Surplus Majors and Jerk Chicken

Yesterday, when I went to collect my monthly dole from my local council, the officer in charge was apologetic, ‘Sorry Mr Nazir this is all we have for you at the moment,’ she said.

‘That’s alright,’ I replied giving her my most forgiving look but only after I had formally accepted her apology.

‘You are such a gentleman Mr Nazir,’ she said, ‘all of us here at the council know well that this is not really enough for you. I mean, of course, considering where you are coming from...’

‘Well, actually, I have always managed to live within my means – so no worries... In fact, it is a mark of my character I must admit...’ I said thoroughly pleased. And yet my curiosity was aroused and I asked her what exactly did she mean when she said where I was coming from...

‘We know Mr Nazir. All of us at the council know that you are a potential millionaire by virtue of being a natural citizen of Pakistan. Believe me all of us appreciate the fact... all of us saw the white paper Mr Nazir.’

‘And what is it about...?’ I asked her in a testing way. As if I was only checking on her knowledge to make sure that she had got it right, that I of course knew everything already, having perhaps even approved whichever yellow paper she was talking about much before it was sent for publication...

And therefore gathering her most well informed look, the officer now sat in the viva exam while she stood up tall facing me though not as much tall as yours truly at that particular point in time, ‘We have seen the report Mr Nazir. We know that if all living (retired and serving) Generals were removed from your country, your per capita income would be the highest in the world. And if all the living Majors were also removed, you would be the most prosperous nation on the face of the earth, forget oil, all citizens of Pakistan will be millionaires... you wont even have to export brain and muscle drain in future...’

‘I must admit that we are quite self-sufficient in terms of Majors me lady,’ I said with pride. ‘In fact, every second citizen in our country is a retired Major to be honest. Their upkeep is a bit expensive you know, but then you see all is fair in love and war, if you know what I mean... In fact, only the other day, we were declared as a nation with the maximum number of retired Majors in the world, not to mention Colonels and Brigadiers and Generals,’ And, then having said that I walked out with me head high, a certain spring now attending my gait.

Recently enriched, not by the cheque alone that warmly lay in my pocket, but also with the prospect of the fortunes that lay in wait for me once the Generals and Majors were removed from the scene... the only images that now came to my mind were of bleaches and power cleaners and vacuum cleaners... I was happy as a lark. I felt free. I decided to live it up, act recklessly, rejoice in my abundance and so on and so forth. And I decided to have some expensive sushi and thus headed straight towards Tesco. Who knows, it could be me lucky day, the expiry dates could be favourably yielding and I may even have some sushi for dinner as well...

However, it is difficult for potential millionaires to restrain internal joy since it tends to spill out into the streets in the shape of huge demonstrations with fire crackers and blinding flashes of light et all – and there is this feeling of patronization that needs to be fulfilled and thus I felt sorry for the big black woman who was buying a large chicken while passing the meat display... I felt superior, my meat for the day was sushi, it called for some show of compassion towards the underprivileged...

‘Having Jerk Chicken today sweetheart?’ I asked.

‘At least we don’t bleed them to death...’ she replied eyeing me up and down. For a second, I thought of telling her to improve her knowledge and read the green paper but then there was no point...

‘I love Jerk chicken,’ I said ignoring the insult. ‘But today I am having sushi, do you like sushi, have you ever had sushi...?’

‘Why don’t you display your excitement on the notice board?’ she answered, but then she softened her stance... ‘Are you from where I think you are...?’ she asked her eyebrows raised.

‘No need to be alarmed me lady, we are all potential millionaires in case you don’t know... just read the red paper and you will find out.’

‘Oh, are you, I mean a millionaire,’ she exclaimed,’ then I like you...’

‘I like you too,’ I replied.

‘So what’s wrong with Musharaff?’ she now asked...

I am fed up of this man you know he crops up everywhere... I don’t know how to live with the blame and the curse...he even interferes in one’s social life...no matter how far you try to run away from him.

‘And is he as popular in your country and is he as smart as the legend goes...’ she continued. ‘And are you looking for some flour – it is on that shelf behind the security guard...’

‘Of course, he is... he himself says so,’ I answered. ‘In fact, only the other day he said to the foreign media that he is also the beloved of the nation. His might be the lone voice but it is a voice that matters you know. And he is of course very smart... He is a natural to be honest. He does not even have to think before he opens his mouth. In fact, his knee-jerk reactions are well documented. In fact, the true state of affairs is that his knee is jerking all the time... it is jerking and it is jerking, jerking, jerking, jerking, jerking...’ I could have gone on forever but I think she got the message.

‘Actually his knee jerks so much that we lovingly call him Musharaff the Jerk... just like you people have Attila the Hun,’ I continued.

‘I know Attila. He used to go out with my sister’s cousin,’ she said ‘he lives on the street next to mine in Barbados.’

‘Oh, I see,’ I exclaimed in awe. ‘It seems as if we have a lot in common.’

‘Do you want to come to Barbados with me?’ she asked. ‘There is this sun, kingfisher, Jerk chicken and the beach... you can carry sushi if you like...’

