As we watched the bedlam in Parliament live on television, bundles of money being thrown around as evidence of it having exchanged hands, my wife sighed and said, “It must be very nice when people want to bribe you.” This was a surprising remark and I said so to my wife, even speaking sharply. “You see,” she explained in her unflustered way, “it means that you are important enough for someone to bribe.” Then, looking critically at me, she added, “Of course, no one would ever want to bribe you, so I must accept that we will never be important.”
“Er,” I said, “I must tell you that in my time, I have been bribed. That is,” I hastened to correct the erroneous impression I seemed to be creating, “that attempts have been made to bribe me which,” I concluded virtuously, “I nipped in the bud.” “Really,” exclaimed my wife, “you must tell me all about it, though I cannot understand what anyone would have to gain by bribing you.”
“All politicians say that the Indian public has become cynical,” I told my wife, “so you are right to suspect anything I say, but a long time ago, when I was a travel writer, a guide said he would give me more money than even my salary if I would recommend him to some of the big travel agents.” “That is so silly,” my wife said, “it is like getting a kickback or a commission for getting someone a job, but how is it bribery?”
I explained to her the nexus that operates within the travel industry. A guide is responsible for his flock of tourists, who he takes to his choice of shops in between sightseeing. The shop owners, in turn, offer huge commissions to the guide, the coach driver and perhaps even the coach cleaner. All of which adds up to a tidy sum that is not accounted for, which is why most guides are richer than journalists, so what if their job seems to consist of making up bits of history.
My impassioned speech cut no ice with my wife. “So who did you introduce him to?” she asked excitedly. “No one,” I said, “I threw him out of my office.” “You fool,” said my wife, “you ought to have sent the guide to me.” “How would that have been any help?” I asked her. “Simple, really,” she retorted, “I would have asked you for your travel agency contacts and fixed him up, and he could then have sent the money home to me.” “I am sure we do not need any tainted money,” I recoiled in horror. “Of course not,” my wife assured me, “but think of our status if I could tell my friend Sarla that you are so important, people need to bribe you.”
I could see my wife was unhappy that in all the years since, no one had made any more attempts to bribe me, especially since our neighbour Padma’s husband, who is in the purchase department, regularly brings home mysterious wads that resemble those that were waved so abundantly in Parliament. Soon though, my wife was absorbed in her work, so I had to make arrangements for a new driving licence, since hers had been pinched along with her bag.
I called up someone I knew to assist with the paperwork, and to get the necessary forms. “Why don’t you,” suggested the acquaintance, “let me handle it,” he scratched his palm significantly, “for a consideration.” Before I could explode, my wife intervened to say that would be all right, and turning to me retorted, “Since I cannot tell Sarla anyone pays you a bribe, at least let me tell her that we are powerful enough to pay others a bribe!”
