Dawood Ibrahim
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- May 25, 2016
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THE queue outside the bank stretched on for nearly a mile. I stood in line in the scorching heat, and behind me and in front of me hundreds of others waited patiently for the bank doors to open.
Behind me, an old lady smiled, “What a great thing we are doing for the nation!” she whispered, “My children and my children’s children and my children’s children’s children will remember me for what I am doing. I smiled at her and tried to keep the pestering fly which was buzzing, away from my sweaty face. “What have you done for the nation grandma?” asked a perky boy. “I have made the black money come out!” she said. “Finally I have done something worthwhile in my life! Let the day become hotter, let the line become longer. Today I have finally done something good for the nation!”
Nobody had the strength to clap for her, but behind the old lady an old man collapsed and fell down. People scrambled to lift him up, but the old lady cautioned them not to, “Let him go,” she said, “He is the first one to die for the country. He is our first black money martyr!”
People quietly allowed the old man to gasp, and struggle and finally lie still. “Was he your husband?” I asked. “No, he is the cook!” she said, “Do you think I would marry a cook? Am I that kind of woman?”
“No!” I said, “But who’s cook is he?” “My boss’s cook,” she said. “And behind him are my boss’s three drivers, and behind them all the clerks and peons from the office, and I can’t see far enough in our queue, but I have heard my boss’s other branches also have sent all our staff!”
“What are all the staff doing here?” I asked incredulously. “Changing his old notes to new!” said the old lady. “Can you imagine all these notes in my bag are seeing sunlight for the first time?”
“Hidden in your boss’s mattresses and cupboards I suppose?” I asked. “Oh hidden all over. He’s a clever man, and today morning he had a meeting with all of us. Go, he said and sacrifice your time and energy for the nation. Stand in the heat and boiling sun, and let all this black money come out!”
“What will he do with all the new notes that his drivers, and cooks and maids and peons and others give back to him?” I asked. “Why, put it back in the same places,” said the old lady as she also suddenly fell. “Water!” I shouted, ”Water!” “No!” she said, gasping for breath, “Let me die a martyr who helped make the black money come out!” We stood in line, in the burning sun as I tried to hit the fly that had finally settled on my sweaty face.
— Email:bobsbanter@gmail.com
http://pakobserver.net/black-money-martyrs/
Behind me, an old lady smiled, “What a great thing we are doing for the nation!” she whispered, “My children and my children’s children and my children’s children’s children will remember me for what I am doing. I smiled at her and tried to keep the pestering fly which was buzzing, away from my sweaty face. “What have you done for the nation grandma?” asked a perky boy. “I have made the black money come out!” she said. “Finally I have done something worthwhile in my life! Let the day become hotter, let the line become longer. Today I have finally done something good for the nation!”
Nobody had the strength to clap for her, but behind the old lady an old man collapsed and fell down. People scrambled to lift him up, but the old lady cautioned them not to, “Let him go,” she said, “He is the first one to die for the country. He is our first black money martyr!”
People quietly allowed the old man to gasp, and struggle and finally lie still. “Was he your husband?” I asked. “No, he is the cook!” she said, “Do you think I would marry a cook? Am I that kind of woman?”
“No!” I said, “But who’s cook is he?” “My boss’s cook,” she said. “And behind him are my boss’s three drivers, and behind them all the clerks and peons from the office, and I can’t see far enough in our queue, but I have heard my boss’s other branches also have sent all our staff!”
“What are all the staff doing here?” I asked incredulously. “Changing his old notes to new!” said the old lady. “Can you imagine all these notes in my bag are seeing sunlight for the first time?”
“Hidden in your boss’s mattresses and cupboards I suppose?” I asked. “Oh hidden all over. He’s a clever man, and today morning he had a meeting with all of us. Go, he said and sacrifice your time and energy for the nation. Stand in the heat and boiling sun, and let all this black money come out!”
“What will he do with all the new notes that his drivers, and cooks and maids and peons and others give back to him?” I asked. “Why, put it back in the same places,” said the old lady as she also suddenly fell. “Water!” I shouted, ”Water!” “No!” she said, gasping for breath, “Let me die a martyr who helped make the black money come out!” We stood in line, in the burning sun as I tried to hit the fly that had finally settled on my sweaty face.
— Email:bobsbanter@gmail.com
http://pakobserver.net/black-money-martyrs/