‘I can’t think of any logical reason to decline,’ I said happily. I mean would anyone in his right mind decline such an offer. ‘Let’s go,’ I said eyeing her chicken. It would be enough. Sushi could wait for the time when there would not be any free lunch available and then why take it to the beach anyway, one must be optimistic about fresh catches after all...

So together we walked up to the till. ‘Do you have a Tesco card?’ the girl at the till asked. ‘No I don’t, the large lady at my side replied and looked at me enquiringly instead and the girl at the till also now looked at me.

‘Now, what’s wrong with you guys?’ I said losing patience. ‘Now how many times do I have to tell you that I don’t have a Tesco card – can’t you understand that, shall I write it down for you? Honestly, I mean, are you guys dumb or something, how many times are you going to ask, and how many times do I have to tell you? But you guys don’t seem to learn now do you even though I have been telling you since the last three years, ever since I have come to the UK, but you keep on asking me again and again... come on, what’s wrong with you guys, honestly? And it is not just you alone – it is Sainsbury as well. There is some problem with your lot I think... every time I go to Sainsbury also, they also ask, ‘‘Do you have a Nectar card?’’ over and over again. For God sake cant you understand once and for all that I do not have a Tesco or a Nectar card... my loyalty is undivided. I cannot be loyal to anyone but my unfulfilled desires – can you understand that. Ok, hello, do you hear, no loyalty card for me, Ok, understood, I don’t believe in loyalties, alright.’

‘I am sorry sir.’ The girl at the till said. ‘So many customers come in everyday sir, and there is so many staff as well. You may have told someone else...’

‘No... I remember you,’ I said. ‘I told you only last month. Admit your mistake instead of trying to cover up. Who are you – a relative of Brigadier Cheema...?’

‘Well sir, to be honest I am not exactly a relative sir since I am white but he is the uncle of my flat mate... and I do know him well. But then sir, it is not my fault that I asked you about the Tesco card. It is the procedure sir, we have to go by the system. The system says that we have to ask for the card from every customer. You know how it is sir, I am no Brigadier Cheema sir, I am just part of a system. I can’t decide what to say or not to say on my own sir... I don’t have a mind of my own as one would say. To be honest, I can’t even bat an eye lid without official approval sir.’

‘And you think Brigadier Cheema can...?’ I retorted. ‘Look at him again. Does he not look the sort... isn’t he as plain as they come for God sake. He is decorated...’

‘Sir please forgive me...’ the girl pleaded.

‘Okay, Okay...’ I waved my hand graciously though dismissively.

‘And sir, if I am forgiven – then can I ask you a personal question?’

‘Yes, you may...’ I said with authority, pretending to be someone back home. ‘Everyone shall have a chance – even if that may be the last.’

‘Sir, where do you get your official spoke persons from. The other one, the Major General was also an item...’

‘You don’t understand strategy,’ I explained.’ We allow such persons to give out important statements who can be easily discredited if the tables turn and the truth comes out. I mean, look at Brigadier Cheema’s press conference again, and if someone was to tell you that he is the quickest gun in the east and is prone to make mistakes would you not believe...?’

‘I would certainly sir,’ the girl at the till replied.’ In fact same goes for the other one also sir...’

‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘Now you have got it. The trick is to make such people give important statements that can be easily disowned later on and everyone would believe... the trick is that if it works initially then it is fine but if it does not – then it is no problem even then... there are of course trickier situations also like when for instance no one was suppose to know that someone was exporting flour under the guise of nuclear technology – at such time scapegoating is more difficult naturally as you may have noticed...’

‘Scapegoating is an art me lady...’I continued. ‘Consider for a moment the fact that even a third-grader watches CSI Miami and knows that a crime scene is preserved – but look closely at Brigadier Cheema again and you will have doubts, you will be inclined to think that he may not have known after all. That he alone is quite likely to sweep the floor of any clues and evidences in the name of efficiency, now won’t you... and you will also give allowance to the fact that such guys have after all swept floors and applied limestone to every stationary object all their lives, so why could it not be possible... and then if you want to learn more about scapegoating then you must look at Chaudhry Shujat’s face and you will instantaneously want the army to stay forever and then for in stance apart from the fact that he is a man who can be refuted again and again and under ten seconds flat... did you know that Chaudhry Shujat once talked to Hillary Clinton and since then she decided to enter politics, she knew there was great danger to mankind... even Obama had a telephone conversation with Pervaiz Ellahi once and decided to stand up for elections... it is only Bush who endures you know since he is a buddy of our Musharaff the Jerk...’

‘Are you going out yourself or would you like to be removed sir...?’ asked the security guard.
And I turned around to see a huge chest without a green sash running across it at me eye level, above which quite some distance away was a smiling but a vicious face like you see in the movies. This girl at the till was deceptive. She must have pressed a bell or a nerve or something...

‘Tell it to the President,’ I said to the security guard and walked out all by myself with me head high, a certain spring attending my gait...

After all I am not new to exile...