The General was summoned by god and reprimanded for the wrongs he had done to the people. ‘You will receive a hundred lashes on your buttocks,’ was the Divine sentence.
The General was duly tied to a post, his bottom exposed and the jailer began to apply the whip. With each stroke, the General roared with laughter. The Almighty was very surprised at his behaviour and asked, ‘Why are you laughing while being beaten?’
‘Because the buttocks receiving the lash belong to the American ambassador.’
President Zia-ul Haq’s trusted barber seemed to have become infected by the popular demand for the restoration of democracy. One morning while clipping the President’s hair he asked: ‘Gareeb purwar! When are you going to have elections in Pakistan?’
The President ignored the question with the contempt it deserved from a military dictator. At the next hair-cutting session, the barber asked: ‘Aali jah! Isn’t it time you redeemed your promise to have elections?’
The President controlled his temper and remained silent.
On the third hair-clipping session the barber again blurted out: ‘Banda Nawaz, the awam (common people) are clamouring for elections, when will you order them?’
The President could not contain himself anymore and exploded: ‘Gaddar! I will have you taught a lesson you will never forget.’ And ordered his minions to take away the barber and give him ten lashes on his buttocks.
The barber fell at the great man’s feet and whined: ‘Zill-i-Ilahi (shadow of God) I eat your salt; how can I become a gaddar? I only mentioned elections to make my job easier.’
‘What do you mean?’ demanded Zia-ul Haq.
‘Every time I utter the word election, Your Excellency’s hair stands on edge and is much easier to clip.’
After the last summit meeting between Rajiv Gandhi and President Zia-ul Haq, the two met privately for a friendly exchange of views. ‘What is your favourite hobby?’ Zia-ul Haq asked Rajiv Gandhi.
‘I collect jokes people tell about me,’ replied Rajiv. ‘And what is your favourite hobby, Mr President?’
‘I collect people who make jokes about me,’ replied Zia-ul Haq.
Yahya Khan, the former Pakistan President, trying to persuade a yokel to volunteer for the Pakistani Air Force, took him inside the aircraft and explained: ‘You press this yellow button and the engine will start. Then you press the red one and the plane will fly off. It is all very simple.’
‘But how do I bring it down?’ asked the yokel, puzzled.
‘You don’t have to bother about that,’ explained Yahya Khan. ‘Leave that to the Indian Air Force.’
Recently I received an anonymous letter from Islamabad containing an unsigned poem entitled, ‘A User’s Guide to Indian Causology. I found it extremely witty and biting in its satire. I reproduce it in full for Indian readers:
When the monsoon fails and the sun drums down
On the parched Gangetic plain
And the tanks dry up and dust-storms blow
Where once were fields of grain.
When hunger stalks each village hut
And famine grips the land,
It isn’t Mother Nature’s fault
It is the Foreign Hand!
For this is India, you see,
Not Germany or France,
And nothing here is blamed on god
Much less on quirky chance.
Here evil has a fingered form
Both alien and planned.
It is the Foreign Hand!
When Hindu lads hack Sikhs to death
In peaceful Delhi town.
When Rajiv’s corns are acting up
Or the Bombay bourse goes down,
When the pesky little Nepalese
Insist on things like borders.
When once-tame Tamil Tigers balk
At taking South Block orders.
The reasons for this mischief
I think you’ll understand
It’s those meddling foreign digits
It is the Foreign Hand!
So when you’re in a Delhi lift
Beside a buxom dame
And you give in to the natural urge
To pinch her husky frame,
Confront her adamantine glare
With a visage mildly bland,
And say: ‘It wasn’t me, my dear
It was the Foreign Hand!’
With Due Disrespect
An anti-establishment joke: A vagrant, finding no place on the pavement, parked himself at the feet of the statue of Mahatma Gandhi. At midnight he was awakened by someone gently tapping him with his stick. It was the Mahatma himself. ‘You Indians have been unfair to me,’ complained the benign spirit. ‘You put my statues everywhere that show me standing or walking. My feet are very tired. Why can’t I have a horse like the one Shivaji has? Surely, I did as much for the nation as he! And you still call me your Bapu.’
