India That Is Bharat
Wonders never cease. The latest one of them is that Ajmal Kasab, Pakistani patriot par excellence, is also a man of letters. For he wrote two letters from his prison in Mumbai to the Pakistan High Commissioner in Delhi asking for a Pak lawyer, as he did not want a na-Pak Indian to represent him. When a nosey newspaper recently reported the contents, the letter and the spirit of Kasab put Satiricus to shame. For so long Satiricus considered himself a patriot, but is he as patriotic as Kasab? Alas, no. Not that he does not love his country. But he is not sure which country. Is that India that is Bharat or is that India that was Bharat? Because of this communal confusion worse confounded in his bird-brain, Satiricus can never be on patriotic par with Kasab. For Kasab there is no such dastardly doubt. He says he is a Pakistani national. Now, Satiricus can also say he is an Indian national, but does that put Kasab and Satiricus on the same level? It does not. For Kasab says as a Pakistani national he had the ambition to become a fidayeen. Can Satiricus envision himself as a gun-toting fidayeen for na-Pak India? The very idea is preposterous. Satiricus is a Hindu and a secularist to boot. So the very mention of guns and bombs makes him break into a cold sweat. On top of this, he is a faithful follower of the Ahimsa of the latest Gandhi. His only but invincible weapon is the deadly dossier.
But for Kasab it was a Kalashnikov, with which he proved his patriotism by participating in the slaughter of two hundred Indians-cum-infidels. With that shining achievement to his credit, he proudly signed off the first letter as a “watan-parast” (‘patriot’). How, then, could the Pak High Commissioner ignore such a Pak patriot? But that, alas, was what happened. For as the wretched report remarked, “the second letter shows how Pakistan abandoned the terrorist it sent to India”.
How could this happen? If, as Satiricus is told, Pakistan is officially called “Islamic Jamhooriyat,” Islamic State of (Patriotic) People, how could the High Commissioner become so low? But perhaps the problem with this low commissioner is that he cannot understand the deadly difference defined by our famous (fifth) columnist between Islamic and Islamist. Neither can Satiricus, for that matter. Hopeless Hindu and journalistic ignoramus that he is, he needs someone to explain to him if what the Prophet preached was Islam or Islamism.
Sweet Fodder For Thought
“Holy Khav!” American cows seem to have been hit by recession in reverse gear. For news comes that in the state of Indiana a farmer’s herd of about 450 dairy cows is now living the sweet life literally. As the worst drought in half a century has ravaged this year’s corn crop and driven the prices of corn feed sky high, this farmer has found a cheaper (and sweeter) alternative a mixture of cookies, dried berries, orange peels, and what have you. “The amazing thing about a cow,” said a nutritionist, is that it can take “something you normally throw away” and “turn them into food”. Well, now, what do you say? No fancy food for thought, says Satiricus, but certainly sweet fodder for thought. But are not burgers and bagels and hot dogs and cookies junked as “junk food” in the US of A? Satiricus wouldn’t know. For the milk that he puts in his tea comes from the holy cow of India and not from the Holy Khav!of America. By the way, a certain dairy farmer in India is playing bhajan music in his cow-sheds and the cows listening to it give more milk. So how about American cows listening to American music? They could have a wide choice from the church music played in the glory of the exclusive Christian god to the “hate music” that is reportedly sweeping across that country. Or how about some ‘wild west’ music for wild western cows? For a couple of years back Satiricus had read in the papers about a 20-year-old American pop singer singing in his “horror core” lyrics of “the best feeling” derived from killing people slowly! Will this murderous music make more milk?
Road To Riches
Money does not grow on trees, the PM said. He is right. There is a plant called Money Plant and poor Satiricus tried to grow it in an earthen pot as a last resort for making money. He failed. The Money Plant did not grow even a two-bit, let alone a tenner. It was then that Satiricus realised that the poverty he really suffers from is the poverty of imagination. To be really rich, he should become either a politician or a smuggler. Unfortunately, he is too artless for the first, and too gutless for the second.