One unexpected fallout of publishing the well-crafted emails of the Bombay Parsi Punchayet (BPP) trustees to each other is that the readership of our three star columnists Alamai, Aflatoon and Letap (AAL) has fallen.
"Wherever we go people are talking about the stylistic nuances of the trustees, the turn of phrase, the sharp repartee. They say our columns are passé and that we should learn how to write from them.”
True, the Parsiana columnists lacked the sparkle, the thrust and parry of the trustees. With The BPP Review closed down and the trustees being bereft of a platform to manifest their literary virtuosity, they had turned to the Parsi Press. But how could one be certain the trustees would keep writing? Would they honor their unwritten commitment to entertain the community? Would they hold classes on creative writing? At the best of times the trustees have proved to be unreliable. They are all such busy individuals that even getting them to attend a Defunct Anjuman subcommittee meeting is proving difficult.
What if they became distracted with some new court case? There are rumors the trustees are contemplating more bans in an effort to generate additional litigation. (The so-called "renegade” priests ban has cost the BPP only three crores rupees in legal fees, while the annual budget for such litigation is reportedly 10 crores.)
Among the prohibitions under consideration are: forbidding the children of Parsi women who wear backless cholies with no sudreh or kusti visible from enrolling in the Holiday Programme for Youth; barring Parsis who eat meat on Bahman mah, Bahman roj from partaking of chasni at Dae mah jashans; denying Parsis who criticize the BPP the right to perform any maachis at Doongerwadi, the S. F. Jokhi Agiary and the Godavra Agiary, and so on.
To get the public back to reading AAL’s columns we asked the trio if they had any internal differences they would like to highlight. Aflatoon immediately said he and Letap had a genuine grievance.
"Ever since we started writing our column, Alamai’s name has been appearing first,” carped Aflatoon. "When I questioned her about this she said since her name started with an A it had to go first. That placated me initially but then my wife pointed out that my name also started with an A. So why shouldn’t I go first? Plus, I am an athornan while Ala is an osti. So again I score alphabetically. Letap being only a behdin and L coming 12th in the alphabet, has to have his name last.”
Here Letap, normally the quiet one and the intellect in the group (he had once read a book), interjected: "We should go on merit. This is not some political party that we should proceed on the basis of alphabets, or gender or caste. There is little doubt that my insights into the working of the BPP and the Parsi mind (whatever that is — editors) is what readers look for in the columns. Ala and Afla are merely window dressing, giving an illusion of depth which they clearly do not possess.”
There was a stunned silence in the editorial board room. You could hear the sound of a pencil scratching out paras on a manuscript.
Alamai, who was livid by now, removed her sapat to whack Letap.
A staff member intervened: "No physical assaults are permitted in the editorial department according to the Indian Newspaper Society Convention 1984. You either put the sapat down or you can go to the advertising department and settle your dispute there.” (The Parsiana advertising department personnel have all been trained in assault tactics in case they have to convince reticent parties to advertise their products/services in the publication.)
Alamai lowered her slipper. "One more time you talk about merit being the criterion for anything in my presence, Letap, we’ll be attending your paidust at the lower bungli,” she said adjusting her mathabanoo.
"How do you know I won’t be cremated?” shot back Letap.
"Go ahead, get cremated. We’ll see how you cross the chinvad pul.”
Aflatoon said something about his name being the Persian version of Plato and that "The only reason we granted you (Letap) a joint byline is because you came begging to Ala and me at the RTI (Ratan Tata Institute) stall outside the (B. D. Petit) Parsee General Hospital on Bahman mah Hormazd roz after lunch. We felt sorry for you because you told us you were a nobody and needed the money and fame that only Parsiana could offer. At that time you had said the magazine’s staff are all brilliant, outstanding, foreign returned PhDs who would not even look at some educated illiterate like yourself. (Disclaimer: The part about foreign returned — or even local — PhDs is incorrect.) Stop fooling yourself that a joint byline has anything to do with your writing skills or insights.”
An indignant Letap counterposed noting he would not "stoop to using the language of cheap rustics like AA. As columnists you are just Lilliputs posing as giants.”
"Now you’re all sounding like real trustee material,” remarked the editor. "The threat of violence mixed with religious metaphors comprises great magazine literature. I see a bright future for you three.”
"Three? Three!” cried Alamai. "What have Afla and Let contributed? I raised the slipper! I took the debate to the next level. These bylas (cowards) contributed nothing.”
"Who are you calling a byla?” asked Aflatoon hiding behind Letap. "I was one of those who volunteered at Doongerwadi to remove all the squatters.”
"You thought the BPP would assign you one of the quarters,” countered Letap.
"Rubbish. I already occupy a 400 square feet one room flat which I happily share with my mother-in-law, wife, daughter, brother-in-law...”
"I feel sorry for your family,” uttered Alamai. "You must be like a wet piece of kathi in a consecrated fire.”
"On the contrary, people liken me to loban adding fragrance.”
"Mooa the only fragrance you could ever add...”
The dialog continued but due to constraints of space Parsiana has to halt here. Readers’ views are welcome on whether they found the AAL column more entertaining or the trustees’ and which they would prefer. We await your responses.