stripped naked and beaten with chappals on their bare bottoms. What do you say, Baig Sahib? You must have read about it in the papers.’
‘Some people don’t know how to mind their own business,’ replies Baig. ‘Unfortunately, we have lots of them in our country.’
‘So you think we should ignore them or joota maro them? Spit on their bums before we smack their backside with chappals?’
Before they bid each other goodnight they generally allude to the subject uppermost in their minds; it is too delicate to be put bluntly. Baig quotes Ghalib:
Life goes at a galloping pace
Where it will stop, no one knows;
Our hands are not on the reins
Our feet not in the stirrups.
Boota adds another couplet:
There is a day fixed for death
Why then spend sleepless nights thinking about it?
Sharma says, ‘Cheerio.’
On that happy note they bid each other farewell for the day.
Play
Tyger Tyger Burning Bright
CAST
Yasmeen Ahmed (22) Receptionist (Ex-Air-hostess)
Sardool Singh (60) Commissionaire. Sikh (retired soldier and shikari)
A.N. Mathur (35) Joint Secretary. Director of Tourism, Government of India
H.H. Maharaja of Shamnagar (30)
Jack Conran-Smith (25) English (long red hair and beard as worn by hippies)
Alf Schneiderman (60) American Tourist
Babette Schneiderman Hotel Staff (55) Wife of Alf Schneiderman.
Act One
Scene I
(Scene: Foyer of a hotel in a national game preserve. On one side there is a reception desk with cubby-holes for keys and letters and a telephone switchboard. On the desk there is a large guest-book, a notice saying ‘Dry, Day’, a figure of the Air-India Maharaja, and other bric-a-brac typical of small hotels.
The foyer is also the hotel lobby. Facing the reception desk are a sofa, three armchairs and a table. Potted palms, flowers, vases decorate the room.
On the top of the wall facing the stage and the entrance leading into the hotel are framed posters: one of Jawaharlal Nehru with a caption about welcoming foreign visitors, the other of the Taj Mahal with the caption ‘Visit India’, between the posters there is a mounted head of a snarling tiger.
The receptionist is behind her desk, working at her accounts.
The Commissionaire is sitting on the steps of the entrance with a muzzle-loader between his legs.
N.B. : Outer entrance to hotel can be closed by sliding iron trellis gates which are kept open during the daytime.)
Commissionaire : Miss Sahibji, tell me one thing—is there any sense in building a hotel in the middle of a dense jungle? You have been all over the world and have read many books, does anything our government does make any sense to you?
Receptionist : [Removing her glasses] Be patient, man! This is only the first day. We expect people from all over the world to come here to see our wild animals . . .
[Buzz on the switch board] You see what I mean.
[Plugs in line] Hotel Wild Life. Good evening!
[Crackling noise] Yes, Yes, Hotel Wild Life.
[Turning to Commissionaire] It’s the telephone people checking our line.
[Disconnects] As I was telling you, Sardool Singh, we are expecting thousands of rich Sahiblog to come here.
Commissionaire : Then tell me another thing, why hire a shikari like your slave here, give him a gun, and then say, ‘No, no, you must not shoot anything, this is a wildlife sanctuary?’
Receptionist : You will show them our white tigers and our maneless lions, our rhinoceros and elephants. You must see that they come to no harm. Your old bundook is to frighten off animals, not to kill them.
Commissionaire : [Examining his single barrel muzzle-loader] This is a new one, Miss Sahib. If a gun only made a noise—thah—and did not hurt, even the animals would lose respect for it. Where would you be then? I tell you . . . [Buzz on switchboard]
Receptionist : Hotel Wild Life, Good evening! [Crackle. Puts hand on mouth of phone]
It’s the telephone people again. They have no imagination. [Imitating telephone people] Testing, teste you saying, Sardool Singing, testing. One, two, three, four. [Speaking into phone] Yes, yes,—what were you saying, Sardool Singh?
Commissionaire : Miss Sahibji, what I was saying is this: if you have a gun, have one which kills. What would you do if you ran into a man-eater?
Receptionist : A man-eater! Now that is an interesting phenomenon.
Commissionaire : A what?
Receptionist : An interesting phenomenon is something which interests everyone. Why should anyone want to eat human beings when there are so many other and nicer things to eat like tandoori chicken and ice-cream and . . .
[Buzz on switchboard] Nuisance! [Into telephone]
Yes, yes for the hundredth time this is the hotel in the jungle . . . Oh! I beg your pardon, sir . . . Yes, sir, this is Hotel Wild Life, good evening. I thought . . . Yes. Three rooms. One single, one double and the suite for the Sahib . . . Yes, they will be ready. [Puts down the phone. Brushes back her hair] Phew! You see Sardool Singh, four guests on the very first day. And the Burra Sahib as well. [Taps bell beside vi
sitors’ book. A bearer in uniform appears] Get Numbers Two, Five, Six and Nine ready. Have flowers in Number Two for the Burra Sahib. And tell the cook to prepare the special VIP menu: tomato soup, chicken curry and rice, caramel custard, coffee to follow.
