Saatchi, Musharraf and Britney Spears

Winter has its advantages. The heavy overcoat with upturned collar, the scarf around the neck that also covers almost all the face except of course the eyes, the dark glasses that announce either an idiot or a celebrity, the gloves... and the rest is achieved by a darkness that unnecessarily descends on London much before it should...

Unnoticed by everyone the man reached the tall building.
Facing him now was a large revolving door. At first he did not know what to do. He had not opened a door since the last eight years. He did not know how to. ‘And this one in particular is a serious wastage,’ he thought. But alas, if everyone could think like him – the world would make more sense. I mean, why this revolving mechanism, such a waste of time and effort, same as the Great Wall of China. At least that damn monstrosity is visible from the moon. This damn revolving door does not figure anywhere. ‘Strategy, tact, patience,’ he reminded himself and waited, and then he entered the building quickly making use of someone else’s inertia once a stranger stepped out with a force that caused the doors to revolve a bit extra though not without consequence.

Now why in the hell did I think of the Great Wall... was the first question that propped up in his mind once he had entered the building. There was a tiny Chinese girl at the reception. She looked up at him from her lunch, a noodle dangling from the side of her insufficient mouth. At least, they could have put a blue-eyed blonde with an open neck shirt in her place, he thought. Clumsy. No doubt clumsy, no tact indeed...

‘Mr Saatchi is waiting for you in his office Mr President,’ she said even before he could open his mouth to speak, as if she wanted to get rid of him quickly. ‘No one can get rid of me so fast,’ he thought angrily, but then almost immediately he also changed his mind to linger around at the reception for the next few days. There was no point.

‘Come right in Mr President,’ Saatchi said, waving a hand that held a churchill size cigar, the other clutching a dry martini.

‘Drink.... Mr President?’ he asked his eyebrows raised.
‘No,’ I don’t drink,’ came the reply – which brought forth an impulsive laughter from Saatchi. ‘Very Good Mr President, I like it. Very good indeed,’ he said pointing a finger at the President, as a gesture of appreciation for an intelligent thought... ‘Let me write this down before I forget,’ he said moving towards his desk. ‘Alright, now where is the Holier-Than-Thou folder in the President of Pakistan portfolio. Here it is.’ And then opening it, he jotted down slowly, ‘I.... don’t ... drink... full stop...’
‘A cigar perhaps?’ He now asked having finished with his entry.

‘Must admit, it is an occasional vice, I like a cigar when I am thinking – in fact, to be precise, every time that I ever think, I do it in the company of a cigar for the want of a better company, if you know what I mean...’

‘No problem Mr President,’ Saatchi remarked,’ I have a great collection of Habanas. I will ask my secretary to have a box delivered to you.’

‘No, no. Thank you. I don’t smoke that much anyway. To be honest the last time I smoked was quite a few years ago. Surely, you would not want to waste an entire box... I would have probably smoked it in a life time but the cigars would not remain as fresh for so long, humidor or no humidor.
However, I think I will have one today. I think it is time...’

‘Alright, Mr President,’ Saatchi said handing him a cigar, ‘now what can we do for you today?’

‘Firstly, I want to know why Britney Speers is more famous than me?’ the President asked. ‘I mean...why...’ he blurted out unable to find words that could express the extent of his emotions...

‘Well to start with Mr President, you don’t have either the body or the voice...’ Saatchi said in good humour, but then seeing the expression on the face of his visitor, he became serious at once... and yet unable to quickly think of an answer to this unexpected question, with nothing better to say, what came out of his mouth next was not encouraging in any way either, ‘Mr President, you should not be competing with her kind of fame. Her kind of fame is more apt for this part of the world. You see, Britney lives in a free country while you don’t...’ and then it was too late. The words had slipped out. There was no way returning them. The best he could do was to kick himself under the table.

But, rather wisely, for exceptions do occur, the President did what was best under the circumstances. He ignored the comment with a dignity that is only known to him and which remains completely unknown to the rest of mankind.

‘Why don’t we concentrate on our own strategy instead Mr President?’ Saatchi now made an attempt to salvage the situation. ‘I understand well that these are trying times Mr President. The world is an unreasonable place. You even have had to reverse everything that you have ever done. So let’s start with this. Is there any chance of your catching Osama Bin Laden? That will definitely put you right back at the top of the charts...’

‘Have you seen Osama Bin Laden?’

‘No I haven’t, Mr President.’

‘Has Bush seen him, has Dick seen him, has Brown seen him. You tell me, if no one can even see him, how do you expect me to arrest him...?’

‘Okay, Okay, Mr President. Please don’t be upset. Now let us tow another line. Is there some way you can help alleviate the threat of nuclear arms from the minds of the Free World?’

‘Well, first of all, I object to your referring to The Free World all the time. Just because we are a controlled environment and have suppression does not mean we are not free. We are as free as anyone. If we do not have democracy as a system that does not mean we are not democratic. It is just that we have our own way of doing things, that’s all.
We can’t ape you, otherwise we will be referred to as apes and copy cats and what not... in case you may not have noticed so far, we are original people. Our kind of systems may have failed up to now – but history will not judge me for the lack of trying I assure you. And now to answer your original question, we have executed the Prime Minister who started the nuclear program. Arrested, humiliated and sent into exile the Prime Minister who conducted the Nuclear Test. Humiliated and arrested the man who built the bomb.

