Usually our star columnists Alamai Akhru, Aflatoon Akhrot and Letap Lalchoo walk into our office at a slow pace giving menacing glances all around since no one in our office covers their heads. [The office dress code specifies no more than an inch of the hairline should be visible and long sleeves for all is a must, as well as socks and laced shoes. But lax management policies and a defiant, militant union, Mumbai Taqleef Mazdoor, have made the norms unenforceable. The editorial department has attempted to instil some discipline, morality and orthodoxy but they are generally mocked and belittled for their efforts. We have several times urged Alamai to take up the matter with the top management but when the trio once did, their payment cheques were held up and Alamai’s name was deliberately misspelt (Salamai).]
Anyway on a grey, monsoon, Bahman roz, with toothy smiles and a certain sapat springiness in their steps they triumphantly paraded into the tony Parsiana office and placed an envelope on the editor’s table between a half eaten batasa and a saucer with traces of dried tea and a fly on its last breaths. On the envelope was scribbled, "‘There’s a quiet resistance within the Bombay Parsi Punchayet (BPP)’ by a senior official in the BPP administration." Inside we found a pen-drive labelled "Super scoop."
"Oh mai! You all have really gone high tech," we complimented the trio. Until now their columns were always scribbled on scraps of crumpled paper scavenged from our waste bins, usually stained with papeta per eedu or bhaji.
"Before you think we’re modernizing, we want you to know this is a one-off. The device was given to us," Alamai interjected.
"You haven’t written this?" we inquired. Under our columnists’ contract terms we only pay for what they write.
"No. The source is anonymous," Letap clarified. "Your yellow paper will finally carry something of Parsi, public interest instead of all your anti-religious, reformist, interfaith propaganda. Honestly if it weren’t for our traditionalist columns, no one would bother to subscribe to your two-bit scandal sheet."
(An editorial intern at Parsiana innocently asked, "What is an anonymous source? I’ve heard of white sauce, sauce ni machhi and khichri sauce but never anonymous sauce." We sent her out of the room.)
If the article matched the hoopla preceding it, Parsiana would be on the international, journalistic radar, we thought. Patrika awards were sure to follow. "Does it contain loads of misdeeds, financial improprieties, moral degradation, lascivious details…?" we innocently inquired.
"Far worse," replied Alamai. "It shows the unelected staff is adopting undemocratic steps to thwart the trustees’ traditionalist agenda."
"Since when do the trustees have an agenda? Isn’t everything ad hoc?" we asked. "The public perception is that they meet once a week only to trade insults, file cases, delay payments, bad mouth employees, keep one another from resigning and then go home and write each other nasty emails."
"Well that about correctly sums up the agenda but our anonymous source says that a handful of them are taking steps to prevent matters from getting worse," explained Aflatoon, scooping up the leftover batasa on the table and popping it in his mouth.
"Worse!" we gasped, "What could be worse than all this?"
"According to the source, before the meetings, all light, movable furniture is shifted out of the boardroom. The chairs are bolted to the floor, pens and pencils are chained to the table, water glasses have been replaced by a water filter with a steel cup attached to it by a chain. Cutting chai (half cup) is served at a temperature not higher than 50°C in paper cups. A red button is affixed in front of each trustee’s chair to summon the guards. Security men and women are stationed outside the boardroom, near the lifts, in the passageway to the boardroom and outside the toilets. The trustees are requested to walk in single file. A metal detector is discreetly placed before the entrance to the room. Trustees are not allowed to carry knives, scissors or any sharp objects to the meetings. A suggestion for bullet proof vests was turned down but straitjackets are kept handy…"
"This is all well and good," we interjected, "but we want to know what is being done to improve the workings of the trust?"
"Isn’t preventing bloodshed enough?" retorted Alamai. "Remember these are honorary, elected officials. They are all busy with their professional commitments, family matters, public appearances, social engagements. Also the trust has no money so what can those poor souls do? We’re told they’ve even cut down on their meeting snacks. Batata vadas have replaced McDonald’s chicken McNuggets."
"But…but… aren’t the trustees duty bound to raise resources?" we inquired, puzzled.
"The trustees say that can only happen if we produce more pure Parsi Zoroastrians. We need numbers. Without them how are we to fill our agiaries, schools, hospitals, bunglis? But if no one listens, what can the BPP do? Parsis keep marrying the wrong people and those 10 or 20 that do marry as per BPP requirements have only one or two children. That is why they want to stop the third child scheme. They want to offer inducements only for the sixth child. They believe this will drum some sense into these recalcitrant couples."
Though it’s not Parsiana’s policy to carry anonymous articles, we said we would make an exception. But on one condition: "No payment. We have no money."
Alamai rose from her seat and picked a rusted steel ruler (used only to discipline editorial staff) and raised her ample arm. We realized that our approach was not working. "Ok. Rs 500," we blurted.
She raised the ruler higher and Aflatoon picked up the saucer and held it like a menacing frisbee…
"Rs 1,000," a senior editor yelled.
"We don’t want to end up broke like the BPP," explained another.
"You have enough money to carry heretical articles demeaning our great Parsi religion, attacking our Parsi laws, ridiculing people merely because they believe in Parsi racial and male gender superiority. But when it comes to paying anonymous sources you say you’re broke...!"
We finally settled for Rs 10,000, our usual payment whenever physically threatened. (This is how payment issues are sorted out for their columns also.)
Afterword: We are informed the BPP has contracted a leading international agency, Faredoon Investigation Bureau Services (FIBS) that specializes in cases of Parsi trusts, to ferret out the anonymous source. A three-bedroom flat in Cusrow Baug has been pledged as surety for payment.