Behind the Curtain

“Don't question my authority or put me in the box.” said General Specific shaking his head as he folded the tattered newspaper. Holy Shit wasn’t too happy with his statement but by the time he came up with something to say the topic had become past tense.

“He’s cute!” exclaimed Platinum Blonde who had been stretching over to look at the newspaper and suddenly she jumped over next to General Specific. “They’re banning the bra in France!” she exclaimed, delighted, only to realise that it wasn’t the bra, it was the burkha.

“He’s banning the burkha!” proclaimed Holy Shiy, hearing opportunity knock. “It’s written in the Quran! This is outrageous!” he said, widening his eyes and raising his arms as if he was Rafiki holding Simba.

For all the theatrics, it was a disappointing performance. Everyone expected, for his sake, that he had a better argument. It was a little shocking that he didn’t, and still harder to believe that so many years of blind following had as weak an argument as “it’s written in a book”. Faith can get one through a lot of things but challenge it with something ordinary like rush hour traffic or Math lectures and it fails miserably.

“You can’t tell people what to wear!” said Platinum Blonde aghast. “And not the same for everyone! How can women be happy?” she posed her question. The thought process was obviously wrong but she unintentionally struck a point. If women had a right to speak and vote and drive then they jolly well had the right to wear whatever they wanted to while indulging in any of the above ‘sins’. In Islam, women’s rights came below men’s and for all practical purposes read “None of the above”.

“The Quran tells us to practice the hijab. We dress modestly so as to not attract attention towards ourselves. The women cover themselves from head to toe unless they’re with their husbands.” replied Holy Shit deliberately not mentioning the brothers and the sons and the fathers and non-desiring man servants.

“My god! Islam is more screwed up than the Catholic Church even! It’s a she-human, not Fort Knox! I can’t imagine how sexually frustrated men must be for the ladies to be exercising such precautions.” said Baby Bitch joining the debate.

“I can.” said Major Minor sympathetically, having just imagined a world where all women practiced Islam to the dot. “It’s probably a vicious cycle.” he joked, pleased with his logic.

A look from Free Radical was enough to shut him up for a second. His eyes radiated infra red. Free Radical had been particularly angry lately, what with his friends in Pakistan and Iran not doing very well. Major Minor decided to stare back but eventually gave up. He believed that if anyone could knock some sense into Free Radical, it would be Inner Shia, but he also knew that Inner Shia would never interfere. Free Radical should be behind bars.

“And for all your modesty claims, there’s no way a burkha doesn’t attract attention. In fact, it works the other way around now with people, especially policemen, paying more attention to burkhas and beards. Of course, you would argue that it’s anti-secular and then set fire to cars and smash windows.” added Captain Follow further piling it on against Holy Shit. He found it particularly annoying when the public decided to damage public property to express their dissatisfaction with anything. And by public he meant public and not just orthodox radicals.

“Just because I live in Pseudan doesn’t mean I have to embrace Pseudan’s customs. I have the freedom to carry on with my traditions and customs. Just because we have unusual customs that others don’t believe in doesn’t mean we’re anti-Pseudan. It doesn’t mean that you have a right to legislate over it either. Everyone has a right to religion and that is what secularism is all about.” replied Holy Shit, making sense for a change.

“A custom deserves to be shot down if it’s purpose isn’t being served, more so if it’s hurting. If you’ve come to Pseudan then it’s your responsibility to not make the Pseudanese uncomfortable by your traditions.” argued Ambassador Boeing making sense too. A highly unlikely day, this, one of those you could only have imagined seeing on the Heart of Gold.

“If you want to live with us you live our way. If you want to establish your own rules and system within an already established one then find some other place. Secularism is also about treating all religions as equal, everyone abides by a common set of rules. The sensibilities of the minorities are as prone to hurt as are the majority’s but neither deserves a cushion.” stated Inner Shia bringing some wisdom into the discussion. Everyone thought he was Muslim because of his name but he addressed Holy Shit, as a representative of the Muslims, as ‘you’.

“Of course, there are much more important things you should be thinking about like welfare and education, but it’s a start, symbolic maybe. I do believe that there’s a minor percentage out there which wants to wear a niqab, and it’s their right, but there’s a major chunk which wears it out of fear. Because others feel it’s their right to make them wear one. That shouldn’t be tolerated.” he added.

A pregnant pause followed.

“For all its vices, it has its uses too.” whispered Major Minor, aborting. He pointed at General Specific who was now fast asleep, his handkerchief rising and falling with his breath. He took it off his face and folded it up and kept it at his arm.

“Peace brother.”

(Image is National Geographic's April 2002 cover)

Sold!

"You can't always get what you want." remarked General Specific throwing down the tattered newspaper, annoyed. He hadn't been himself of late and when he did realise it he even felt a bit ashamed about it. The rest of the time he couldn't help it. No one was paying attention to him anyway except for Great Scot who looked up but maintained a diplomatic silence. Great Scot knew something that no one else knew, it wasn't dangerous nor was it scandalous which made it kind of uninteresting to the general public, but he hid it anyway.

