Encashing a cheque

When I wrote out a cheque from my 88 year old mother to myself, little did I dream of the drama that was about to be played out on this mundane humdrum affair. I have been encashing cheques ever since I was this high and I did not expect this time to be any bit different.

At the branch of the Punjab & Sind Bank located in the Guru Nanak Market just next to our house, I went to the counter, where a young girl accepted the cheque, made me append my signature on the reverse and gave me a metal token. I handed over the three passbooks of our family, so that these could be updated. She asked me to collect these later.

I had some time to kill, till the cheque was passed by the Sikh Supervisor at the back. Idly I watched the crowd milling around the small room where the main business of the bank is transacted. I noticed with mild curiosity two females dressed in the typical saris worn by the lower classes, synthetic, shiny, gaudy, embellished with garish designs.

Soon I was in the queue at the teller’s window. When my turn came, he asked what denomination of notes I would like to have. I opted for Rs. 500 notes. Accordingly, he counted the notes, fifty of these, then verified the number in the note-counting machine and handed over the wad of notes to me, after extracting one more signature from me.

Here is where the drama began. A few years back, one of my friends had been given a hundred rupee note instead of a 500 rupee note. When he protested later, he was told brusquely that the customer was supposed to count the money before he left the counter. After that, the bank’s responsibility ceased.

Based on this single precedent, I had resolved always to count the money before I left the counter. I had done this religiously all these years and I proceeded to do it once again. So I counted the fifty notes and put the wad of currency notes held by a rubber band into the cloth bag I had brought along.

Now I committed my next blunder. Like a fool I went to the girl at the cheque counter. She very placidly handed over the three passbooks to me. Believe it or not, I started to verify the entries she had made, in order to ensure that all the important deposits had been accounted for. I did this for all the three passbooks, said “thank you” to the girl and started moving out of the queue.

How shall I put it? The two rustic girls in the garish clothes were standing next to me in the queue. Suddenly, many things happened simultaneously.  I felt a tug at my bag and it suddenly seemed to become lighter. The two women broke suddenly from the queue and moved towards the exit. The gunman at the door asked them what they wanted. They mumbled something about wanting to deposit money in the State Bank. He told them that the SBI had shifted to Zamrudpur long ago.

Something clicked in my brain. I peeped into the bag. There were no notes in the bag. Galvanized, I looked around. I noticed the two women trying to make a precipitate exit from the bank. I moved towards them. As I neared the exit, I shouted (I thought) at the gunman, “Arre, inko roko. Inki talaashi leni hai”.

The gunman looked at me with a face devoid of any expression. He pretended not to hear what I said. I ran after the women who had by now crossed the exit door, went outside for a few yards. They melted in the crowd outside and disappeared from view.

I came back, stunned by the incident. It struck me that I had just been robbed of the princely sum of Rs. 25,000/-. It was a huge loss. I had behaved like an absolute nincompoop. For a few seconds I stood inside the branch. I spoke to the gunman and asked him why he had not stopped the women in order to search them. He said bluntly that he had not heard my so-called shout. If I had been robbed, I should have shouted loudly, “Chor, chor! Pakdo, pakdo!!”Then everyone would have taken notice.

I decided to tell the manager and entered his chamber. He was not very concerned about my predicament. He said that each customer was responsible for safeguarding his cash and belongings. The bank was not responsible.

I asked him to call the police. He was reluctant, but when I pressed him, he was forced to make a call to telephone number 100 and the Police Station Greater Kailash I. I called my wife for moral support. She came at once and gave the manager hell. How did he say that the bank was not responsible? The theft had taken place inside the bank branch, hadn’t it?

Soon a policeman appeared. He heard the story with a bored and unconcerned air. They would, of course, make the utmost efforts to trace the women. There was a closed circuit camera in the bank. It should not be difficult to take out the photographs of the two suspects and circulate these among the various thanas in the vicinity.

Unfortunately, the mechanic who maintained the CCTV in the bank was away and would be available only on the next day. No one else was trained in the art of replaying the cassette of the CCTV. I thought to myself that our policemen were always several miles behind the criminals. By the time the mechanic was located, the thieves would be back in Jharkhand or Chhattisgarh or wherever they had come from.

Next day we saw the footage and recognised the two ladies. I had entered the bank at 1.41 p.m. They had followed soon after at 1.42 p.m. The ladies were seen leaving the bank premises in a tearing hurry at 2.10, I followed a split second later.

The cop was happy to see the footage. Both the ladies had posed properly so as to give a front face to the camera. He was confident that he would be able to develop clear photographs which he would show around and send to the neighbouring thanas.

It has been two months since the theft took place. In between, the Head Constable has visited us several times to give us the situation report. He gave us a few copies of their photographs which we shall preserve in our family album as a reminder of this event. The cop says that I have to present myself before the Judicial Magistrate to say that I have no objection to the case being filed as untraced.

I have now to spend a whole day in the august company of the Hon’ble Magistrate on the date he fixes for a hearing. Raj has kept my best suit ready for this momentous occasion. We are eagerly waiting for the summons from the Court!

The lessons that I have learnt from this incident:

ü Never count the currency notes you receive from the teller

ü Do not stand too close to garishly dressed women

ü When your bag feels lighter, shout loudly, “Chor, chor,pakdo, pakdo.”

ü If the security guard fails to move swiftly, nab the thieves

yourself.

Of course, the snag in following the last lesson is that there may be no currency notes on their person. You might be nabbed by the police for outraging the modesty of a woman.

I  had posted this story earlier. Many friends have suggested that if we hsd the photographs of the two prime suspects, these should be placed in the public domain.I have taken the photographs from the officer investigating the case. In case any reader recognizes these suspects they may immediately inform me at 26443655 or 9810832041. At the moment they are only suspects. If they are innocent, they should have no hesitation in proving their innocence before the police.

