The Ring

A soft humble shell surrounded his hard arrogant core. The years had
taught him to present himself in a way more palatable to a society
that frowned upon hubris. But he could not get that ring off his
finger.

Indeed it was a ring that forced its beholders to notice it. How could
they not, it was said that the combination of its size and luster
allowed it to be seen from outer space. And it was absurd to even
suggest that he take it off. The ring was an essential part of him, a
partner, a co-conspirator. They worked so well together, him and this
ring. You see, while his gentle demeanor told people around him, "Ji
I'm always at your service, your humble servant. Is naacheez ko kabhi
khidmat ka mowka to dain", the ring (as he waved his hands) slapped
quite a different message into perspective. It subliminally said,
"MIT, yes MIT, you piece of worthless donkey dung". And so he was
painlessly able to project himself as a naacheez, while the ring let
it be understood that he was anything but. In this way, the ring was
an outlet, indeed an extension to his complex personality.

Javed Imanulllah did his Ph.D. in the early 70's from MIT in Chemical
Engineering. Patriotism (and the realization that his prestigious
degree would awe his countrymen) led him to return to Karachi. Doors
miraculously opened for him upon his return, and he set up a thriving
consultancy business. While I am not one to concede to rumors, in some
circles it was whispered that Javed sahib would hypnotize potential
business clients with discrete, almost unnoticeable movements of his
hand. The ring would twitch reflecting small bursts of light into the
minds of his victims. He would say "Is naacheez ko kabhi khidmat ka
mowka to dain". And lakhs of rupees would come into his
possession. However, it would be unfair to say he did not deliver, or
that the quality of his work was sub-standard. Indeed Javed gave
sound advice, it rung an indisputable chord of competence. His clients
were often amazed at the pertinence and applicability of his
suggestions, much like readers of horoscope wonder how the stars know
so much about them. Some said he was just a master of human
psychology, with a pre-packaged set of words for different individuals
and for different situations. But I tend to put less credence into
these ramblings. I like to see him as a divinely gifted man.

It so happened one hot humid Friday that Javed remembered his
religious duties and departed for the masjid. Accompanying him was
Seth Hazar Paysaywalla, the wealthy industrialist with whom Javed had
had a brunch meeting earlier that day. Seth Paysaywalla was a highly
religious man, so much so that he would never close a business deal
without praying the requisite two raqats of nafil. This particular
Friday he would be awarding a rather handsome contract to the right
person. And so after their heavy ghi drenched channa puri breakfast,
Javed suggested that they go together for Friday prayers.

Our master of human psychology had calculated the effect of this
suggestion quite carefully. Yes, gentle reader, you are quite right to
think it may be out of character for Javed Imanullah to appear at the
masjid on a hot humid Friday, shoulder to shoulder with the sweaty
illiterate masses. After all, he was far too intelligent to believe in
God. But you will certainly appreciate the divisiveness of his
gesture.

It is common knowledge that the greasy channay produced nasty gases
inside Javed. The rancid flatulence that resulted could not go by
unnoticed, even the elderly Seth sahib covered his nose and wiped his
watery eyes. And when they entered the masjid, Seth Paysaywalla felt
it necessary to remind Javed of his gastoral excesses, and that it was
now necessary for him to perform the prescribed ablution. So
reluctantly Javed followed Seth sahib to the wazoo area of the masjid,
where he squatted on the stone bench in front of the water taps. On
the other side of them was a young riksha driver drenched in sweat,
smelling of diesel fumes. Seth Paysaywalla looked over with admiration
as this man cleaned his nose with immense vigor, squirting water
inside, and releasing a flood of mucous. Javed on the other hand was
repulsed and anxious to finish his wazoo as quickly as he could
manage. Attempting to get up from his squatted position, Seth
Paysaywalla, in his patronizing way, cautioned Javed that the unwashed
portions of his hand would burn eternally in hell fire. And so,
obediently, Javed removed his ring, and washed his hands
again. Meanwhile our friend next him had redoubled his determination
to remove every ounce of mucous from his nose, causing Javed to
abruptly conclude his washing to join Seth sahib in prayer.

The good news was that Javed did manage to close the deal, and secure
much dawlat from our pious industrialist. However, it turns out that
he had, in his haste to distance himself from neighboring bodily
fluids, left his Alma Mater's ring at the wazoo stalls. And when he
returned to the masjid to collect it just one hour later, it was gone.
Nowhere to be found.

What followed was a sad chain of events that led to the demise of
Javed Imanullah. His business came to almost a complete
standstill. Our brilliant charismatic hero failed to secure any
further clientele. Almost overnight, he found himself in ruins. What
was now so distasteful about this entrepreneur, who had completed
scores of successful projects? Well, from his wafadar peon it came to
be known that Javed consistently managed to antagonize potential
clients. He could be overheard screaming, "MIT, yes MIT, you piece of
worthless donkey dung". Often, it was reported, he would use the word
"MIT" over twenty times within a single sentence, as bubbly saliva
would ooze from the corners of his mouth. I advise the reader to take
this with a grain of salt, as simple people, like the wafadar peon,
are inclined to frequently exaggerate. It cannot be disputed however,
that Javed Imanullah became quite mentally disturbed around this
time. It is a fact that he became unable to congenially interact with
anyone, and it is also a fact that he became committed to the Karachi
Mental Health Center. Records show that he passed away in this
institution just last year, after having a fatal brawl with a
purported ex-Harvard inmate.

Such is the inexplicable state of things. I offer no logical
explanation for these events, simply transcribing them
faithfully. Just the other day I was having a conversation with a
doctor friend of mine in Karachi. I told him that the world is a very
strange place, doctors from Pakistan are driving taxicabs in New
York. He replied that indeed it was, graduates from MIT are driving
rikshas in Karachi.