Bearer : Yes, Madam.
Receptionist : Sardool Singh, you will see how many people will come here. All you have to do is to get a few man-eaters to pose for them when they have their cameras ready. You will see how many people will want to take pictures of man-eaters. You see everyone in the world is interested in that kind of animal.
Commissionaire : Do you know what a man-eater is, Miss Sahib?
Receptionist : A man-eater is a man-eater. Eats men.
Commissionaire : Eats women too.
Receptionist : Well yes, eats women too.
Commissionaire : And children.
Receptionist : Accha bhai he eats men, women and children. He eats human beings.
Commissionaire : He is not always a he, Miss Sahib. A she-tiger often eats more humans than a he-tiger.
Receptionist : Oh, does she?
Commissionaire : She does. And the older she gets, the more man-hungry.
Receptionist : Now that is also an interesting phenomenon.
Commissionaire : A what?
Receptionist : I told you, an interesting phenomenon is something which is of interest to everyone.
[Buzz on switchboard]
Hotel Wild Life, Good evening!
Suite of rooms? We have only one suite and that is taken. Singles or doubles . . .
A double . . . Yes, sir, what name? The Maharaja of what? Oh Shamnagar . . . Yes, Your Highness. Yes, there are quarters for servants. Thank you. [Puts down phone]
Now you believe me! A real Maharaja.
A man who killed tigers by the dozen now wants to just look at them.
Commissionaire : Miss Sahib, when a man gets old he can only hunt with his eyes.
Receptionist : What do you mean?
Commissionaire : No powder in his bundook.
Receptionist : That is not a proper thing to say. Besides, how do you know he is old? He may be young and handsome. Listen—is that a car?
[Sound of a car approaching. Commissionaire stands up. Receptionist tidies her hair. Sound of car halting on gravel road. Opening and slamming of doors. Commissionaire puts away gun and goes to fetch luggage. Enter Mr and Mrs Schneiderman armed with cameras, field-glasses, etc. Sound of car driving away.]
Mrs Schneiderman : Oh boy! Isn’t this great? And right in the centre of nowhere. Alfie, I know 1 am going to like this place. [Turning to Receptionist]
And how are you this evening? (Puts out her hand) I am Mrs Schneiderman and this is my husband.
Receptionist : Good evening, Madam. Good evening, sir. I hope you had a nice journey.
Mrs Schneiderman : [shaking hands] Sure! Great ride through the jungle in that bucket of bolts. Some place you have here!
Receptionist : Please sign the visitors’ book. Your room is ready. Dinner will be served at seven o’clock.
Mrs Schneiderman : [Writing in visitors’ book] Honey, we are the very first guests in the hotel. Now isn’t that something! Maybe we can tear off the first page and take it home to show it to the folks. [Picks up notice saying ‘Dry Day’] Aren’t these Indians clever! They know when it’s going to rain and when it’s going to be dry.
Receptionist : I am sorry, Madam, that only means we cannot serve alcoholic beverages today.
Mr Schneiderman : We’ve brought our own booze. You don’t mind us drinking our own stuff, do you?
Receptionist : Not at all, sir. I will have soda and ice sent to your room. [Taps bell. Bearer appears. Gives him a key] Number Six.
[Bearer takes baggage from Commissionaire] After dinner there will be an excursion to the jungle. We have a jeep fitted with searchlights. Our professional hunter will show you some of our wild life. If you care to join the party . . .
Mrs Schneiderman : Sure, we’ll join, that’s what we are here for.
Receptionist : I hope you have a pleasant stay.
Mrs Schneiderman : You bet! See you later.
[The Schneidermans follow bearer. Pause. Sound of car approaching. Slamming of doors. Commissionaire goes to fetch luggage. Enter Conran-Smith, red-haired, bearded, dressed hippie-style, has sack on back.]
Receptionist : [Startled] You?
Conran-Smith : The name, Madam, is Conran-Smith. We’ve had the pleasure of earlier acquaintance. Have you a room for me?
Receptionist : What are you doing here? I thought I’d seen the last of you.
Conran-Smith : Come to study the nature of man and beast—and woman. Are you going to give me a nice room—maybe next door to your own?
Receptionist : [Embarrassed, taps bell. Bearer appears] Number Nine. Please sign the book.
Conran-Smith : With pleasure. [Begins to make entry] Name: Conran-Smith. Nationality: British . . . and proud of it.
Receptionist : Please, no comments in the visitors’ book.
Conran-Smith : Occupation? Occupation . . . occupation . . .
Receptionist : Vagabond.
Conran-Smith : Occupation: Pursuit of love.