Chapter outline of the book "Universal Science of Consciousness"

The Universal Science of Consciousness

Part I: Historical Perspective

Chapter 1. The evolution of philosophy

Chapter 2. The growth of religion

Chapter 3. The conceptual framework of science

Part II: The Paradigm Shifts and their Impact

Chapter 4.Matter

Chapter 5. Energy

Chapter 6. Consciousness

Part III. Science and Spirituality: the Growing Interface

Chapter7. Introduction

Chapter 8.  The Tao of Physics

Chapter 9.  Evolution by Design

Chapter 10.  The Organic Earth

Chapter 11. Life after Death

Chapter 12. Spirituality in the Workplace

Part IV.The Science of Consciousness

Chapter 13.. Nature

Chapter 14. Living Beings

Chapter 15.States of Consciousness

Part V  Contributions made by Scientists of Consciousness

Chapter 16. The Vedic Rishis

Chapter 17. Gautama Buddha

Chapter 18. Moses

Chapter 19. Jesus

Chapter 20. Mohammad

Chapter 21, Abhinavagupta

Chapter 22. Nanak

Chapter  23. Ramakrishna Vivekananda

Chapter  24. Aurobindo

Chapter  25. Sai Baba

Chapter 26. Krishnamurti

Chapter 27. Osho

                

Part VI. Currents and Cross currents

Chapter 28. New Age Philosophy

Chapter 29. Sri Sri and the Love Cults

Chapter 30. Mahesh Yogi and the Mantra Movement

Chapter 31. Dalai Lama and Experimentation

Part VII. The Future Science of Consciousness

Chapter 32. One Integrated Science

Chapter  33. Eclecticism

Chapter  34.The Destruction of Brand Names

Chapter 35. Integration of Left and Right Sides of Brain

Chapter 36  Measuring the Visible Effects of a Liberated Consciousness

Chapter 37. The Art of Dynamic Equilibrium

                                  

The jackal who had a hair on his bottom

The jackal who had a hair on his bottom

A Kashmiri folk tale retold by M.K.Kaw

There was once upon a time a jackal Shalakak in Srinagar. He was a modern jackal who believed in a practical approach to life. He did his MBA from IIM Ahmedabad, the best of the IIMs.

When he completed his education, he returned to his parents who lived in their ancestral lair in Bana Mohalla in downtown Srinagar.

There was a family conclave on how he should earn his livelihood. It was agreed by all that he had a natural talent for howling.

His father said, “Right from your childhood you had a God-given gift for howling. Now it is your USP. Go and market it.”

Shalakak sent his bio data around. He attached an audio-tape of his special talent. He was interviewed by a property dealer and immediately given a job offer.

“Now you certainly have a long and mournful howl”, said the property dealer. “I want that you should sound as if there are many jackals howling.”

Shalakak practised his howl till he sounded like ten jackals howling. “Perfect!” said his employer. “You will have to work on the night shift.”

Shalakak was taken to a wide expanse of vacant land which was being marketed by the competitors of the property dealer. There he was let loose and asked to howl all night long.

When prospective customers inquired about the merits of the plots being offered for sale, they were told by the neighbours about the jackals who howled mournfully all night long.

The prices of property fell and the dealer bought up all of these plots at throwaway rates. He built a multi-storeyed complex and asked Shalakak to now keep his mouth shut.

One day, Shalakak was taking a bath in one of the swanky bathrooms, which had a huge mirror in all four walls. When he put on the shower and looked with admiration at his reflection, he was horrified to see a huge hair on his bottom.

“What the hell!”, Shalakak muttered to himself, “Where from has this come?”

He looked at his reflection from all angles, but the hair refused to go away. It was most definitely not a hallucination.

“I must do something about it and pronto!” he said to himself and made a note on the top of his “to-do list” for the next day.

Next morning he was seated with Nabira, the barber of Bana Mohalla.

“Where is this hair located?” Nabira asked delicately, wondering whether he had heard him aright.

“You know, it is on the left,” Shalakak lowered his voice in deference to the other customers, “buttock, near the…you know what!”

“We don’t generally touch that portion of the anatomy, you know,”

Nabira said conspiratorially, “but you are a valued customer. So I will make an exception. Of course”, he added slyly, “We will charge double the normal rates.”

“One more thing. I will not touch this ..this.. horrible thing in the holy month of Ramadan.”

The deal was struck. Nabira said that he would visit his house after it was dark and do the job while he was asleep. Shalakak agreed.

After a month, one evening, Nabira came and was admitted by the father. When Shalakak had started snoring, Nabira went into the bedroom and, with a wild sweep of his shaving razor, he cut off the offending hair.

It was a hair like none he had seen earlier—ten and a half inches long and thick as a rope. He kept it carefully in an envelope and took it home. The father thanked him and paid his bill on the way out.

Next morning, all hell broke loose. Shalakak stormed into Nabira’s shop even before the earliest customer had come.

“Where is my hair?” he fulminated, “What have you done to it?”

Nabira had kept the hair in an envelope and it was even now resting in his inner coat pocket. Frankly speaking, he had no intention of parting with a prize acquisition that he wanted to keep as a curiosity; he would display it to his grandchildren in the evening of his life.

“Thrown it away, of course,” Nabira said, feigning anger, “Did you think I would frame it and display it in my drawing-room?”

Shalakak thought for a second, then decided that the best policy would be to be frank.

“Look, I forgot to tell you the other day. I had written about the hair to the Guinness Book of Records. I had not received any reply. So I thought they were not interested.” He paused.

“And  now?” Nabira left his question hanging in the air.

“ This morning I got an email from the organisers. They are sending a team to inspect the hair within three days .If you have the hair and can paste it back where it was, we will both become world famous and also bag a cash prize.”

Nabira knew that Shalakak was an MBA , adept at making up stories. When the hair had been severed from the root, the Guinness team of experts would have to be blind not to see the reality that it was a severed hair. And even if they gobbled up this tale, they would in all probability award the prize to Shalakak.

After all, the achievement lay in growing the hair all these years, not in shaving it off.

No! His best policy would be to clam up.

He said, “I threw way the hair yesterday itself. I never keep cut hair. How can I convince you?”

Shalakak tried various techniques to make Nabira change his stand but without success.

At last, his patience broke down and he lost his temper.

He sang, “Give me the hair ten and a half inches by measure

                 Or else give me your shaving razor.”

And he made a slogan of it till Nabira capitulated.

So Shalakak got the shaving razor.

                                        (2)

Some weeks later, Shalakak went on a journey. On the way he met a shepherd who was steering a big herd of sheep. The sheep had a thick coat of hair and they were in dire need of a shear.

