Shashi Tharoor - Show Business

“I’m grateful,” I say.

“Not at all, not at all,” Dr. Gangoolie waves his pipe dismissively. “It was our duty as a party. Posters, Jeeps, megaphones, speaking arrangements, so to say, tea and coffee for party workers, petrol, garlands, transport for older voters — there are so many things that cost money in winning an election. And do you know how much the Election Commission allows us to spend? In total?”

“No,” I confess.

“One lakh exactly,” Dr. Gangoolie says. “And that is what our accounts officially, so to say, show — perhaps even a few rupees less.”

It is my turn to blink. “But that’s absurd,” I say. “How can anyone run a campaign on so little?”

“Well, some candidates don’t even have that much,” Dr. Gangoolie responds contentedly. “But the bigger parties, and certainly ours, are left with no choice, so to say, but to violate the laws.”

“You mean my campaign was illegal?”

“No more so than most, so to say, of the other victors. If not, indeed, all of them.” The pipe describes a large circle, taking in the entire rotunda of Parliament.

“But our party” — I use the possessive pronoun with self-conscious pride — “has been in power for so many years. Why didn’t we change the law?”

“We didn’t need to.” Dr. Gangoolie assumes the professorial air for which he is especially respected by the dropouts and dunderheads who dominate our party. “Some laws exist, so to say, to codify an ideal, a desirable, not to mention politically salable, state of affairs. It is widely recognized that their fulfillment may not, so to say, always be realizable in practice.”

“In other words, everyone knows the law is there to be broken?”

“Ignored, my dear boy, not broken.” Dr. Gangoolie taps the bowl of his pipe on an ashtray, but nothing emerges. “You ask why we don’t, so to say, change it. Why bother to when it poses no difficulties in practice? Whom would it help? In fact, the present restrictions imply certain, so to say, advantages for a party in power. To spend above the legal limit, one needs illegal money, or perhaps I should say money that has not been accounted for.” I nod. “Who has the easiest access, so to say, to such sources of funds?”

“A party in a position to do favors?” I suggest.

“Precisely. You are, so to say, a quick learner.” Dr. Gangoolie beams, yellowing teeth parting his black beard. “So in fact a low legal limit is of some benefit to us, because we are usually in a position to do better than others once the account books are closed. In fact, raising such funds has been among my, so to say, principal functions for the party.”

“I’ve heard.”

Dr. Gangoolie acknowledges his repute with a nod. “But these days things are not, so to say, so easy.”

“Why?”

“Well, the Prime Minister and the people around him are anxious, so to say, to clean up the party. The government is launched on a full frontal assault against corruption — a term much misused in our public life, incidentally, but that is, er, another matter. The Finance Minister is busy conducting raids against businessmen whose books are not, so to say, as clear as the complexions of your leading ladies.” He allows himself a little laugh at this witticism. “It is not a good time to be asking them for unaccounted donations on the side.”

“I see.” I am not at all sure how far I can see, or where all this is leading. But something tells me I will not have long to wait to find out.

“But elections still have to be fought, our democratic processes, so to say, defended,” Dr. Gangoolie adds without irony. “So our minds have turned to alternatives. Instead of getting our funds, so to say, in small quantities from large numbers of Indians, why not get them in large amounts from one or two foreigners? It is easier, much less messier, altogether simpler. For myself, too, I must admit to a certain sense, so to say, of relief at not having to repeatedly stretch my hands out to some of the grubby little men with whom we are obliged to do business. Meet a foreign businessman, strike a deal (in the national interest, of course), agree on a certain, so to say, commission — nothing corrupt here, it is, so to say, a standard practice — and a generous amount of foreign exchange goes directly to a bank account in Liechtenstein or Switzerland.”

“Ah.” I am beginning to feel distinctly uneasy.

“And this, Ashokji, is, so to say, where you come in.”

I am taken aback. “But why me?” I ask in a mixture of genuine surprise and feigned innocence.

“Come, come, Ashokji, you are, so to say, a man of the world,” Dr. Gangoolie says affably, making it sound like a postgraduate degree. “We all know that your eminence in the film industry is not fully reflected in your tax returns. We have no real objection, of course, but we are confident, so to say, that you are in a better position to help us in Switzerland than most.”

I look at him in some alarm. “I don’t understand,” I say carefully. “Even assuming that I know, that I can find out, about such things, why would the party need me? I mean, in your position, with your authority and connections, and given the kinds of people you’re dealing with abroad, nothing should be easier than having the money put discreetly into an account, or accounts, for you.”

“How true,” Dr. Gangoolie agrees with an emphatic bobbing of his pipe. “That is indeed how it should be. But we are, so to say, a divided government.” He jabs his pipe at me to make his point. “Times are bad. There are people in Revenue Intelligence who are taking their instructions too seriously. With encouragement from certain elements in the Cabinet.” He looks suitably mournful. “It is a sorry state of affairs. No one knows whom to trust any more. There are, so to say, wheels within wheels.” On his Bengali tongue that comes out as “heels within heels,” and I have a mental image of rapidly scurrying feet. “I am told that the minister concerned has even ordered external surveillance, by a foreign detective agency if you please, of all pending and current transactions. So it is actually more difficult these days to obtain a commission from a government contract than, so to say, from a private one.”

He sucks briefly on his pipe, his eyes narrowing as at some private reflection. “We shall do something about this,” Dr. Gangoolie adds darkly, looking like an owl who has smelled a rat. “But that will take some time. For now, we cannot open a new account or involve anyone connected with the transaction who might be monitored. We need the convenience of a private account, and so to say, rather quickly.”

“Let me see if I’ve got this,” I say. “You want to have a large sum of money paid into a preexisting account abroad that has nothing to do with the government. And you thought of me.”

Dr. Gangoolie nods. “There are others known to us, of course, Indian businessmen based abroad, even in Switzerland. But we think you would be safer. And, of course, the party would be suitably grateful.”

I do not reflect long. When in Delhi, play by Delhi rules. I am just at the beginning of a political career and could do worse than get into the good books of the bosses when they need a favor. I nod. “Anything to help the party,” I say.

Dr. Gangoolie exhales his delight. “Excellent,” he replies, pulling out a pouch of imported tobacco. He must be relieved, because now it seems he is really going to fill his pipe. “Now, so to say, listen carefully. Here are the details.”

How was I to know? This is what I find myself saying to Ashwin when the dung hit the punkah. It’s not as if you were there to advise me either, brother. How could I judge with what authority Dr. Gangoolie was really, so to say, speaking? I thought I was doing what anyone in my position would have done.