Sweat Surrender

As an uninvited presence at the meeting of UNTIDY, I had to glance at the flexboard to realise that the abbreviation stood for "United Towels of Indian Yearners". There were hundreds of them in front of my eyes, some virgin white, others pink and flowery, yet others brown and splotchy. But all of them had that air of being someone important, you know, like the airy ways in which VIPs allow it to be known that they are important people. After all, anyone in India who yearns to achieve a position of power subconsciously yearns to have a towel adorning his official chair.

There was no formal agenda to the meeting that I could see, and I imagine it was meant to be an occasional get-together to share stories. They were aflutter on this particular day, for 45 new members had just joined the party. Thankfully, there were no speeches, just some members standing up and sharing stories about their time in the corridors of power. And interesting stories they had to tell.

There was one, of vintage years you could discern from the aged look of the fibre, who spoke of how UNTIDY nearly broke into several factions in 1977 over who would grace the chair in Kissa Kursi Ka. "Several of us wanted to be seen on the back of the seat of power. It was our chance to become film stars," he said. Someone shouted from among the congregation that all films thereafter always showed an UNTIDY member draped over the chair of the VIP, be it a mantri or a babu or a judge.

Another stood up, and I inferred he was a venerated member from the applause that greeted him. "All of you know that I graced the chair of the prime minister. And let me tell you, I did more than just lie over his chair in South Block." He then recalled an incident to prove his case. "One day, his finance minister came in and started talking about field guns bought from Sweden. Suddenly, the prime minister pulled me from behind him and used me to wipe his sweaty brow. I have always wondered why the honourable prime minister was so afraid of gun talk. I will tell you, I have not had a bath since, and if you want to smell prime ministerial pheromones, just line up for a sniff." Amid loud applause, some members jostled to queue up for an odorous experience.

Another member, nervous, clean and pure white, held the microphone. You could see from his newness and innocence that he was among the 45 newest members. "Let me begin by recalling a curious conversation my minister had the day after I was given the honour of becoming his seat warmer," he began. "He got a phone call and I could see him stammering and stuttering. I could only hear his side of the conversation: 'Yes, sir… no, sir … yes, sir… no, sir… yes, sir… of course, sir, no Article 370 again, sir!' You should have seen his face," he trilled. "I also have a complaint," he continued. "A foreign visitor had come to meet my minister. After the greetings, as they sat down, the visitor gesticulated violently. My minister turned around in panic to see what was behind him. Seeing nothing, he asked his visitor what was wrong. The foreigner said, rather embarrassed, 'Oh, is that okay? I thought someone had left a dirty towel on your chair.' What an insult to UNTIDY! We must sue that foreigner." He sat down to more applause.

All this while, I could espy another more introverted being hanging around in the background. He had a look about him that spelt S-H-A-D-Y. Intrigued, I asked the member next to me if he knew who that was. "Oh," he said dismissively, "that's just Sreesanth's towel."

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Free Run is a fortnightly look at alternate realities joel.rai@bsmail.in