The shepherd had stopped at a wayside shearing house. Some of the sheep had been sheared, while others awaited their turn. Shalakak

took a break and rested his tired feet by sitting on a bench. It was amusing to see the expression on the faces of the sheep when they were being sheared. And their visible relief when the operation was over.

Suddenly there was a sound of something snapping. Shalakak saw the shearing knife break into two. The shearer looked dumbfounded, not knowing how to respond to the situation. Obviously he did not have a spare pair.

The shepherd insisted that his work should be completed the same day. The shearer expressed his inability. When the shepherd insisted, he took a clay shard and started shearing the sheep with its sharp edges. Shearing without a shaving razor is a hazardous business.

The sheep did not like being sheared by a clay shard. The wool would not give up its roots in the body of the sheep. Some of them got hurt and started bleeding.

Shalakak was moved to pity. Also, he saw a business opportunity.

He spoke to the shearer, “What is your good name, friend?”

“I am called Shatir, Sir,” the shearer replied.

“That is a lovely name,” gushed Shalakak. He recalled the sage advice given by Will Durant in his ‘How to Win Friends and Influence People’: quote “A man’s name is to him the most beautiful sound in the English Language” unquote.

“And meaningful,” Shalakak continued. ”Shatir means shrewd, that is, worldly wise. Do you think this clay thing is your only option?” and he took out the shaving razor from his bag.

He opened the knife. In the sunlight the blade gleamed invitingly.

Shatir looked at the shaving blade with longing. “How much will you charge?” he enquired.

Shalakak saw that a deal was in the offing. He broke into verse.

“Why talk of pound, shilling and pence.

When did I talk of recompense?”

Shatir did not believe that you could have anything without paying for it. He asked Shalakak to name his price. Shalakak would not oblige him.

The argument went back and forth. When Shalakak found a no-go situation, he excused himself and went behind the shed as if looking for a place to pee.

He took out his mobile and dialled a number. Then he returned to his bench and awaited further developments.

Soon a ramshackle van trundled in. A tall man wearing a uniform came out. He addressed Shatir.

“I am from the SPCA. We have received a report that you are being cruel to these poor sheep. We will have to arrest you.”

Shatir looked at Shalakak. “Where have you kept my shaving razor?” he asked and winked at Shalakak.

Shalakak took out the razor and handed it over. Shatir started shearing the sheep with the razor. It was a smooth operation.

Shatir looked at the tall man in uniform. “Obviously, you have been misinformed.”

The man from SPCA looked at the razor, took it in his hand and felt the edge of the blade. It was super-sharp.

Then he got into his van and drove away

Shatir let off a sigh of relief. “Thank you”, he said to Shalakak.

Shalakak said with a beatific smile on his face, “I told you there is no charge.”

Now that Shatir had risen to the bait, Shalakak had just to wait for events to unfold. It did not take long.

At the third sheep, the razor broke.

“Oh, my God! What have you done? “ he barked at Shatir.

Shatir looked contrite. “It is not my fault,” he ventured.

“What do you mean? Whose fault is it then? Mine? ”Shalakak thundered.

“Possibly, it was an old razor.” said Shatir, hoping to escape the liability.

Shalakak nipped his attempt in the bud. “On the contrary,” he said,  “It was brand new. I had bought it only yesterday.”

Shatir sighed.  “You said there is no charge”, he pleaded, hoping to excite Shalakak’s pity.

Shalakak bared his teeth. “Obviously that quote was for use, not for damage. This is total, irreparable damage.”

“So how much will you spend to replace the blade? ”Shatir wanted to know.

Shalakak was good at bargaining. He told Shatir that the blade was frightfully expensive and Shatir would not be able to replace it. He asked for three sheep.

Shalakak sang:

“Give me back my razor blade

Or else three sheep be paid”.

They haggled for a while and finally settled for one sheep.

Shalakak picked out a fat little specimen and continued on his journey.

                                                  (3)

               Shalakak reached a degree college in the town. He was dog tired. He decided to take rest. He stretched himself on the soft grass and promptly fell asleep.

                   He was woken by the sound of people fighting. They were very angry. He opened one eye and listened to the barrage of words being exchanged.

                     What he gathered was this. The Football Association of the college was celebrating its silver jubilee. They had booked the college canteen for a sumptuous meal after the match.

                       The canteen manager had a problem. There was a lightning strike of the butchers in the town and meat was not available. So he was forced to serve a vegetarian meal.

                        The players were livid with rage. They could not visualize a sumptuous meal without a meat dish. They threatened to beat up the manager.

                         Shalakak could see that the situation was looking grim. Suddenly he realised that he could defuse the crisis and incidentally make a profit.

                          He got up and crept in close to the feuding footballers. “I have a suggestion to make,” he said.

                              They turned to him with anticipation. “What is the suggestion?” asked the captain.

                              “See. I have a sheep. I could make him available to you.  I realize that your need is greater than mine.”

                              The captain inspected the sheep carefully. He was satisfied. ”How much will you charge ?” he asked.

                              Shalakak was ready with his answer. “I know that you are short of cash. So I will not ask for money. Perhaps you could repay me in kind.”

                              “Kind as in kindness, I presume,” the captain joked.

                              “Well, we shall see after the feast. “ Shalakak wanted to investigate the possibilities before committing himself. The captain looked at Shalakak’s innocent face and trusted him. He did not know that he was dealing with an MBA.

                              The canteen manager was relieved at the manner in which a major crisis had been averted. If Shalakak had not been there, the manager might have been in hospital with multiple fractures. Footballers can be mighty dangerous when aroused!

                              The feast went on with lot of fun and frolic. Shalakak was also invited and had a highly satisfying meal.

                              Meanwhile, he kept his eyes and ears open. He noted that the store-room of the canteen was stacked with bags of rice. He sampled a few grains and found it to be basmati rice of the highest quality.

                              So when the captain and the manager met him after the dinner and enquired about the repayment in kind that Shalakak was talking of, he said that he would be satisfied with a quintal of the rice he had seen.

                              When the manager showed his reluctance to meet the demand, Shalakak asked for the sheep back.

                              He sang:

                              “Give me back my lovely sheep

                         Or else a quintal of basmati cheap.”

                              And he kept up the refrain till they capitulated.