Now what more do people want, what do they want me to do more... perhaps promise to arrest and humiliate the Prime Minister who will eventually explode it one day...? Ok, I will do it. You can pass this to the media if you want... happy now, what else...’ he said, making a note in his diary in front of which he wrote the initials... ‘chow/shai’. Perhaps the Chinese was getting to him, he thought with secret amusement...

‘Okay Mr President. We will send out a press release. I am sure everyone will be relieved and it will tremendously improve your ratings. And now, Mr President, something else, I hope you understand that being your strategists we do also have to give you advice at times that may seem as a bit unpleasant, but then I am sure you will agree that it has to be done.’

‘Of course I agree and I understand. You know me Saatchi. I am always ready to listen. Anyone can say anything to me. I always listen. And no one has ever had to repeat anything to me twice, not ever.’

‘Mr President it is a known fact that you being a simple soldier are on an on-the-job learning curve in your current job. And that it may take another forty-eight years and which is very much understandable in your case. But the fall out is that you do often need to reverse everything that you ever say or do in rather quick succession, so I will advise you to abstain from any ideological statements until the time that you do finally have an ideology that may need some substantial time to be reversed. Do you understand that... I mean, no more stuff like the Enlightened Mediocrity and so on and so forth...’

‘How many times have I told you it is not Enlightened Mediocrity - it is Enlightened Moderation... but anyway, go on, I am prepared to listen. After all we do pay you handsomely for it, hee, hee, hee...,’

‘That reminds me Mr President. I am a bit short today. Do you have any cash on you...?’ Saatchi asked.

‘Cash. What cash. I don’t know what you are talking about. I swear to God the last time I ever saw cash was twenty years ago when I used it at a gas station the night before I became a Brigadier. I have never seen cash ever since, all I ever have to do now is sign and that is also not needed as such if you know what I mean... but don’t worry, I will ring someone...’

‘And now back to business Mr Saatchi, the other reason I have come to see you is that I am worried. You see, people are trying to drag my family into the media. People have no dignity as you may know very well. I mean why involve my family, but anyway, what do you think we should do about it?
I am very concerned. One’s own family is a different ball-game after all...’

‘Well, the best strategy for that is to somehow declare you and your family as holy. I can’t think of anything else to be honest. Only this can turn out to be foolproof. But you did miss a chance a few years ago Mr President. Remember when there was a suicide attack on you which you obviously survived. And a few hours later, you declared on TV that nothing will ever happen to you since you have with you the prayers of a pious mother... well, that was a lost opportunity... You should have acted then and exposed the mothers of all the innocent bystanders who were killed in the attack in your place. You should have disclosed their character and put it on all the bulletin boards. It was a real opportunity. A God sent thingee. An opportunity to show the world that only you guys are holy, that God is only with you and for very obvious reasons... but you blew it – it was not just bombs that blew that day Mr President let me tell you. You should have driven that point home once and for all and right then and there, with such startling evidence in your favour, with the incident being fresh in everyone’s mind, and with everything in your own two hands ... what a wastage... and if you had done that I think your family as a result would have then been placed on a pedestal and worshipped as saints henceforth onwards and so on and so forth... I mean it should have become apparent to all that God is only interested in pious families, that only pious people escape attempts... that God makes His selection after serious thought.... baring that infidel chap D Gaulle or whatever his name...’

‘Oh yes, I have heard of this chap also. He was from Nigeria wasn’t he with some kind of a French name... In fact some one mentioned the other day that I may well break his record one day. And that if he were still around, he would have also been a favourite of Bush. Anyway, point taken Saatchi... but let me also give you an advice if I may and that too free of cost, hee, hee, hee... Have you thought of having a more presentable receptionist?’

‘Oh no, Mr President, I think you have got it wrong. I mean, you have everything right always except this one. This girl that you saw at the reception is a temporary replacement. I sent the permanent receptionist on a forced holiday today... she is probably lying on a sun bed in a gym somewhere...’
‘But that is rather cruel don’t you think. I mean you should not be forcing people surely...’

‘Yeah, I know what you mean, but anyway Mr President, let’s recap,’ Saatchi said changing the subject. ‘We know that it is a game of relativity. That everything is relative. A good number two can have devastating effects. A bad number two can only make you look good. Apparently and even luckily there is no competent number two in a nation of 160 million.
And of course the way we will take things forward there won’t be any for another few hundred years either. So keep it up. I mean the Chaudhrys of Gujrat have done you great service. They have done a great job. They are both naturals.
The elder one not only seems devoid of reason but also seems as someone who has not had food since ages. There is always this spontaneous urge to give him some change – at least a crumb of bread. Maybe some vegetables even to bring some colour back to his cheeks. And the younger one seems as if a parrot has just done his business right above his head and at that very precise moment... they both constantly demand sympathy, but that Shaikh is a stroke of genius I must admit Mr President. He is everything that one should not be in polite society. And seeing him, it is no wonder that people are even willing to accept you forever.... the Americans would hate to see Shaikh in his full glory, even the thought of such a possibility seems vulgar to be honest, and they are grateful that you have kept him in control. At the same time, he is also a constant reminder of what may come if not urgently stopped and that too at once no matter what it may take... so keep it up... you are the only sane man amongst 160 million barbarians Mr President and moreover, on top of everything else, I think together we make a great team...’