The Investigator

Nations wants Arnab to come back!

The nation gently wipes a tear from her eye with the pallu of her sari. The sari is in tatters. The green parts have faded a little. She looks frail. “After the cuts in the health budget, I’ve been feeling a bit poorly,” she explains, “Plus all this stress and strain. Nowadays I’m being dragged into everything.” She holds up her wrists. They have bruises. “I don’t get a moment’s peace.” She bursts into tears. “If Arnab was here, do you think they would dare treat me this way? Nobody loved me like that boy.” Her eyes light up. I’m beginning to realise that she has mood swings. Most nations are like that. She pokes me in the chest with a bony finger. “You’re a reporter, that too from BLink. Your reportage is legendary. You must have sources. Can’t you locate him? Where has he gone?”

I mumble something about Guwahati, but she ignores me and keeps speaking.

Like many elderly people, she is not a good listener. “I remember the times when I was protected by Arnab. It seems like yesterday. So protective he was, and so strong. His voice could be heard right up to the border, even without a TV set. No Pakistani could ever open his mouth. And those pieces of paper! No one could wave paper like him. Who uses paper nowadays? And who are these new people, trying to replace him? Can

doodh replace kheer? All they can do is look angry, and their anger is weak. Newborn babies are angrier than them. Their voices are feeble. Their beards are inadequate. They cannot fill a suit the way Arnab used to. Sometimes he would expand a little. Their performances are without dimension or nuance. Anger is only a part of it. So much more is involved. Where is that samosa twirling gesture that Arnab was so good at? That half-raised hand, that look of long suffering, the sudden acceleration from sweet smile to imminent heart attack — where did it go? Why are so many people being allowed to complete sentences? The Pakistanis are looking so relaxed. It’s as if they’re at a holiday camp. I need to be defended better than this.”

She ruffles my hair, and grabs me by the arm. “You seem like a nice boy. Help me, no?” I try to move away, but I can’t. Her smile is sweet but her grip is like iron. I realise that the nation is stronger than she looks. “Why don’t you call up Arnab and ask him where he is?” she says, patting my cheek. “Tell him the nation wants to know.”

Only select teachers to be beaten, clarifies ABVP!

In news described as “so typical” by Light Pink Communist Weekly, sources within the ABVP have clarified that not all teachers of designated anti-national colleges will be beaten up.

“Only a few select cases may be considered,” said the source. “Besides, it wasn’t us. We suspect that it was an internal dispute, between communist teachers and communist students. As you know, communist parties are constantly splitting and sparring. These disputes are frequently vicious. Alternatively, it could be that some patriotic souls who were in no way connected to us were unable to control themselves. While we do not condone such actions, when the blood is boiling, these things can happen. We would only request that in cases where such action is unavoidable, 50 per cent quota should be maintained for women, and they should give relatives of defence personnel one final warning before taking action, which we will continue to condemn.”

In related news, Delhi Police has requested news organisations to “kindly hire older employees in order to avoid unnecessary confusion”, while the opposing forces of AISA have committed themselves to the twin goals of “continuing the fight to defend free speech” and “learning Mandarin as quickly as possible”. “Our commitment to free speech is unwavering and total,” said an AISA spokesperson, “until the Party comes to power. After that, it will be up to the Politburo.”

Ask Ally

Dear Ally,

I want a better mummy. The current one is not suiting me.

Regards,

Ramesh, Chennai

Dear Ramesh,

This seems like a cry for help. You are not alone. I have been getting a lot of complaints about mummies from the Chennai region. “The earlier mummy was a much better mummy,” many of them tell me, “we don’t like this mummy so much. She’s never here. She’s always in jail, that too very far away. In order to fall at her feet, a lot of travelling has to be done, and the environment there is not suitable. She is mixing with all kinds of loose characters, who may end up corrupting her.” Others have complained that this mummy is not large enough. They prefer larger mummies. Also mummies with fewer relatives. “Somehow it’s not the same,” they are saying. To all of you I say, I hear you. I feel your pain. I too am a local boy. Please be patient. Mummy development is a slow process. Rome was not built in a day. Haste makes waste. A penny saved is a penny earned. Give her time. Nurture her with your love. She may be a mummy, but she’s only human.

Yours affectionately, Ally

Ally Subramaniam was born in the South-West Sunderbans, but was blown away by a cyclone and washed up on the shore near Chennai.

He was adopted by a poor Brahmin family from Tirupur. He can answer all your questions. Just send them to askallysubramaniam@gmail.com

The Investigator is a fortnightly round-up of all things droll and newsy. All views are personal. Really personal.

Shovon Chowdhury is chief Truthdigger and author of The Competent Authority; @shovonc