                              So Shalakak got a quintal of the finest quality basmati rice. He was proud of his bargaining skills.

                              And Shalakak continued on his journey.

                                                                                          (4)

                              Shalakak had to hire a mule to carry the bag of basmati. They trudged along at a brisk pace till they reached a jhanjhghar, where a marriage was in progress. The barat had come and the groom and the bride had exchanged garlands.

                              The dinner was getting late. Shri Agarwal, the maternal uncle of the bride, who was in charge of the cooking, got impatient at the delay.

                              He called the caterer and asked him the reason why dinner was not being laid. The caterer said that an unfortunate development had taken place. The cook had spoilt the rice. And there was no more rice in the store. The shops had closed for the day. It was unthinkable to serve food without the rice. He was at wits’ end what to do.

                              Agarwal was debating how to respond to the situation when his son Avinash spoke up. “I don’t know whether this would help, dad, but I just saw outside a jackal with a mule. The mule is carrying a quintal of rice. I thought you might need rice so I stopped him. He is waiting outside.”

                              Agarwal did not wait to hear any more. He rushed outside, followed closely by the caterer and Avinash. Shalakak was sitting in a chair outside. The mule stood patiently close by. There was indeed a sack of rice on the mule’s back.

                              The caterer took out a handful of rice from the bag and smelt it. “Very good quality basmati”, he whispered to Agarwal. “Buy it.”

                              Agarwal accosted Shalakak, “I hope this rice is for sale.”

                              Shalakak scented a good business opportunity. If he bargained well, he could have a very profitable deal.

                              He put on his most innocent face. “I believe you need the rice. Take it. I am like a member of the family. I shall charge a reasonable amount only.”

                              Thus lulled into complacency, Agarwal told the caterer to take the mule inside and expedite the dinner. He invited Shalakak to dinner and asked Avinash to look after him.

                              Shalakak and Avinash went inside. And then the unthinkable happened. Shalakak had a look at the bride and immediately fell in love. He could not divert his gaze from the bride’s face, her figure, her finery. The more he saw her, the more smitten he was.

                              Avinash looked after him very well. He was taken to the bar that had been set up in a discreet corner of the shamiana. Avinash plied him with whisky and snacks. Shalakak went on drinking steadily till he was quite high.. He started stammering and talking some kind of jackalese.

                              Meanwhile the dinner was served and the rice was an unqualified success. The baratis were full of praise for the excellent fare that had been served to them.

                              When the dinner was over, Avinash thought it fit to discuss what Shalakak wanted in lieu of the rice. He asked him.

                              Shalakak gave a leer. “Frankly speaking, I won’t have any monetary recompense. If you can marry your sister to me…..” Shalakak proposed somewhat  diffidently.

                              Avinash was incredulous. “You are drunk. You do not know what you are saying. My sister is being married to a young man of her choice. He is a corporate executive with a five figure salary.”

                              Shalakak was unfazed. “I am no less. I have done MBA from IIM Ahmedabad. I hold the lucrative job of CEO (Night Operations) with the top property dealers in town. I am an ideal match.”

                              Before Avinash could stop him, he stated singing at the top of his voice:

                              “Give me back the bag of basmati

                         Or else marry the bride to me”

                         Avinash did not know how to handle him. Hearing the noise, his father came into the bar.

                              “What is he up to?” he demanded to know. “Can’t you keep him quiet?”

                              Avinash told him. Aggarwal advised him to ply Shalakak with more whisky and put him to sleep in one of the bedrooms at the back of the jhanjhghar.

                              Shalakak went on singing. Meanwhile, most of the baratis had   left. The marriage ceremony started in a special enclosure.

                              Avinash assured Shalakak that his father had agreed to let him marry his sister and he could proceed to the bedroom to celebrate his wedding night.

                              Shalakak lurched unsteadily to the bedroom where Avinash led him. By now, Shalakak was wholly sozzled. He asked Avinash for cigarettes.

                              Avinash got a pack and lit his first cigarette.

                              “Where is the bride?” Shalakak asked.

                                        “Coming, coming,” assured Avinash, hoping that Shalakak would fall asleep soon.

                              It was a cold winter night. Shalakak felt uncomfortable. He got under the quilt. Avinash tucked him in properly, so that he felt cosy.

                              Shalakak went on smoking steadily, eyes closed, dreaming of his ladylove. Avinash left, promising to send the bride soon.

                              Some children of the family had gathered outside the room and they were watching the fun from the door and windows.

                              Suddenly, the cigarette fell from Shalakak’s fingers. He had dozed off.

                              The cigarette fell on the quilt. The quilt started smoking. The room was filled with smoke. Shalakak inhaled the smoke and became unconscious.

                              After a while, the quilt caught fire. Shalakak felt the burning sensation and started turning and rolling over.

                              The children started singing:

                              “Oh, Mister Jackal, you are burning, turn to the left

                              Turn to the right, turn to the left.”

                              Shalakak would have burnt to death if Avinash had not come and poured several buckets of water on him.

                              But the imminent danger of premature death                                                                                                               destroyed the fumes in his brain. He suddenly felt himself reborn.

                              He realised that his MBA training had misled him. Life was not only about making money.

                              Avinash offered him the price of the rice. When he would not take it, he stuffed the notes into his pocket.

                              Then he took him downstairs, seated him on the mule and gave a stick in his hand.

                              The mule was fresh after its night’s rest. It set off at a brisk trot towards the Jackals’ Lair located in Bana Mohalla in downtown Srinagar.

                              And thus chastened by his adventures, Shalakak lived happily ever after.

                                                  *******************************

                             

                   

The Department of Love

A one act play by M.K.Kaw

        

         Cast, in order of appearance

         Mr. Haanji, Deputy Secretary

         Mr. Gobind Ram, peon

         Mr.Jhinkoo Ram, Secretary

         Mrs. Dada, Joint Secretary

         Mr.Ayaram, Under Secretary

         Mr. Gayaram, Under Secretary

         Chief Minister

         Chief Secretary

         CPI (M) Minister

         A Minister

Young Man

Young Woman

Jarnail Singh

District Love Officer

Head Clerk

                                   SCENE 1

(A room in the Secretariat. Officers are seated here and there)

Mr. Haanji, Deputy Secretary: All right, all right! Let us have silence for a while. The Chief Minister is making an important announcement.