Next morning the vagrant went round calling on the ministers. At long last he persuaded one to join him for a night-long vigil at the feet of the Mahatma’s statue. Lo and behold, as the iron tongue of the neighbouring police station gong struck the midnight hour, the Mahatma emerged from his statue to converse with the vagrant. He repeated his complaint of having to stand or walk and his request to be provided a mount like the Chhatrapati’s.
‘Bapu,’ replied the vagrant, ‘I am too poor to buy you a horse, but I have brought this minister of government for you. He . . .’
Bapu looked at the minister and remarked: ‘I asked for a horse, not a donkey.’
This was a favourite story during the Emergency imposed by Indira Gandhi in 1975. Bapu Gandhi, up in heaven, was troubled by the thought that after all he had done for his country, no one even remembered his name. He sent for Jawaharlal Nehru and said: ‘Nehru beta, you ruled the country for many years. What did you do to perpetuate the memory of your Bapu Gandhi?’
‘Bapu, I did everything I could. I had a samadhi built on the spot where we cremated your body. On your birthdays and death anniversaries we gathered at the samadhi, sang Ram Dhun and Vaishnav Jan. What more could I do?’
‘Who came after you?’ asked Bapu.
‘I am told Lal Bahadur became Prime Minister after me,’ replied Nehru.
So Bapu Gandhi sent for Lal Bahadur and put him the same question. Shastri replied: ‘Bapu, I had a very short time as Prime Minister—only one-and-half years, but I had your statues put up in every town and village. I had all your speeches published in all languages and distributed free. What more could I have done?’
‘Who came after you?’ asked Bapu.
‘It’s Nehru’s chhokree, Indira. She is now ruling India.’
So Bapu sent for Indira Gandhi, who had just imposed Emergency on the country and put the same question to her. Indira Gandhi replied: ‘I have done more to perpetuate your memory than either Shastri or my father. I have made the entire country like you. I have left the people nothing more than their langotis and a staff like you have.’
Bapu was horrified. ‘Beti, this is very wrong. The people will rise against you for depriving them of everything.’
‘Not to worry, Bapu,’ replied Indira. ‘I have taken care of that. I have put the langoti in their hands and put the danda up their bottoms.’
An argument arose as to which state government excelled in corruption. The following story settled the issue.
Six years ago an MLA from Kerala visited Chandigarh and called on a Punjab minister at his house. He was amazed at the ostentation and asked his old friend. ‘How did you manage to acquire so much wealth?’
‘Are you really interested to know?’
‘Of course, yes. A little extra knowledge always helps.’
‘Then wait till tomorrow, and I shall explain fully.’
The next day the minister drove the MLA down the highway for several kilometers in his personal Honda.
He stopped the car, both of them got out and the minister pointed his finger to a spot down the beautiful
valley.
‘Do you see the big bridge over there?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ replied the MLA.
‘Half the cost of the bridge went into my pocket.’
Four years later the Punjabi who in the meantime had lost his ministership, went on a holiday to Trivandrum and called on his old friend, who had now become a minister. ‘By god,’ said the Punjabi, ‘you have beaten me flat. Crystal chandeliers, Italian marble, Mercedes. Tell me how you managed it.’
‘I will tell you tomorrow,’ said the minister. Next day the minister drove him down the highway, stopped the car at a spot overlooking a valley and the minister pointed his finger to a spot down the valley, and asked:
‘Do you see the bridge over there?’
‘I see no bridge,’ said the Punjabi.
‘Quite right,’ said the minister. ‘The entire cost of the bridge went into my pocket.’
A minister due to go on a foreign tour had a lot of cash lying with him. He thought it would be safest left with the Prime Minister and requested him to keep it for him till he returned. The Prime Minister agreed but insisted that the transaction be witnessed by two of his senior advisers. ‘Money matters can lead to misunderstanding,’ said the PM. ‘It is always wise to have two witnesses.’
