"Have you tried it?"                               Bangali polton

My friends and I are standing one fine winter afternoon in the lakes in Kolkata. We, esp. I, are all decked up. My freshly pressed white Seidensticker shirt --a rage in the 1960s because of the German name and its unusually broad collar--gives me a millionaire feeling, as if I am out to conquer the world. My friends also have put on their best clothes. All this even though India lost the border war against China in fall 1962, something still shamefully fresh in India's collective memory.

But why are we in the lake area, all dressed to kill? Well, because this is an international gathering with names of dignitaries strewn all over the list of participants, like star cricketer Hunt from West Indies, Gandhiji's grandson, sahibs and memsahibs from Europe and America, incl. Cynthia, daughter of  Hollywood  star Anthony Quinn, top business executives  and industrialists and so forth. Naturally, we being students are just riffraffs but gloating in the slowly assembling high company.

There is an open-air stage. Regular lake-style heavy benches are all over this part of the grassy ground. These are not yet set up in rows.

The question is thrown at our group of gossiping teenagers. A sahib, young, smart, tall, with his open-neck nylon shirt and sleeves rolled up to forearms is the perpetrator. He  has been moving around all over the field and stage, apparently supervising the organisation of the forthcoming event. Earlier, he asked our group to set the benches neatly in rows. Then he had rushed elsewhere to supervise work. We ignored him. After all, won't my Seidensticker get spoilt with sweat and grime if I exerted myself heaving benches? This was a feeling shared whole-heartedly by our entire group. So we stand and continue chatting. The benches are left to their chaotic order.

He comes back. Now we  have to reply to his query on what happened, why are we still standing without showing any effort at moving the benches. I remark, "I think the benches are fixed to the ground". Usually, the benches facing the lake are indeed firmly fitted to the ground.

In response to my observation comes his question, "Have you tried it?"

We admit we have not.

Then follows his sermon. It shakes us to the bone: "Frankly, this is where India loses against China!" He has zeroed in on  the typically Indian, and esp. Bengee middle-class attitude of shirking work and responsibility. He then starts moving the benches himself, other visitors also join in. We stand and watch, our 'dress' intact in their pristine condition. Indeed, we murmur resentment--who the f--- does he think he is, eh? Just because he's white, a sahib, does that give him the right to order us around? Our 'nationalistic' feelings are  roused in next to no time!

Cut to an hour later.

The stage is now all lit up. Visitors are seated in neatly arranged rows of benches. Someone introduces VIPs from all over the world over the microphone on the lit-up stage. We are awe-struck when we hear the identities, sound like a world 'Who's who'.

Suddenly we notice 'our' sahib, now in proper dark suit and tie, hitting the stage.

The announcer shouts into the mike: "And now it's a pleasure to introduce Mr. Anthony Philips, son of the owner of the worldwide Philips Company. ...Anthony has his own plane and flies around quite a bit. However, owning a private  aircraft and being heir to the fortune of the Philips Company has not deterred him from work in slums of Madras. He personally cleaned up some of them..." (massive applause of the audience).

My Seidensticker sticks to my body like an alien object.   My pal Aloke's words, "Drown yourself in your spit of shame!" flashes through my mind!