Gobind Ram, please put on the TV.

(Gobind Ram adjusts the knobs)’

’TV (first some static. Then the CM’s voice) . Finally, I come to an important matter. As you all know, for the last fortnight, Swami Brahmachari has been seated on a fast unto death. He led an agitation in order to provide the fundamental right of love to the masses.

Mrs. Dada ( sarcastically): Brahmachari, my foot! We all know what sort of Brahmachari he is!

        

         (Enter Mr. Jhinkoo Ram, Secretary. They all stand up.)

        

         Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: You were saying something, Mrs. Dada?

         Mrs. Dada (unfazed):: We were listening to a telecast by the C.M. I said we all know what sort of a celibate Swami Brahmachari  is.

         Mr. Jhinkoo Ram (smiling, because she is the Financial Adviser): He is a bachelor all right.

         Mrs. Dada (smiling): That does not make him a celibate automatically.

         Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: Now, now, Mrs. Dada!…

CM’s Voice: Our problem has been that there is no fundamental right to love under the Constitution. We were advised by the Attorney General that grant of this right would necessitate a constitutional amendment. We did not have the necessary majority in Parliament to have such an amendment passed. That is why there was a stalemate.

Friends, a reference was made to the Supreme Court of India, asking for a clarification on this issue. About half an hour ago the Court has passed a historic judgment. They have held that the fundamental right to live includes the right to love also.

The Central Government has accepted the judgment. All the States have been instructed to ensure that every citizen should be allowed to freely exercise his fundamental right to love. Special consideration should be given to the cases of members of the scheduled castes, scheduled tribes, other backward classes and so on. Swami Brahmachariji has called off his fast unto death.

         Mrs. Dada: As if he was ever on a fast unto death!

         Mr. Jhinkoo Ram (smiling, but the smile is a little forced): Mrs. Dada! Mrs. Dada!

         CM’s Voice: I congratulate all of you on this historic occasion. I am glad to announce that our State Government have decided to set up a separate Department of Love, to look after this subject exclusively. An initial amount of Rs. One crore has been placed at its disposal. Mr. Jhinkoo Ram  has been appointed as the first Secretary of the Department of Love.

         Mr. Haanji: Congratulations, Sir! This shows how much faith CM has in you!

         Mr. Ayaram: Heartiest congratulations, Sir!

         Mr. Gayaram ( wanting to sound different ): Many happy returns of the day, Sir!

         Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: (smiling broadly) Thank you, thank you.

         Mrs. Dada: Do you really think that we need a separate Department of Love, Sir? It will involve lot of expenditure. This one crore rupees is only the first estimate. Your annual bill will be nearer Rupees five crores.

         Mr. Haanji: A separate Department shows how much importance Government attaches to this subject.

         Mr. Ayaram: We need not create new posts. The Secretary can hold the Department in addition to his other charges.

Mr. Gayaram:: Mr. Haanji can also do  the same.

Mr. Haanji: So can the two Under Secretaries.

Mrs. Dada: (mockingly): I hope  you will all do this work without asking for special pay!

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: No, no, Mrs. Dada. Let us have complete clarity on this score. We will have to sanction additional special pays to all those who hold additional charges.

Mr. Haanji: We shall formally refer the case to Finance, Sir! Gobind Ram, please switch off the TV. The Chief Minister has shown great confidence in our Secretary Mr Jhinkoo Ram by entrusting such a delicate subject as love to him. I am confident that under his dynamic and inspiring leadership, the department shall achieve new landmarks.

Mrs. Dada ( in a mocking tone): Hear, hear!

                                  (Curtain)

                                  SCENE 2

(Council of Ministers in session)

CM: All right. Now, Mr. Chief Secretary, let us take the next item on the agenda

Chief Secretary: The next item is consideration of the Draft Control and Regulation of Love Bill.

CM: Okay

Chief Secretary: I have requested the Secretary (Love) to present his proposal to the Cabinet. Here he is.

(Enter Mr. Jhinkoo Ram)

CM: What is your proposal, Mr. Jhinkoo Ram?

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: Sir, First, the Statement of Objects and Reasons. It has come to the notice of the Govt that Love, in its pure form, is just not available in the open market. There is lot of adulteration in love. It appears that the forces that are trying to destabilize the Govt are also indulging in such adulteration.They are the ones who oppose the policies of the Govt. at every step. They are the ones who are not loyal to their country.

CM: Very well put.

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: We have taken the extracts from the CM’s speech, Sir!

CS: Anything else?

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: Some elements are trying to promote monopolistic tendencies in the field of love. Govt. have received secret reports that some Farhad, Majnu and Romeo have run their monopolistic ventures for a long time. The Government is opposed to all monopolies as such. It is not desirable for such a precious commodity to be the handmaiden of a few. The Government wishes to take love to the common masses, the proletariat, the aam aadmi.

Minister representing CPI(M) in the ruling alliance: Hear, hear. Our party would welcome such a positive step for the welfare of the aam aadmi.

CM: I am glad our coalition partner welcomes this move. Mr. Jhinkoo Ram, what is the proposal?

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: Sir, in view of these considerations, to keep a tight control on love, to prevent adulteration and to end monopolistic tendencies, and to take love to the common people, Govt. will regulate the transactions in love.

C.M. (testily): Yes, yes, but how will you do all this?

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram ( dropping the bomb gently): We propose to nationalize love.

C.M.  Nationalize love, how?

Chief Secretary: Mr. Jhinkoo Ram,you mean nationalize or rationalize?

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: Nationalize, Sir. ( to CS) Allow me to say, Sir, that I know enough of the language to appreciate the difference between the two. How can we regulate something on which we have no control? How prevent stockpiling, adulteration, monopolistic tendencies and so on?

C.S. Sir, he has a point. Nationalization seems to be a necessary precondition to regulation.

CM: But what exactly do you mean by nationalization?

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: Sir, under the proposed law, the ownership of love shall vest exclusively in the State Government. It shall be unlawful for any person to engage in a transaction of love without the prior permission of the competent authority. .We are suggesting the promulgation of an Ordinance to this effect. Thus love will come under the exclusive control of the State Government

.