The minister saw the wisdom of the advice. The cash was handed over to the PM in the presence of two of his senior advisers.
Some weeks later when the minister returned home, he called on the PM and asked for the return of the money.
‘What money?’ asked the PM. ‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’
‘The cash I left with you,’ pleaded the minister. ‘You even had two of your senior advisers as witnesses.’ ‘Let’s ask them,’ replied the PM. The senior advisers were sent for. ‘Do you know anything about this minister leaving money with me?’ asked the PM.
‘No, sir, I know nothing,’ replied one. ‘No, sir, he did not leave any money with you,’ said the other. The senior advisers left the room. The PM opened his safe and gave back the minister his cash.
‘Why did you first say you knew nothing about my money?’ asked the bewildered minister.
‘I just wanted you to know what kind of advisers I have,’ replied the PM.
A minister of government whose knowledge of English was very poor was provided with a secretary to write speeches for him.
‘Give me a fifteen-minute speech on the non-aligned movement,’ ordered the boss.
The text was prepared to last exactly fifteen minutes. But when the minister proceeded to make his oration it took him half-an-hour to do so. The organizers of the conference were upset because their schedule went awry. And the minister was upset because his secretary had let him down. He upbraided him: ‘I asked for a fifteen-minute speech; you gave me a half-hour speech. Why?’ he demanded.
‘Sir, I gave you a fifteen-minute speech. But you read out its carbon copy as well.’
Two tigers disappeared from the Delhi zoo. Not a trace could be found of them anywhere. Then suddenly one day six months later, they were back in their cages. One was skin and bones; the other had put on a lot of weight. They began to compare notes. Said the thin tiger: ‘I was very unlucky. I found my way to Rajasthan. There was a famine and I couldn’t find anything to eat. The cattle had died and even the humans I ate had hardly any flesh on them. So I decided to get back to the zoo. Here at least I get one square meal every day. But you look healthy enough. Why did you come back?’
Replied the fat tiger, ‘To start with I was very lucky. I found my way to the government secretariat. I hid myself under a staircase. Every evening as the clerks came out of their offices, I caught and ate one of them. For six months no one noticed anything. Then yesterday I made the mistake of eating the fellow who serves them their morning tea. Then all hell broke loose. They looked for him everywhere and found me hiding under the staircase. They chased me out.
‘So I am back at the zoo. It is safer here.’
This comes from a young entrant to the Indian Administrative Service. His first posting was as a junior assistant to the secretary of the ministry. One morning he took some important files to discuss with his boss. After knocking on the door and receiving no reply, he gently pushed open the door to find his senior standing by the window deeply engrossed in his thoughts. He tip-toed out of the room. Since the files were marked ‘Immediate’, he went back to the secretary’s room and, again receiving no reply to the knock, went in. The boss was still standing where he had been and intently looking out of the window. Junior sahib coughed lightly to make his presence known. The secretary turned round and remarked, ‘How can this country go forward! For the last one hour I have been watching the workmen on the road. They haven’t done a stroke of work.’
The Kashmir militants tried to kidnap one of Devi Lal’s loved ones but gave up: they couldn’t decide which buffalo to take hostage.
Punchline
Question: What did the little boy tell his father when the radiator of their new Maruti Suzuki developed a leak?
Answer: Maruti nay soo soo kee.
Question: What do you call a very well-dressed man in Kerala?
Answer: Debo Nair
Contributed by Joydeep Ghosh, Calcutta
A visitor having tea at a restaurant complained about the quality of the tea.
‘Sahib, we have got this tea from Darjeeling,’ explained the waiter.
‘Is that why it is so cold?’ asked the customer.
Contributed by J.P. Singh Kaka, New Delhi
Customer: Waiter! I asked for alu paratha but I find no potatoes in it!’
Waiter: ‘What’s in a name, sir! If you ask for Kashmiri pulao, will you expect to find Kashmir in it?’
