Nab Kak wagged his head and said, “I tell you these are bad times. All this scribbling for newspapers and stuff is a sure shot invitation for trouble.”
“But surely there’s nothing wrong with writing a bit of humour?” I protested.
“What’s funny for some might not be funny for all. Besides what’s the guarantee that everybody or anybody has a sense of humour.”
“But what if one does not write on controversial issues?” I persisted.
“Who will decide what is controversial and what is not?” he said with raised eyebrows.
“I mean one could be politically correct and all that?”
Nab Kak pursed his lips and said, “What is correct for some might be incorrect for others! ‘Politically correct’ in itself might be taken as some sort of a political process and might not go down well with those who oppose any sort of political process.”
“Why politically correct is just a phrase! I mean what one writes does not have to be about politics at all. Like one could write about domestic conflicts!”
“There you said it! Conflict! An ugly word that and you never know whose hackles you will be instigating to rise by using this word. And then again even on the domestic scene too you might be accused of taking sides and that might not go down well with the other party…,” Nab Kak said shaking his head vigorously.
“Come on! Surely it won’t matter if I take the daughter-in-law’s side or say the mother-in-law’s or the husbands’ or wives’ side for that matter, that too in a humorous write-up!”
“It will matter to the daughter-in-law or the mother-in-law or husbands or wives as the case may be! And to the individuals or groups that support them! And in these times you never who is supporting whom or what!”
“Well one could write about dogs,” I persisted doggedly.
Nab Kak struck his forehead with his palm and said, “Afsoos! I had no idea you are so thick-headed! Nothing could be riskier than writing about dogs! Not only do you risk the dogs setting upon you but also there are so many groups whose wrath you will be inviting. Just imagine even if a single dog dies a violent death – and even if it is due to its being run over by a speeding truck – you might be blamed for instigating violence, or worse still for being a part of a conspiracy!”
“So what does one write about then?” I asked in desperation.
“Well if you want to write without being written off from existence itself in consequence (that too anonymously!) you could try your hand at writing about vegetables,” Nab Kak said with a smile, ” You could start with potatoes, write a nice piece about how to grow potatoes.”
“Why I don’t know a thing about potatoes! In fact I didn’t even know that potatoes are grown. I thought they are manufactured!”
“We can collaborate,” Nab Kak said with a superior smile, “It is quite simple really. You take a potato…a potato with ‘eyes’ mind you…”
“God! So potatoes have eyes too!” I could not help exclaiming.
“Yeah of course!” Nab Kak’s small blue-green eyes twinkled with amusement, “though that doesn’t mean potatoes can see which just goes on to prove that one can have eyes and yet not be able to see.”
“Next you will be telling me that potatoes have ears as well!” I said.
“No it is corn that has them and wheat too,” he chuckled, “Anyway let’s get on with the business of growing potatoes. You take a potato and slice it into four quarters.”
I started jotting down notes and as I wrote I repeated after him, “Ok you take a potato and cut it into four quarters with a knife…”
“Knife! For God’s sake where did that come in,” Nab Kak slapped his thigh violently.
“Well how else does one cut the potato?” I said wondering what had got into him.
“Of course that is obvious but you can’t use that word! A knife is a weapon too! This can be taken as instigating violence!”
“Ok! Ok! I will edit it out!” I said in a placating tone.
He continued, “You cut the potatoes and place them on soft soil till they begin to sprout. Then you bury them in the soil with the sprouting side up.”
“Got it! You plant the potato quarters in the soil with the shoots up…”
Nab Kak almost threw his hookah at me in agitation, “You are destined for trouble, you…! Shoots! Shoots up! For God’s sake didn’t I tell you to eschew all violent words! What if somebody reads only these words and takes it into his mind that you are talking about shootings!”
From this point I took care to avoid words which had even the remotest of connection with violence.
“Use manure for fertilizer, ensure it gets the sun and pretty soon your potato crop will be ready,” I concluded my notes. As I read through them I couldn’t help remarking in dismay, “There is not an iota of humour in it! How can one put humour in such stuff?”
“You can include a picture of a potato with a smiley if you like,” Nab Kak said with a wink and then turning serious added, “Only make sure it doesn’t resemble anyone!”
“What’s next?” I said with a sigh, “Collard greens I suppose?”
“Sssshh!” Nab Kak hissed, “Nothing about growing Greens! Or for that matter about growing Saffron either! One faux pax whichever way and you will end up infuriating this group or that or the other or the yet another and then you might as well write your obituary!”
Seeing my crestfallen face he said, “Don’t get discouraged your write-up might yet make people smile…”
“How?” I leapt to grab the straw of hope.
“…once their potato patch starts yielding its produce.” Nab Kak completed his sentence.
(Truth is mostly unpalatable…but truth cannot be ignored! Here we serve the truth, seasoned with salt and pepper and a dash of sauce (iness!). You can record your burps, belches and indigestion, if any, at snp_ajazbaba@yahoo.com)