CM: But where will you keep all this love the ownership of which you propose to transfer to the State Government ?

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: Sir, we have not considered the question of takeover as yet.  For the present, we shall allow love to remain in the custody of the people. But there shall be no transaction of love without our permission, Thus we shall control love without entering the messy business of  a takeover.

.

CS :  This is the second time you have used the phrase ‘transaction’ with reference to love. Why use this phrase? You know its other connotations.

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: According to the Law Department, transaction is a neutral phrase. Transactions will be of two kinds—commercial and romantic. My Joint Secretary, an MBA from IIM Bangalore, talks of Transaction Analysis, again in very neutral terms.

CS: CM wants to know what procedure you will adopt for controlling such a volatile and inflammable commodity as love.

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: We are proposing offices of the Department of Love to be opened at district level, to begin with. Any man or woman wishing to engage in a transaction of love would have to apply to the Department for permission.

CS: Can he apply on an ordinary sheet of paper?

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram (scandalized) : Ordinary paper, Sir? Not at all, Sir. It will be a printed proforma as laid down in the Rules.

CS: How many copies?

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: The mandatory six, Sir, as in all other departments.

A Minister: Why six? What do you need so many copies for?

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: Six are the minimum requirement, Sir. One copy will be sent to the other party for comments. One is kept at State headquarters. One at district headquarters. One in the Record office. One for accounts department and one for the Research and Evaluation wing.

CS: These many copies are absolutely essential, Sir.

CM: ( not at all interested ) All right, .all right. Will the form be available free of cost?

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: No Sir. One form would be available for Rs. 500/-

CM: Isn’t that a bit steep? Please reduce it substantially.. After all, the poor should also enjoy the right to love.

CS: Reduce it for poor people, Mr. Jhinkoo Ram

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: We can lay down that those certified to be below the poverty line by the competent authority shall enjoy a concessioal rate of Rs. 400.

The CPI(M) Minister: Mr. Secretary, you are cut off from the masses. You are out of touch with the stark reality of poverty. In my view, the poor people should be exempt altogether. At best, you may charge them Rs.5/-

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: You have a point there, Sir. But we have to get the approval of the finance department also. They have cleared the department   as a self-supporting venture, .We become self-supporting only when we charge Rs.500 per case. If we charge Rs. 5 for the poor people, there will be a shortfall of Rs. 2  crores . .Let us charge Rs.400 from those below the poverty line, Sir!

CM: Please make it Rs. 100 for the poor, Mr. Ram.

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram ( much relieved at CM’s intervention): All right, Sir. Now that it is a decision at the highest political level, we shall be able to convince the Finance Department.

CS:  Tell us what kind of cases you will clear and which reject?

Mr. Jhinku Ram: We are trying to work out a draft policy. The overarching principle we have adopted is that of harmony. The couples should be in tune with each other, by way of age, income and other important criteria. We shall classify people by age brackets. It is proposed, for example, that a 40 year old man can love a woman between the ages of 36.5 and 39.5 years only.

CM: What else?

Mr. Jhinku Ram: Another classification will be on the basis of monthly income.  For example, a male earning Rs. 20,000 per

month will be allowed to love a female earning between Rs. 13,000 and Rs. 19,000 per month.

A minister: Why so? If a rich male wishes to love a poor girl, why should the Department object? You mean we shall no longer have Cinderellas  marrying princes.

CM:  These folk tales should not be taken too seriously. And imagine, even if it is true, there has been just one Cinderella in the whole of history.

.

CS: Let it be, Sir. If we allow too many exceptions, then it becomes difficult to enforce the law strictly.

CM: What other provisions are you proposing in the policy?

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: If anyone wishes to love a person belonging to a different religion, caste, province or language, and this fact is vouched for by a magistrate or gazetted officer, he will be given a transistor radio, 50 packets of Nirodh and Rs. 250 as an incentive..

CM: This is a good idea. It will enhance the feelings of national integration.

CPI(M) Minister: A Sarpanch should also be authorized to certify. Transistor radios are no longer the rage. Better give them mobile phones.

CM : Both suggestions approved.

CS: What other facilities are you providing to those who love?

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: We are providing one Prem Sewak at the village level to look after the welfare of lovers. A Prem Sewak would provide extra oxygen for sighing, ice cubes and ice cream bricks for reducing the temperature of inflamed bodies, saltwater to replenish the tear glands and sleeping tablets to those who are   passing sleepless nights.. Some of them might have to be provided extra kurtas, if they tear up the ones they have, out of frustration. Others may need extra footwear if they run through chappals while rushing up and down the lane leading to the sweetheart’s house.

CS: How will the scheme operate in practice?

Mr> Jhinkoo Ram: Very simply, Sir. At the outset, the applicant will have to submit the Love Permit Application Form No. 1.The competent authority will see whether the two parties fulfill all the criteria for harmony. Tables for Age Harmony and Income Harmony shall be notified in the official Gazette for general information of the public. If the paperwork is complete in all respects, the competent authority shall issue a Love Start Permit.

CS: Will it be valid for life?

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: No, Sir. If it is valid for life, we shall have to soon wind up the Department. Even otherwise, experience of other departments like motor driving, passport etc.  shows that nothing should remain valid for more than five or ten years. Even the photographs become unrecognizable after that period.:

CM: How shall we keep an eye on the parties?

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: Both parties will be required to submit a monthly progress report to the competent authority. If there are irregularities or complaints of adulteration, monopolistic behaviour etc, they will report the same. Our Love Inspectors will hold enquiries in the field, ascertain the true facts and send their report to the C.A.

CM: And if the report reveals some irregularity “?

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: Then under the second proviso to subsection 15 of section 81, strict action will be taken against the guilty party. The Love Permit will be withdrawn. They may be imposed a fine up to 500 rupees per day of irregular love or imprisonment up to a maximum of two years or both.

CS: And if the progress of love is smooth.

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: They shall be entitled to extensions. At the end of the pemissible period, both parties shall file a Final Report. At this stage, the case will be closed. We shall have the file page numbered, sewn and placed in a file cover and sent to the Record Room .

CM: Bhayi Waah!Mr. Jhinkoo Ram, you have really drafted an excellent bill and taken care of all the aspects.