Major Minor had meanwhile caught on to something. He had been smelling something fishy for the past fortnight but couldn't put his finger on it. Ordinarily, one wouldn’t want to poke things smelling of fish. It would have been an idle Englishman at the docks observing such an activity by a feline creature which led to the association between curiousity and cats. The part where it gets killed brings gruesome images to the mind.

But Major Minor knew that General Specific was referring to the, reportedly, more than 200mn pounds transfer budget and hoped that Great Scot wasn't on the decline and indeed had an ace up his sleeve. Desperate to know more he prodded Great Scot.

"Indeed. Ye listen to him for he be speaking the truth." said Great Scot cleverly going offroad.

"So what are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing much, buy a few from here and there."

"Tevez?"

Great Scot just nodded as a reply.

Was it an acknowledging nod? Was it an affirmative nod? It looked like one of those sad sympathetic nods one got at a funeral actually. Major Minor was still not satisfied, he hadn't learnt anything new.

“Ronaldo leaving isn't good, he was the unpredictable wild one. He didn't perform up to expectations very often and threw tantrums and wore flower hats and whatnot but on the pitch, irrespective of form, he was always a force to reckon with. If only the arrogant bastard wanted to stay. Rooney, the dependable old horse is the only other stalwart. Tevez wants to leave and Berbatov has so far only shown exceptional ball control and would be more useful on the training grounds behind the net or as half time entertainment. The likes of Nani, Welbeck and Macheda might just find the shoes a little too big to fill. Valencia? Ribery? Villa wanted to be his wife’s side if he played in Spain or by Torres’ if he played in England. Vucinic? Benzema? Silva?” Realizing that he had now started talking to himself Major Minor dropped it. Then he realized he had been talking to himself from the start. Was he was just thinking too much about it or were things actually looking shaky for United again? Could the thinking too much and talking to himself be a symptom of some deep psychological disorder in him? What if no one was able to diagnose it? Was he going crazy? Or was he just shit bored?

“Madrid on the other hand seem to never learn.” interrupted Captain Follow bringing Major Minors train of thought to an abrupt halt. “They screwed up the last time they tried the Galacticos show and we all know sequels always flop. And somehow they never seem to get tired of buying players United doesn’t want around. Beckham, Nistelrooy, Heinze… The Spanish are supposed to be the Inquisition Squad, not spoilt teenagers on a shopping spree.” he added, drawing an amused look from Great Scot who looked like he was enjoying it now.

“Where the hell are they getting the money from? Are they bailing out childishly splurgent sports clubs now too? What the hell is wrong with everyone?” exclaimed Baby Bitch making it appropriately clear that she disapproved. She didn’t care so much about the sport as she did about the money that exchanged hands though.

“We can’t invest more in olive oil, bull fighting is lame, tomato fighting more so, no more continents to discover, no more ancient civilizations to loot and plunder, all Picasso paintings sold, how about investing in costly Kickball players, hombre? Sí?” said Ambassador Boeing, in an awful Spanish accent, showing a rare flash of humour and pathetic sporting knowledge and still managing to sweep a valid point under the carpet.

“Well, AC Milan didn’t really win big last year and had a tight budget so it made sense for them to sell. As for the others, the boys at Inter be acting naive, Ibrahimovich is worth 80mn pounds to them maybe, not to others, Italian street peddlers trying to cheat a rich Spanish tourist, if ye ask me. Bayern Munich are German and have a history of being stubborn idiots. And speaking of nationalities, City has rich Arab owners traditionally good at starting religions and hate movements, not football teams. On top of which, Chelsea has a Russian owner traditionally good at pretty much nothing. Benitez is still around at Liverpool but then so are Torres and Gerrard. Half of Arsenal’s first line wouldn’t be allowed into a bar so it makes sense for them to not try and win anything until 2015. Valencia are doing the dumb thing by trying to sell their star player, it’s the money again I suppose. Real obviously is a severe case of obesity which could lead to heart problems which with their dysfunctional immune system is fatal. And Barcelona and Atletico Madrid, well…” rationalized Great Scot leaving it open. He tactfully avoided referring to United again.

Now that everyone had established that no one had a concrete point, the discussion petered off. Great Scot obviously wasn’t sharing whatever he knew leaving Major Minor with one more thing to think about, although they shared the feeling over Ronaldo. He was like a lot of other people they would miss, almost like Cantona all over again except for kicking fans and being French.

(Image originally from www.murphygoalposts.com)

Some Like it Warm

"When the music's over, turn off the lights." ordered General Specific placing the tattered newspaper over his now red eyes. It was directed towards Major Minor who was hooked onto whatever he had been hooked onto for the past few days. General Specific didn't mind the lights as such and he even liked the boy. However, he himself needed some sleep, he felt tired already and knew there were heavy days ahead which culminated in him being unnecessarily pissed.

"Good to see that someone cares." followed up Rev. Green. He tried to make it sound like he was talking to himself and did a pretty good impression of it except for the part where he was loud enough for the whole bus to hear it. It was something that he had been waiting to bring up since a long time. On this occasion, he mistook the "turn off the lights" to be in a different context and let it roll before he realised it. No way of taking it back now, he thought, hoping that someone would bite.