Contributed by Rajib Bhattacharjee
Seen inside a DTC bus:
Aana free
Jaana free
Pakray gaye to
Khana free
Contributed by J.P. Singh Kaka, New Delhi
An anti-smoking enthusiast addressed a person who had just lit a cigarette. ‘Do you realize that one-third of the smoke from your cigarette is inhaled by me?’
‘Is that so?’ replied the smoker. ‘Every cigarette costs me sixty paise. So you owe me twenty paise for this one.’
Contributed by Manoj Datta, New Delhi
It was the morning after, and he sat groaning and holding his head.
‘Well, if you hadn’t drunk so much last night you wouldn’t feel so bad now,’ the wife said tartly.
‘My drinking had nothing to do with it,’ he answered. ‘I went to bed feeling wonderful and woke up feeling awful. It was the sleep that did it!’
A passenger from Bombay on a visit to Singapore picked up uncomplimentary acronyms on the subcontinent’s two major international carriers: Pakistan International Airways and Air India.
PIA: Please Inform Allah.
AI: Already Informed.
A gambler’s three-year-old son learned to count upto thirteen. It went as follows: One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, jack, queen, king.
The three stages of sickness:
Ill
Pill
Bill
Sometimes these is a fourth:
Will
First man: ‘Call me a doctor, call me a doctor!’
Second man: ‘What’s the matter? Are you sick?’
First man: ‘No, I’ve just graduated from medical school!’
My Days with Krishna Menon
1. Some years later I met Sudhir Ghosh at the Friends Meeting House in Delhi. He was then member of the Rajya Sabha. His pockets still bulged with letters. He read out one he had received from President John F. Kennedy—and his reply ending with ‘love for Jacqueline’.
2. Lall, like Sudhir Ghosh, was a bit of a ‘name dropper’. Years later as a professor at Columbia he still referred to his eminent friends by their first names: ‘Hubert’ (Humphrey); ‘Averill’ (Harriman); ‘Cy’ (Vana); ‘Nan’ (Vijayalakshmi Pandit)
.
3. After the death of her husband, Ela Sen, despite all she knew Menon had said about her, sought his assistance to get a job. When I expressed surprise she answered, ‘One has to live.’
Holy Men and Holy Cows
1. This article was written in the year 1967.
The Sikh Homeland (From A History of the Sikhs)
1. The intra-fluvial tracts or mesopotamias are known in the Punjab as doabs—two waters. Except for the doabs between the Indus and the Jhelum and the Sutlej and the Jumna, they are known by a combination of the names of the two rivers between which they lie. These names were coined in the time of Emperor Akbar, presumably by his minister, Todar Mal.
2. Another name by which parts of the Punjab was known in ancient time was madra desha, the land of the madras. So named after Madri, the mother of the Pandavas.
3. The description of the seasons in this chapter are taken from Guru Nanak’s Barah Mah (The Twelve Months), carried in full elsewhere in this book.
4. The blasts are produced by an empty pitcher placed on the mouth of the exhaust pipe of the diesel engine.
5. The pied-crested cuckoo (clamor jacobinus) takes advantage of the monsoon winds and flies from the East African Coast ahead of the clouds. It usually reaches the coast of India a day or two before the monsoon breaks; hence the name, monsoon bird.
6. In the Babar Nama the Mughal conqueror Babar who invaded India in AD 1526 writes of hunting rhinoceros in the Punjab.
7. In the Khuldsal-ut-Tawdrikh Sujanj Rai, who lived in the latter part of the seventeenth century, described the lakhi in the following words: ‘Every year the floods overspread the land far and wide, and when the water subsides so many jungles spring up all over this country owing to the great moisture, that a pedestrian has great difficulty in travelling. How then can they ride?’
8. See, S.M. Ikram and Percival Spear, eds, The Cultural Heritage of Pakistan, pp. 20–24, Sir RE Mortimer Wheeler, The Indus Civilization.
9. A.L. Basham, The Wonder that Was India, p. 28.
10. Examples of the Gandhara School can be seen in museums at Peshawar, Taxila, Lahore, Delhi, Mathura, and many other cities.
Not a Nice Man to Know Page 53