A Minister: But Sir, some of these transactions of love would,we suppose, fructify into marriage. What then?

Mr. Jhinkoo Ram: Sir it would then fall under the jurisdiction of the Marriage Department. We in the Department of Love are not concerned.

CS: He is not concerned, Sir. I shall call the Secretary, Marriage department in case you have any queries. Mr. Secretary, you may go now. The Cabinet has approved your item.’

( Mr. Jhinkoo Ram gets up to leave, curtain)

                                  SCENE THREE

Young Man: I think we have arrived at the destination. Yes, there is the signboard for the office.

Young Woman: Let us verify the facts before we express happiness .After this hectic search for two hours, I for one am totally fagged out’

Yong Man: This is it.. The signboard says in clear bold letters:,”Office of the District Love Officer.”

Young Woman: I hope he is in office. I hope he has not proceeded on tour.

Young Man: Why do you worry like that? Don’t be a pessimist. We shall find out everything just now.

.(to the peon, seated on a stool, looking into the far distance)

Well Sir, is the Boss in the office?

Peon (with great indifference): I don’t know.

Peon:  What do you mean you do not know? Are you not his Peon?

Peon: Peon?  O Mister! Go back to wherever you have come from. There are no peons in the Government now.... I am not his peon .I am a Group D officer of the Government. I do not keep a record of his comings and goings.

Young Man (incensed at the tone) Is this not a Government office? Are you not a Government employee? What is the meaning of this uncouth behavior? We have work with the officer and we are going in.

Peon (sternly) : Stay where you are. If you force your way in, it will be bad for you.. Don’t you see this notice? Govt. has notified the timings for public dealings.

Young Woman (voice dripping with irony) Between 4 p.m. and 4-15 p.m.. A long long period indeed!

Peon:Yes, Madam.

Young Woman: Look here, brother! Don’t mind the strong words uttered by my friend here. The fact of the matter is that we have come from a remote corner of the district. The last bus goes at 2 p.m. and we cannot stay overnight .It will be kind of you to intercede on our behalf with the boss and arrange for a brief meeting with him.

Young man: (whispering loudly)What are you up to?

Why are you flattering this nincompoop?

Young Woman:  You shut up! Do you want the work to be done or not?

Peon: Sister, the boss does not see anyone at this time. But having heard your story,  I  have a feeling that you have a special case for consideration If I speak to him, perhaps the boss may make an exception and hear you for two minutes.

Young Woman: It will be very kind of you.

Peon: Oh sister, how the times have changed! My father used to be orderly to the District Collector. I tell you, not a single visitor to the Collector came empty-handed. Even the aristocrats of the area like Jagirdars, Zamindars etc would give an Enaam to my father.

Young Man: Yes, brother, then we were a slave nation. Now we are independent. What we called Enaam then, now we call it a bribe.

Young Woman: You shut up! O Group D Officer of the State Government, Sir! What is your good name?

Peon: Jarnail Singh.

Youug Woman::Mister Jarnail Singh, you are absolutely right about.the excellence of the British period

(She offers him a currency note)

The times are really bad. How the cost of living has jumped through the roof!. Here is something for chaipani…

Jarnail Singh (protesting very strongly) :My dear sister! What are you doing? I am famous for my honesty. I never touch money.

Young Woman: Do please accept this small gift for the children.

Jarnail Singh: I shall not touch the money with my hands. If you insist, put it in my pocket yourself.

(She puts the note in his pocket)

You please wait here. I shall go and try to persuade the boss.

(goes inside)

Young Man: Why did you offer a bribe to him?

Young Woman: You keep your ideals at home. You cannot live your life based on mere ideals.

Young Man: Whatever do you mean?

Young Woman: I mean that if you are not permitted by the peon even to meet the boss, what will you achieve?

Young Man: You stopped me or else I would have shouted him into submission.

Young Woman: Oh, go along! They don’t submit that easily. And don’t you pay tatkal money to expedite service in other departments? Take it that you are buying a railway ticket or getting a passport’

Young Man: That is different.  That money goes to the government.

Young Woman (laughing at him): The principle is the same. Take this as informal tatkal.

(Enter Jarnail Singh)

Jarnail Singh:  Come along, come along ! Boss has agreed to see you with great difficulty.

Young Woman: Very kind of him.

(She rushes inside. The young man follows at a more sedate pace.

The boss is seated at a table overladen with files and papers. .He is busy and, more than that, shows himself to be over busy)

Young Man and Young Woman (both together): Good morning, Sir!

Officer ( not lifting his head and in a busy tone):  Good morning, good morning. Please wait a bit. . I am a little busy at this moment. This work is extremely urgent.

(again buries his head in the mountain of files.)

Young Man(   in a stage whisper): Looks like he is writing a letter to his wife. That is extremely urgent work!

Young Woman: (in a stage whisper) Be quiet! He will hear you!

Young Man: (recklessly):  Let him hear. Can he not write his personal letters at home?

Young Woman: Ugh! You will get us thrown out of the office!

Officer (suddenly peeps from the pile of files and pounds on the bell) Jarnail Singh!

Jarnail Sigh (enters quickly) Sir!

Officer: Go and post this letter just now.

Jarnail Singh: Okay Sir.

Officer: And: Jarnail Singh!

Jarnail Singh: Sir?

 Officer: Please send the Head Clerk inside.

Jarnail Singh: Right Sir!( goes)

Young Man (moving gingerly forward) Excuse me, Sir!

Officer (barks) What is the matter? Did I not ask you to wait?

Young Woman: We can wait Sir. But our work will not take more than a minute. All we require is a copy of the  Love Permit Application Form Number 1.

Officer: So what can I do? You go to the Prem Sewak of your village and take the form from him.

Young Man: The post of Prem Sewak in our village is lying vacant for the last six months, Sir.

Officer: So what is the big deal? We have sent the requisition to the Subordinate Service Commission. They will advertise soon. If all goes well, you should have a Prem Sewak in about a year’s time.

Young Woman: That is why we came here , Sir and are bothering you.

Officer (waving a finger at her in reproof): That was not the right thing to do, Miss!. Just think, if we start distributing forms from the district office, when shall we do our own work? Shall we not spend the whole day just  distributing forms?

Young Man: You are right Sir, but in the circumstances and in view of the urgency…

Young Woman: Please do something Sir… as a special case.