Receptionist : [Snatching book out of his hand] You are impossible. Just give me your passport number; I’ll fill in the rest.
Conran-Smith : [Handing her his passport] Yours forever. Onward to Room Nine and thence to paradise. I take it you are in Number Ten—yes? [Exit]
Commissionaire : Is the Sahib an old friend, Miss Sahib?
Receptionist : I met him once when I was an air-hostess. He is a bit mad. Most Sahibs are a bit mad.
Commissionaire : When I was in the army, our Colonel Sahib used to go out every evening armed with a mosquito net stuck to a pole and hunted butterflies and grasshoppers and beetles and bugs and other vermin. His Memsahib was even madder. She used to collect stray cats and dogs. One time she had fourteen in her house. I used to say to myself, ‘How can these people rule an Empire!’ You see how right I was. A king must look like a king, speak like a king, behave like a king.
[Sound of car approaching. Commissionaire goes to receive new visitor. Enter Mr Mathur dressed like a typical Indian civil servant with rose bud in his third button hole a la Nehru, transistor across shoulder, cigar in mouth.]
Receptionist : Good evening, sir.
Mathur : [Ignores greeting—turns back to holler] Hey Chowkidar! Don’t pick the case by the handle, put it on your head. Really these Sikhs! Chaprasi, take my briefcase to my suite. What’s your name . . . Miss . . . Miss . . .
Receptionist : Ahmed, sir.
Mathur : Oh yes, Yasmeen Ahmed. I am A.N. Mathur, IAS, joint secretary and director of tourism. You must have heard of me.
Receptionist : Yes, sir. I am new to the ministry. This is my first posting.
[Commissionaire and chaprasi go by with luggage]
Mathur : I’ll see what I can do for you. Have you any visitors?
Receptionist : Yes, sir, an American couple and an English gentleman. And we are expecting one more, the Maharaja of Shamnagar. The suite has been reserved for you. I hope His Highness will not be offended.
Mathur : Why should he be offended? It is time these Maharajas learnt who the real rulers of the country are. I want tea in my room. And a couple of sodas and ice at 6.30 sharp.
Receptionist : Yes, sir. [Mathur follows bearer who has come back to escort him] Well, Sardool Singh, here’s our new ruler—looking, speaking and behaving like a king.
Commissionaire : [Wagging his head and spitting] Thoo.
[Sound of car, slamming of doors, etc. Commissionaire looks up without getting up. Maharaja’s servant brings in suitcases. Maharaja follows, dressed in jodhpurs and open collar shirt. Commissionaire stands up and salutes.]
Maharaja : Sat Sri Akal, Sardar Sahib. What a pleasure palace you have in this wilderness. [Greets Receptionist Indian style] Namaskar. I trust you have a room for me and my companion.
Receptionist
: [Pushing the visitors’ book in front of him] Yes, Your Highness. I apologize, the only suite we have was already booked.
Maharaja : What would I do with a suite! A charpoy and a chair are all I need. [Fills in visitors’ book]
Receptionist : Would Your Highness like some tea—or soda sent up to your room?
Maharaja : No, thank you. I’ll just have a wash and some rest and join the others for dinner.
[Follows bearer]
Commissionaire : You see what I mean? Every inch a ruler.
Receptionist : But he is no more a ruler. Sardool Singh, the rulers of today are people like our Burra Sahib and the Americans. The Maharaja and the Englishman were rulers of yesterday. They do not matter except in history books.
Commissionaire : I cannot read books but you mark my words—when there’s trouble of some kind, the fellow who has it in his blood will always come up on top. One day you will say Sardool Singh told me something worth a hundred thousand rupees.
Receptionist : I will remember.
[Starts scribbling in her account book. Commissionaire retires. Lights slowly dim to produce effect of twilight. Sounds of jungle filter in—the chirp of crickets, cicadas, frogs; the roar of a tiger, first at a distance, then nearer.]
Act One
Scene II
(Scene: Same as in Scene I except for a standard oil lamp in a corner and another on the Receptionist’s desk. The Receptionist and Commissionaire are in their respective places. The bearer brings tray with coffee percolator, cups, saucers, lays them on the table and retires.
Background sounds: jungle noises, mainly the cheep of crickets, and people talking in the dining-room. They come out talking loudly, led by Mathur and Mrs Schneiderman. Commissionaire stands up.)
Mathur : As I was saying, Mrs Schneiderman, in our next Five Year Plan, we have made provision for building tourist bungalows in all our wildlife sanctuaries.
Mrs Schneiderman : Isn’t that nice! Did you hear that, Alfie, they’re going to build lots of places like this one.
Mr Schneiderman : [A little inebriated] I am all for it. But you must do away with all this ‘Dry Day’ foolishness. Then you wouldn’t have to go out into the dark forest to see all those damned animals.
Not a Nice Man to Know Page 47