THIS ABOVE ALL
We can’t afford Games
Khushwant Singh 

I first met Suresh Kalmadi in 1980, and took an immediate liking to him. Both of us entered the Rajya Sabha that year. I, a nominee of the Congress; he elected from Maharashtra. I heard his maiden speech and was enthralled. I felt he had the making of an all-India leader. I wrote a favourable account on his speech, and went out of my way to befriend him. He responded to my gesture, and we visited each other’s homes.

His wife, a school teacher, was a shy lady. Twice I met Sharad Pawar, who stayed with them. I concluded he was Pawar’s prot`E9g`E9. All I knew of Kalmadi’s background was that he had taken premature retirement from the Air Force, and the family owned a restaurant and landed property in Pune, till Sharad Pawar brought him into politics.

I did not suspect he suffered from a sense of financial insecurity till he celebrated acquiring a Maruti sales agency in Pune by throwing a lavish reception on the lawns of his parliamentary bungalow. It was lit up with coloured lights; liquor flowed, and tasty snacks went round. I was disillusioned, and cooled off him.

About the Commonwealth Games, I know very little. I go along with Mani Shankar Aiyar, and am convinced they should not have been undertaken in a city which teems with thousands of beggars — a few at every road crossing — where the only shelter the poor find in Delhi’s bitter winters and monsoon rains are footpaths and under overbridges. They don’t get even a square meal a day. Squandering hundreds of crores of rupees on building stadia, swimming pools, squash and tennis courts, and much else, is an act of extreme folly.

It should never have been allowed. Suresh Kalmadi played the star role in the comic-tragic drama. I cannot help adding a few film songs KJS Ahluwalia of Amritsar sent me, which go very well as background with the movie to be called Games Tamasha:

Suresh Kalmadi — Kutchh to log kaheingae;

Shiela Dixit — Kahin daag na lag jayey;

M.S. Gill — Kabhi khud pe kabhi haalaat pey rona aayaa;

S. Jaipal Reddy — Yeh kya hua, kaisey hua, kyon hua;

Tejinder Khanna — Merey tutey huay dil say, koi toh aaj yeh puchhey;

Mani Shankar Aiyar — Chal akela, chal akela, chal akela, tera mela peechey choota;

Delhites — Jab dil hi toot gaya, hum jee key kya kareingey;

Manmohan Singh — Sub kutch seekha hum ney, naa seekhi hoshiari, sach hai duniyan walo, ke hum hain anari.

Many years ago, a very pretty Sindhi girl, recently married to a sardar, came to complain about the behaviour of Customs officials at IGI Airport. She had been on a sightseeing tour of Europe, bought nothing dutiable, and made straight for the Green Channel meant for those who had nothing to declare. However, her suitcase had her maiden name Mansukhani printed in large letters on it. The Customs man, who had cleared her, asked: "Madam, your passport bears the name Singh, your suitcase says Mansukhani. Can I examine its contents?" She opened her suitcase. There was nothing dutiable in it. She explained: "I was Mansukhani till the last year when I married a Singh." She resumed: "There is prejudice against Sindhis. Many people believe they will do anything to make money to save them from paying taxes. It is very unfair. Don’t you agree?"

"I do", I replied. "I have a lot of Sindhi friends. Without exception, all are honest and generous to a fault. I can’t say about other Indian communities." I gave her an instance from my own experience. My uncle Ujjal Singh, who was the Governor of Tamil Nadu, asked me to make discs with selected hymns of the Ten Gurus to explain the development of Sikhism from its inception to the last Guru Gobind Singh.

He put a tidy sum of money from Guru Gobind Singh’s Foundation, whose chairman he was, at my disposal. I asked my friend Nirmala Matthan, who has a melodious voice, to read the script. She is a devout Roman Catholic. She refused to accept any money. I asked ragi jathas, both Sindhis and Sikhs, to sing a hymn each. The Sindhis also refused to accept money, and not even taxi fare to come to the studio.

Only the Sikh ragi jathas, who charge a lot of money, accepted on the condition that instead of being paid by cheque, they should get money in cash; otherwise they would have to pay income tax.

Bharat sarkar, zindabad

During the recent floods, Banta caught a fish from the ground floor of his house, and asked his wife Banto to cook it. Mrs Banto could not cook as there was no gas, no electricity and no oil. No shop was open due to Bharat Bandh. Banta threw the fish back on the flooded road from the first floor. The fish jumped back from the water, shouting: "Bharat sarkar, zindabad."

(Contributed by Madan Gupta Sapatu, Chandigarh)