(Enter Head Clerk)

Head Clerk: Did you call me, Sir?

Officer: Have you completed that Assembly Question?

Head Clerk: Which one, Sir?

Officer: The one about the reservation for ex-servicemen.

Head Clerk: Sir I have brought that file for guidance. The   question goes like this:

Will the Hon’ble Mnister for Love inform the House as follows:

(a0 During the last five years, how many exservicemen filed their Love Permit Application Forms No.1?

(b) How many were permitted?

© How many were not?

(d)Is the Govt considering a proposal to reserve a certain minimum percentage for the exservicemen?

Young Man: Sir, my father is an ex-serviceman.

Head Clerk: We are not discussing your individual case.

Officer: He wants a copy of  Love Permit Application Form No. !

Head Clerk: Those forms are out of stock, Sir.

Officer (relieved):  Look here, the forms are out of stock. You may try your luck again after a few days..

Young Woman: By when are the stocks expected, Sir?

Officer: What do you say, Mr. Head Clerk?

Head Clerk: Sir, what can I say? We have sent our indent to the Printing and Stationery Department. The forms should start coming within a few days.

Officer: Did you hear, young lady. Come after a few days.

Young Man: But Sir…

Officr: What but sir? Can’t you see how busy I am? You have already heard the assembly question about love among the ex-servicemen. There are fifteen other assembly questions. Hon’ble members are keen to know how much love has been indulged in during the last five years. They want data for each Prem Sewak circle.

Head Clerk: They have also asked for data assembly constituencywise. Mr. Krodhi wishes to have a comparison of the love permitted in his constituency with the areas of ruling party Members. He wants to know whether the comparative figures show a bias against the people of his constituency, merely because he belongs to an opposition party.

 Officer: Some members wish to know what steps Govt. have taken so far to propagate love among families falling below the poverty line and what incentives are being offered to them.

Young Woman: I belong to a Harijan family.

Head Clerk: We are not discussing your case. In any case, you have not even filed an application so far.

Officer: We have   received a questionnaire running over 49 pages from the State Minorities Commission.. They are curious to know what special arrangements have been made to promote love among Muslims, Christians, Buddhists, Jains, Sikhs etc.

Young Man: But what about us?

Officer: You fill in the form first..

Young Woman: But the form is not available!

Head Clerk: That is outside our control. When forms are supplied by the Department of Printing and Stationery, copies will be made available to the Prem Sewaks.

Young Man: But what should we do till then?

Officer: Go home and do your work. Wait patiently for the forms to arrive.

Young Woman: Sir, is it not possible to apply on an ordinary sheet of paper?

Head Clerk: (amazed at the ridiculous suggestion): Sir, did you hear?

Officer: (surprised at the preposterous proposal): My goodness! What sort of suggestion is this? Don’t you know that the provision that the application has to be made on a printed form in the prescribed format is laid down in the Act itself?

Head Clerk: Do you want that both of us should be suspended from service?

Officer: Don’t you know that each printed form carries a unique number. If this is not done, forms can be misplaced. We cannot monitor the progress of each application and post it on our website. Unauthorized persons can sell the forms and cause huge financial loss to the government.

Young Man: But Sir, when we are both present here, why do you need a form?

Head Clerk: Why don’t we need a form?

Officer: How shall we keep a record?

Head clerk: How shall we reply to the Assembly Questions?

Officer:: How shall we maintain statistics?

Head Clerk: How shall we ensure that the fees charged are duly deposited in the govt. treasury, so that there is no loss of revenue to the State exchequer?

Young Man ( Trying very hard to sound logical and reasonable, while holding on to his temper.): I am standing before you. I have brought the fees in cash. For your convenience, I have also brought along the girl I love. You can grant us the  permission under the Act, after asking any questions that you may wish to ask.

Officer: You are talking like a fool. Govt. work is never transacted informally like this.

Head Clerk: There is no provision in the Act for oral applications. Applications have got to be on the printed prescribed proforma.

Officer: The fee cannot be accepted in cash. It has to be deposited in the govt. treasury.

Head Clerk: Don’t you see what anarchy will be there if everyone in our office could accept cash?

Officer: I cannot talk to this gentle lady directly. A copy of your application shall go to her postal address. She will send her No objection in writing. Then we shall examine the case on file in the light of the provisions of Rules and the position of comparative age and comparative income. After I have accorded the permission, the formal permission letter will be issued by the office. It will contain all the terms and conditions of the permission.

Young Woman: You can take my written consent here and now.

Officer: How do I know that you are indeed you?

Young Woman: What do you mean?

Officer: I do not know you.

Young Woman: But I love him.

Head Clerk: You love him? How can you say that?

Officer:  (trying very hard to be helpful) What you probably mean to say is that you wish to love him?

Young Woman: No no, nothing of the sort. I say what I mean. I love him passionately.

Young Man: I also love her, passionately.

.

Head Clerk: Sir, they are both confessing to the crime.

Young Woman: What crime?

Officer: Don’t you know that indulging in an act of love without the prior written permission of the Competent Authority is a crime punishable by law?

Young Man: Sir, we are only telling the truth.

Head clerk; Sir, the matter is going beyond reasonable limits. They are openly defying the law.

Officer: By adding the phrase passionately, the crime gets further compounded and attracts a higher penalty.

(shouts)

Jarnail Singh!

(Enter Jarnail Singh in a hurry)

Jarnail Singh: Yes, Sir.

Officer: Arrest both these culprits under Section 99   of the Act.

Jarnail Singh: Right you are Sir. It will be done.

Young Man: Sir, don’t arrest us. We will not indulge in love.

Young Woman: Sir, we committed  a big blunder. We apologize and promise never to fall in love.

Officer: Take them away.

Young Man: Sir, we did not know that indulging in love as an actionable offence.

Young Woman: Sir we shall marry each other. But we shall never love each other. God promise.

Officer: I cannot change my orders. You may appeal against the order, if you so wish.

Young Man: Please, Sir, have mercy on us.

Young woman :Sir we will never do it again Sir. Leave us this time.

Jarnail Singh: Come along. Come along. Don’t make a noise here. Don’t you see how busy the Boss is…?

(curtain)

                 *************************************