"Of course, we do!" snapped Director Ms. Leading, much to Rev. Green’s relief. He recalled how she had always involved herself in all the causes she could involve herself with. Say no to fur, vegetarianism, gay rights, ban the bulb, the death of drunken elephants, you name it. She was visibly anti ban-the-polybag though. Rev. Green thought she was an act but preferred a wannabe speaking about it over no one speaking about it at all.

"Why, the fact that fuel prices are rising again despite it being a very important electoral consideration is encouraging, even if for the wrong reasons. Car pooling, the eco-friendly Metro, CNG, the green Commonwealth games, they’re all signs that the government and the people are now paying attention to environmental issues." explained Director Ms. Leading.

“Naive." cut in Baby bitch, "I’m sure doing the good thing isn’t incentive enough. The wrong reasons are probably it. Anyway, these are just blissfully ignorant ambitious schemes,” she said, unconsciously nodding at Platinum Blonde to drive the point home, “like the National Action Plan for Climate Change, which is just a lot of gas. Control its release and you could run a bus on it.”

"The world is getting together at Bonn to trigger the metamorphosis. Everyone needs some time to understand the consequences of climate change and change shall inevitably happen. This is a huge step forward with the more fortunate nations leading the way. The world needs to cooperate to find a solution. Rival factions and selfish ends can only be a step backwards." began Ambassador Boeing, almost extempore. It was, politically, a wonderful performance, he didn't commit to anything, didn't disclose anything and didn't take a stance. Even Premier Worst couldn't hide his surprise. All he had done was change his position on the seat because his back hurt. At his age, he couldn't care less about the environment and his grandchildren. They, whoever they were, would have enough left after him to buy a spot on the first colony in Mars. Ambassador Boeing had also realised that he had goofed up and so he shutted up.

Factory Girl shifted her cigarette to her left hand and her weight to her right cheek to toss a can to Ambassador Boeing who faithfully handed it over to Premier Worst. This one was meant for him and not Jabba, she sighed with a roll of eyes and a puff of smoke.

"Look at ITC, they're carbon positive. Renewable energy is already a $7.5 bn industry and $20 tn is expected..." she broke off suddenly. A miserably conspicuous glance at Premier Worst was followed up by an equally miserable attempt to make it look like an attempt to light another cigarette.

"The GDP of Nepal is $12 bn." mumbled Ambassador Boeing, eyeing the can.

"You can't expect overnight changes." she continued as if nothing happened, "Solar plants need an incredible amount of investment and a lot of catchment area. Wind and Hydro are location specific. Tidal, geothermal aren't very practical. Nuclear is the only option" she stated, sticking to facts this time.

"Food, shelter and education are priority." soundbyted Premier Worst, attempting to sound enthusiastic.

"First they screw it up and then refuse to fix it or even accept it. All I see your more fortunate nations,” retorted Pvt. Public, air quoting, “doing now is trying to deflect the blame and get out easy and not help the less fortunate nations.” he air quoted again, “The industry, meanwhile, is facing problems in sticking to norms and is doing all this just because it looks like goodwill and could appeal to people. It's peer pressure and business opportunities more than genuine concern. What we need now aren’t discussions, we need action."

"What we need now aren’t discussions, we need a miracle." corrected Rev. Green. Holy Shit looked on in disgust.

"What we need now aren’t discussions, we need Captain Planet. He was so cool. Those five rings were superawesome!" squealed Platinum Blonde in glee.

General Specific lay squirming in his seat all this while. He had even tried the ear muffs and was soon running out of options. Counting sheep partially worked the last time he tried, so he gave it another shot. It succeeded to the point of reducing the ongoing discussion to a random chain of words.

"Bharat Nirman..."
"Ramesh Jairam’s afforestation..."
"Green batteries..."
"Jatropha..."
"Recylcling water..."
"Ozone Hole..."
"CFLs..."

A sudden burst of wisdom messed up his attempt. Was it seventeen eighty nine? Or nineteen eighty seven?

"Futility....arguments...urgency...materialism...modern civilization." It was Inner Shia alright. He would have loved to listen to him on any other day. Some of the smoke from Factory Girl was wafting over too. And just when things couldn't get worse Murphy decided to throw his weight around and got Major Minor air-guitaring to the song and getting carried away with the sound effects. For all the wisdom of the ancient, actions didn’t speak louder than words after all. "TAENANA TAENANA TAENANA TAENANA TWEAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNN" he broke out in a moment of ecstasy, effectively ending the discussion.

This could count as an addiction accepted General Specific happily as he stretched over to tap the boy on the knee, rubbing his bloodshot eyes with his free arm. Major Minor grinned sheepishly and held up two fingers, oblivious to the cries of "Go Maj!" which had erupted in the background. General Specific nodded in consent, he’d won it.

“To be a rock and not to roll" summed up the moment and deserved to be the last words of the night.

Too bad.

(Image modified from a poster of the movie, Son of the Mask)