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| Netaji and his jail | | |
Netaji, of the shifting political affiliations fame, had just returned from a jail stint and was furious at the inhuman living conditions prevailing there. After a victory parade and tumultuous welcome that reminded one of the times when he had won the election, he was issuing rapidfire instructions to his PA to improve the situation in prisons.
“India has reached the 21st century, but our jails are still existing in medieval times”, he thundered the way he used to do during his public speeches, “I found it impossible to pass instructions from the prison to my boys even on such life-and-death matters as getting someone kidnapped or murdered. Make sure that prisons have state-of-the-art communication equipment”.
“What to do, saheb, there is a ban on the use of mobile phones inside the jails,” the PA mumbled sheepishly.
“I know, I know,” Netaji said in an exasperated tone, “but there is no ban on video-conferencing. Even if there is, make sure that it is not applicable to honourable prisoners above the rank of MLA. And while at it, also ensure that local-brand TVs, DVD players, ACs and laptops are not brought to my cell. Buy imported equipment for the jailor’s bungalow and use it to do up my cell”.
“What is the use of that now?” his wife interjected while peeling potatoes, “you should’ve thought of all that before you went to jail”. She used to be a silent spectator during such confabulations in the past but had found her voice with a vengeance ever since she was made a minister to keep his seat warm during his absence.
“Bhabhiji, our saheb has dozens of criminals cases registered against him,” the PA said with admiration dripping from his voice, “He will have many more occasions to pay a visit to various jails.”
“Bas, bas, you concentrate on your job. It was so difficult to accommodate all supporters and admirers who came for my darshan to the jail. In future, my cell should have a Vigyan Bhavan-sized conference hall attached to it. Any policeman who restricts their entry should be sent to another district, or another world if necessary. I hope you understand what I mean?”
“Of course I do, saheb,” he said with a wink.
“The hospital where I spent 10 months of my one-year term was so lousy. Doctors won’t touch my feet and nurses were all behenji-type. Explore the possibility of VIP prisoners being sent abroad for treatment.”
“Right away, saheb”.
“And while on rest and recreation, you should have seen what tacky dancers they bring to the jails at night. Where are all the cabaret dancers that my colleagues got evicted from Mumbai bars?”
“You will have no complaints the next time, saheb”.
Netaji’s wife chipped in again: “Sunoji, you are out by the grace of God. But most of our relatives are still there, and for a long time. There must be special family wards for them in all prisons”.
“That’s a good suggestion. PA, note karo.”
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