THE JOKE IS THAT...

"The group chairman is scheduled to visit Punjab and the neighbouring states for three days in the first week of the next month. No effort should be spared in seeing to his comforts," said the Managing Director of the bank in a meeting of the senior executives.

A task force was constituted to plan the itinerary - what to do when and how. The chairman of the task force asked the members to drop WHATEVER they were doing and concentrate on the impending visit of the dignitary. On Wednesdays and Saturdays, the task force would meet and review the arrangements made so far and what more needed to be done.

It was perhaps the fifth such review meeting - or may be the sixth, it really does not matter. Though he had full confidence in hospitality of the Punjabi and the ability of those down the line to think of everything that the Chairman may need and to cater to them, the Managing Director himself was present at that meeting to get a first-hand idea about how things were progressing.

At that meeting, as in all earlier ones, each executive charged with the centre that the Chairman was due to visit reported what he had done. The man in Chandigarh had fixed up separate meetings with the Chief Secretaries of Punjab and Haryana in the afternoon on the first day, followed by a dinner with the high and the mighty in Hotel Shivalik, with a visit to Nek Chand's Rock Garden thrown between to fill the intervening time.

Next morning, the man from Shimla would take over. All the seats in the toy train to the hill station had been booked so that no 'outsider' would board the train. Boxes of sweets, canisters full of thick and creamy lassi, and crates of soft drinks would be loaded into the train before the Chairman boarded the train. Bearers working in Hotel Piccadilly (owned by cricketing legend Kapil Dev) had been requisitioned to serve as liveried footmen during the journey to ply the Chairman with the goodies. The highlight of the evening would be a dinner meet with the top bureaucrats of Himachal Pradesh to which some Bollywood stars shooting in nearby Chail had also been invited.

The members of the SGPC (Shiromani Gurdwara Prabandhak Committee) had been contacted, said the man in charge of Jalandhar, and they had agreed to accord the greatest respect to the Chairman when he visited the Golden Temple at Amritsar. Amidst fanfare and adulation, he would be presented with a 'siropa' (a two-metre long saffron cloth bestowed as a token of respect to selected dignitaries). In the evening was scheduled the mandatory visit to Wagah to witness the symbolic "border-crossing ceremony" by the Indian and Pak military personnel in full regalia. The Station Commander had been 'persuaded' to host a dinner for the Chairman.

The Managing Director smiled to himself: everything - every single thing - had been taken care of. He, however, asked everyone to make sure that there was no slip-up anywhere and back-up, contingency plans were in place, just in case.

***

The meeting got over at 7 pm. I was in a hurry to get back home. As we ambled out of the conference room, my boss tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Remind me of the joke of Handowal Kalan tomorrow at teatime." (Every day, around 1130, my intercom would buzz and he would tell me "She is coming" or "She is ready" - his take on the feminine gender that 'tea' is in the Hindi "Chai aa rahi hai." The time we spent on that cup of green tea, a great stress-buster, was when we went over the work in the pipeline and engaged in small talk.)

So, the next forenoon, at teatime, I nudged him about the joke of Handowal Kalan.

"Okay," he said, gracefully pouring the golden brew from the white ceramic teapot into the bone china cup. "Do you know where Handowal Kalan is?"

I didn't, but ventured, "Must be a village in the heartlands of Punjab."

"Yes... In Hoshiarpur district, to be precise. There was this Patwaari called Santokh Singh there, responsible for revenue affairs like jamabandis, shajra nasabs, girdwaris, mal guzari, khasras and khataunis. English was not his strong point, but he had what you could call a working knowledge. It was his life's ambition to become a Tehsildar, but there were obstacles strewn in his way.

"There were reports that his palms had an affinity for grease and that once the required amount of lubricant was applied, with just one stroke of Santokh Singh's pen, a tropical forest would turn into a barren plot, an encroacher into a landowner, a tenant into an encroacher, paddy into wheat, black money into apples. [If you find parts of this sentence vaguely familiar, it is because you have read "View from (Greater) Kailash", the highly readable blog by Avay Shukla.]

"It was only a matter of time that this reached the ears of the DC (Commissioner of the Division). He was put on enquiry and sent Veeraraghavan, one of the sub-collectors under him to the village on a two-day inspection. Santokh Singh was visibly surprised, nay, upset, by the sudden visit of the senior officer, but soon took control of the matter. He was at his hospitable and courteous best, plying him with goodies and attending to all his needs.

"As Veeraraghavan wound up his inspection for the day, he walked towards the jeep, Santokh Singh in tow. 'Come a bit early, say, at 9 tomorrow so that I can finish the task by afternoon and leave,' he said, as he raised his left foot to get into the jeep.

Santokh Singh saw the golden opportunity slipping away. If Veeraraghavan was to leave the next afternoon, where was the chance to entertain him and win him over? Now is the time to act, he knew.

'But where are you going to spend the night, Sir-ji?'

'In the IB, of course!'

'But that's some twenty miles away and the road is no good. If the jeep breaks down half way or you have a flat tyre, you'll be stranded in the middle f nowhere. No, I cannot let you go, Sir-ji!' Santokh Singh managed to convey this in broken English and a mixture of Punjabi and Hindi.

"After some persuasion, Veeraraghavan relented. Santokh Singh spruced up the best room in his house for the boss. Punjabiyat and hospitality were in full display. A sumptuous meal complete with fluffy naans fresh from the oven, butter-chicken, daal-makhni and gaajar ka halwa dripping with ghee followed a couple of shots of the best whisky that could be commandeered by a Patwaari. Santokh Singh was confident that after all this, the report that Veeraraghavan would submit to the DC would at least be neutral, if not exculpating him altogether; it would not stand in the way if his promotion to the post of a Tehsildar,

"The problem arose the next morning. Veeraraghavan needed to take a dump and there was no loo. Santokh Singh directed him to a secluded patch of vegetation about two furlongs away.

"Not too pleased with the prospects of a morning walk for the purpose, Veeraraghavan trudged along, with Santokh Singh maintaining a respectable distance from the boss. He lowered his portly frame and while the work was in progress, he felt something gently crawling up his posterior. His searching hand grasped a leech making its way up for a vantage point to suck blood from.

"Startled, Veeraraghavan got up and confronted Santokh Singh.

'What is this?' Veeraraghavan yelled.

"Santokh Singh went close and identified the offending creature. A leech, but the poor guy did not know the English word for the insect (called 'jok' in his mother tongue.

"Mustering all the English at his command, he managed to clarify, 'Sir-ji, it's a jok!'

"Veeraraghavan roared, 'You call this a joke?'

"It is not given to us to know if Santokh Singh fulfilled his ambition of becoming a Tehsildar."

Your guess is as good as mine!