InJest is a satirical column from South First. Names, places, situations referred to in the satirical piece are fictitious and is not intended to hurt any sentiments. The column is meant to be taken with a pinch of salt and a whole lot of laughs.
Published Dec 09, 2024 | 10:47 AM ⚊ Updated Dec 09, 2024 | 10:47 AM
InJest in a satirical column by South First. Names, places, situations are all fictitious. Caricature by Satish Acharya/South First.
The General Secretary
Con-Speak
Jantar Mantar
New Delhi
Dear sir,
This is to bring to your urgent attention that I, namely Uproarious Upendra, aged about 23 years, hailing from Bengaluru and residing in Delhi, have been summarily sacked as the Spokesperson of the Independence Party despite my outstanding performance on national TV channels for a whole year.
I hereby urge Con-Speak, as the Confederation of Party Spokespersons of India is unpopularly known, to take up at once this matter of grave injustice with the President of the Independence Party.
For an entire year, sir, I screamed, yelled, bawled and howled at news anchors and rival spokespersons during television debates till TV screens at homes shuddered. An anchor quit the job and took to paddy-farming. Another went on leave, citing “mental disturbance”. An enemy spokesperson underwent ear surgery at AIIMS.
This was no mean achievement, sir, considering the irrefutable fact that these anchors — with more puff than stuff — and spokespersons themselves are intolerably loudmouthed. Utterly delighted, my party rewarded me with a mid-year salary hike in August.
But this morning, the party abruptly dispensed with my services with a brusque one-line message conveyed to me through the canteen boy, without ascribing any reason whatsoever to its draconian action.
“Why was he sacked?” I asked, looking up from the letter.
“Read on till the end,” said Deep Throat, my source who had laid his hands on a copy of the letter and handed it to me.
I read on.
Here below, sir, in a nutshell, is how I was, in the first place, appointed the Spokesperson of the Independence Party last December after a gruelling —you can say jaw-breaking — selection process.
There were, in all, 94,362 applicants. After weeding out those who failed to write their names without a mistake, a long list of 21,857 candidates was made. I was on it.
Then I made it to the short list of 794 candidates too, after an eight-hour test comprising multiple choice questions on the life stories of top Independence Party leaders and their family members.
Three other tests followed:
A) Face Tolerance Test
B) Noise Production Ability Test
C) Fact Mutilation Test
The first was a curious kind of screen test to determine if my facial features matched the job requirements. I was made to smile before fifteen mothers holding infants. Not a single infant wetted the mother’s sari in horror on seeing my smiling face though eleven babies produced urgh, urgh noises. I passed.
The second one, the NPA test, was aimed at finding if I could exploit my larynx, epiglottis and vocal cords efficiently enough to outshout others in panel discussions. And this was how it was done, sir: all the shortlisted aspirants were herded into a big hall and asked to scream our heads off as if we had been thrown into a huge kadai of boiling oil — what Yama does to sinners arriving in Hell.
Some strange wires, attached to our lips, were plugged into a big contraption the size of a washing machine to measure our noise-production capability. Wah! My howling reached the highest decibel count. I passed.
The Fact Mutilation test was carried out to assess my ability to mutilate, tear apart and turn upside down anything — anything at all — uttered by enemies.
As part of this, I had to sit before an elderly curmudgeon of the Independence Party who had a face puffed up with politics and whisky. He kept making statements like “the sun rises in the east” and “the earth is round”.
I beat him with my own diversionary gems like “Himalayas are high”, “Tamilians speak Tamil” etc in a booming voice that caused plaster to chip off the ceiling. The examiner rolled his eyes and fell off the chair. I passed. I was appointed.
For a year afterwards, besides the above-mentioned talents, I exhibited a remarkable finesse for whitewashing our party’s scams to look like achievements and describing the opposition’s scams as a shame on democracy. I sugar-coated our freebies as welfare schemes and debunked the opposition’s giveaways as cheap populist pranks.
So why was I sacked, sir?
“Why was he?” I asked Deep Throat again, looking up.
“Read on till the end” was again the reply.
I read on.
I do not even lag in academic achievement, sir. I studied diligently at the Jawaharlal Nehru University where I discovered to my astonishment that India was a poor nation. And I can tell you even in sleep the exact time and day when Gandhi began his Dandi march.
So what cardinal sin have I perpetrated on humanity, sir, to deserve this humiliating termination of my vocal services? I do not have a clue.
All I know is what the sweeper boy whispered to me in the washroom yesterday. It appears that the Central Leadership was miffed by my performance in the week gone by. He had overheard two leaders discuss something to that effect in the loo.
Apparently, I allowed rival spokespersons — twice in a week — to have their say on channels without yelling at them, having scary expressions on my face or raising and shaking a finger.
In three debates, it was alleged, I failed to hurl words like “ignoramus”, “jadabuddhi” at senior journalists.
But all this, according to the sweeper boy, was not what caused my leaders’ heartburn. What might have precipitated matters was that, during the week, I allowed the 19-year-old Chief Political Editor of a channel to speak for as long as twelve seconds without shouting her down.
Can this be sufficient ground, sir, for booting me out after a year-long astounding performance? Where is justice? Where is India heading?
I beg you to take up this matter and ensure my immediate reinstatement before this letter is leaked to loudmouthed and forever-ranting anchors and enemy spokespersons.
Yours quietly,
Uproarious Upendra
New Delhi
“Now you know,” said Deep Throat.
“Now I know,” said I.
(Srinivasa Prasad, a journalist since 1981, has been a Chief of Bureau (South) and Senior Editor with national dailies. He has been reporting and commenting on politics, governance, social, civic and economic issues and has written over 300 satirical articles. He lives in Bengaluru.)
Disclaimer: This is a piece of satire and is fictitious.
