The article below is a tongue-in-check take on the possibility of a Parsi Prime Minister in India. It is written by good friend of Parsi Khabar and brilliant media man Rayomand J. Patell
What if a Parsi, were PM?
Stop laughing. This is a very serious fantasy.
There would be a Ministry Of Dhansakh. This would be known officially as the Ministry Of Diplomacy of course, serving up cauldrons of the good stuff to leaders of other countries. Naturally, once they were stuffed senseless, they would sign treaties that benefitted the country immensely.
All car & bike owners who didn’t maintain their cars and bikes in an impeccable manner, would be summarily shot at dawn. Their vehicles would then be auctioned off, to find a home where they would be loved and taken care of, for the next hundred years.
Parliament would be home to some very un-parliamentary language. ‘Bhosri no’, ‘choothyo’, ‘bhangi’ and ‘lauro saalo’ would have to be explained to the translators of visiting dignitaries well in advance as being mere expressions of warmth and welcome. This would avoid anyone starting a nuclear war.
Additionally, the PM would have to undergo sensitivity training to avoid calling President Obama, ‘te kaaro saalo’. This would also, it is hoped, avoid a nuclear war being started.
Liquor companies would have to recalibrate their bottles, to account for Parsi Peg measures. Egg farmers would laugh all the way to the bank as the country discovered the glory of ‘everything par eeda’. Life Insurance companies would moan about skyrocketing cholesterol levels, but such is life.
The national airline would be handed back to the Tatas. This would mean Air India would have hot bawi airhostesses with names like Roxane and Persis, instead of the current matronly, grumpy brigade in the sky. Accompanying them would be gay bawa pursers with names like Ronnie and Tempton. In-flight magazines would also have to explain to foreigners flying on board that, ‘kem che madarchod?’ is but the Captain’s friendly welcome as you enter the aircraft.
The suburbs of most cities would be bombed, razed and rebuilt, like baugs. This would allow non-parsis the right to host inter baug games and give old men across the country, the right they had hitherto not enjoyed,
to legitimately stare lasciviously at young girls thumping volleyballs across nets well into the night. The price of pacemakers would plummet, given their rising demand.
Our PM would know when to clap, if any symphony orchestra visited the country. He, or she, would also clap people into jail with a zero-tolerance attitude for corruption. The Army, Navy & Air Force Chiefs of Staff would have to deal with a boss who’d be even more finicky than them, about maintaining their tanks, ships & planes. Who knows how many Court Martials may occur for a spot of oil on a tarmac that ought not to have been there.
There’d be a permanent solution to Pakistan, Kashmir & Ayodhya. The first would be invaded and rejoined with our country, the second won over through Dhansakh Diplomacy and the third would be the disputed site being handed over to Zoroastrian Priests, to keep the peace between the two main communities as an amicable solution.
China’s attempts at building roads and train tracks near the Siachen border would be met with swift countermeasures. ACC and L&T would swing into action, to build a network of highways and tracks that would send the ‘cheena gadheros’ packing.
India would exert tremendous pressure upon Iran to behave itself in the Middle East. The Iranis of India would be commissioned to show the Iranis of Iran how to set up coffee shops around the world that served brun maska and sugary sweet tea, earning rich foreign exchange in return. This would get the mullahs very agitated, but the Brun Pao Spring would be irreversible. Embargos would be lifted (Obama would have to, else no more dhansakh) and Make My Trip would offer bumper low prices on Tempting Tehran package tours.
All terrorist negotiations would involve Parsi Mother In Laws. The terrorists would know when they were severely outclassed and give themselves up post haste. But that would only be in extreme circumstances. As a softer option, Shiamak Davar could be sent in with his troupe to gyrate to Kajra re. This mind-blowing experience would leave them separated from their Kalashnikovs – and even their sanity.
Everyone in India would learn how to play the piano. This would foster harmony in the neighborhood, people would drop in for sing-a-longs every evening and copious amounts of beer would be drunk. You can’t riot against people you’ve been drunk with after all.
A Parsi PM would hang out with the Queen back ‘home’ and convince her that the Kohinoor really ought to return back home to India. (Another fine example of Dhansakh Diplomacy at work.) A Parsi PM would laugh a lot, swear a lot, eat a lot, drink a lot and entertain like crazy. World leaders would swing by to India when they needed a good laugh. And good food.
The Jam-E-Jamshed would have a higher circulation than the Times Of India. Everyone would want to know about what the PM said in his own community newspaper first. The Times Of India would promptly rebrand Bombay Times to Bawa Times and throw a launch party with Tanaz Godiwalla catering to boot. Queenie Singh would sport a gara miniskirt. This would leave Parsi women fuming and Parsi men steaming.
Trains would run, planes would fly, the environment would get cleaner, the cities greener. Smoking would be stubbed out, poverty would be rubbed out. The Left would grumble, the Right would mumble, the middle would rumble contentedly.
The Judiciary would have incorruptible bawa Judges. In five years flat they’d expedite the zillions of cases that have clogged the courts. Any frivolous lawsuit would be dealt with a swift dismissal, any true plea for justice would be swiftly dispensed. The parallel system of goondagardi would lose its relevance as people believed in the system, the State once again.
A Parsi PM. Who’d crack the country up when he spoke in Hindi every Republic Day from the ramparts of the Red Fort. Who’d laugh the loudest himself when he was lampooned by the Comedy Store. Now that’s a happy thought for this Navroze. Into that heaven of completely benign lunacy, dear Father, let my Country awake.