‘The Curry Tax’
by Mahadev Desai
 

It was past Saturday midnight, when I finished watching the longwinded, slow paced yet absorbing film ‘Lagaan’. No sooner I hit the bed, I found myself reading a British newspaper with a bold headline, “ No more curry tax!” The lines underneath read, ‘ England is in grip of a recession. The immigrant communities are the worst hit. Small ‘mom and pop’ businesses are closing down. The technological sector is also badly hit and there are massive corporate layoffs. Major dot.com businesses, which at first downsized, later, have capsized. The Indian community leaders have requested the newly elected Prime Minister Brown to exempt the Indian curry-loving community from the newly imposed ‘Curry tax’. “Next to samosas, curry is the only alternative source of energy for us”, the leaders pleaded. The Prime Minister, was aware of the Gandhi’s defiant stand against the infamous Salt tax. He was fearful of another Indian uprising in protest against the ‘Curry Tax’ so had promised to consider their request. An avid tennis fan, he had watched Britain’s hopes of a Wimbledon victory dashed once more, when Tom Henman was defeated. While he pondered waiving the ‘Curry Tax’, he chose to attend a private screening of much praised Bollywood film ‘Lagaan’. After seeing the film, a thought had flashed in his mind. He summoned the Indian community leaders that he would waive the ‘Curry Tax’, if an Indian tennis player defeated Britain’s new hope, Tom Heman at the first-ever Winbuldom Championship.. He warned however that if the Indian player lost, the tax would be doubled and the player would be deported to Andaman Island.

The news traveled fast. No one was accepting the challenge. Only a day was left for the deadline to expire. As fate would have it, Aamir was watching BBC World News that day. He heard about the challenge and immediately dialed British Prime Minister on hot line. “ Sir, I accept the challenge. If I lose, I will hand over my entire earnings from Lagaan to your Treasury.” The Prime Minister was elated. “ Good luck, young man. You have one month to prepare for the match.”

Aamir borrowed a used –tennis- racket from Mahesh and began practicing on cow pastures and any other piece of land where he could find grass. The news of the impending duel spread like wild fire. Sunday, July 4th dawned. The Indian supporters jumped into their cars, got on the buses, and underground trains from Birmingham, Leicester, Manchester, Leeds, Southhall etc. to witness the match. Some even flew in from overseas. Eager fans had set up tents on the pavements to get the tickets. Williams Hill took in record bets on the outcome. Tom was a clear favorite and unknown Aamir an underdog.

In India, the match had captured the imagination of the entire country. Never since the airing of Ramanand Sagar’s Ramayana had India witnessed such tennis fervor. Huge posters showing Aamir with a tennis racket appeared on hoardings, at bus stations, railway stations and busy intersections. People were glued to their TV sets and radios. Prayers were offered for Aamir’s victory. Incense sticks burned in front of the TV sets.

The Winbuldom stadium was packed in no time. A huge TV screen had been installed in Hyde Park for the disappointed fans who could not get tickets. The packed stadium was awash with Union Jacks and Indian tricolors. While the Brits had come with tea flasks, sandwiches, strawberries and cream, the Indians had sneaked in with Tuskers, Kingfishers, samosas and pakoras.
The match was to begin at 11.00 a.m. At quarter to eleven, the petite, glamour girl Anna Kurosawa from Russia, in a tight hugging, sizzling red velvet dress with side slits, walked seductively on the Center Court and sat aloft the Referee’s high chair, amid catcalls, whistles and cheering. Amitabh Bachchan had flown in from India to deliver the match commentary. He sat in the commentary box and in his rich baritone voice gave information about the match. He said, “ Long years ago, Vijay Amritraj and Ramnathan Krishnan almost became Wimbledon winners. Now the moment has come when at the stroke of eleven Aamir would try for a historic victory, which would one day inspire an Indian to accomplish the hitherto unachieved feat of a Wimbledon win. Lets see kaun banega Winbuldompati !” The spectators clapped and roared as Tom and Aamir wearing a sweatband on his forehead walked onto the Center Court like gladiators in a Roman amphitheatre. Shocking surprise! Aamir had no shoes on! There were loud jeers and protests. “ Typical, these unshaved bums come to play here with their shirttails hanging out, even exposing their navels and weird tattoos!” commented an irate Englishman. Tennis Rules were consulted. Anna met with other Officials. Finally Anna ruled that Aamir would not be permitted to play barefoot, as he would have an unfair advantage over his opponent. A new pair of Bata sneakers was provided to Aamir.

The warm up began. After three minutes, Anna announced, “ Quiet please. Let the play begin.” There was pin drop silence. Aamir wondered if he was in a library. Tom began to serve. Aamir’s first return landed in the net. The second hit the frame of the racket and went wide. The third hit the roof of the grandstand, frightening a pigeon, which flew away in the skies. The fourth return hit the head of a ball girl. There were boos and jeers. He was hitting too hard. His Indian supporters were quiet. A frustrated Sardarji advised, “ Its not crucket-no sixers yaar! Jara dhiraj se! “ Aamir quickly lost the first set. During the break he fortified himself with nariyal pani from a Bisleri bottle. He remembered Anna’s tips given over the phone the night before. She had advised Aamir to attack Tom’s backhand and try some delicate drop shots and high lobs. Tom was overconfident in the second set and hitting out contemptuously but Aamir slowly got into a rhythm. He began to win points. Now it was the turn of the Indian crowd to wave flags and cheer him on. It was a hot day. As mercury soared, Tom began to wilt. Aamir had been to Bhuj so heat was no problem for him. Aamir played a cool, intelligent game and won the second set.

The third and final set began. Tom won the first game and Aamir took the second. The spectators who had been swigging and singing became more boisterous and cheered or booed every point. Tom lost a few points on Aamir’s lobs, as he had to squint in the blazing sun. It was four all. Suddenly there was an ominous rumbling in the sky, followed by drops of rain. “ Typical bloody English weather. Rainy with sunny intervals or sunny with rainy intervals,” grouched an old lady. The covers came on. There was a sea of umbrellas. The wait during the interval was excruciating for everyone. After an hour the play resumed. Both concentrated hard. It was six all and now a nail-biting tiebreaker would decide their fate. There was a hushed silence. Was he playing chess or tennis, Aamir wondered? The Brits began chanting, “ C’mon Tom” willing him to win. Tom easily won the first four points. Aamir saved the next point by diving like Becker. He won another point when his return hit the top of the net and dropped on Tom’s side. He looked heavenward to acknowledge his good luck. The match had ignited once again. Tom won the fifth point but lost the next one. It was 5-3 now, and Tom’s serve. Tom could smell the victory. The cheering was deafening. In his eagerness to serve, he foot-faulted and lost a point. He delivered a booming serve and pumped his fist, thinking he had served an ace. But the cyclop beeped and he cursed loudly a la McEnroe, and flipped his racket end-on-end in anger. Anna warned him. It was 5-5 now. The Indian supporters were up on their feet doing waves, dancing, singing and cheering as if in a beer garden. Aamir stood erect like a swashbuckling warrior. Anna told everyone to be quiet. Aamir served. Tom hit a fast forehand. Aamir gently hit a drop shot. Tom rushed to the net to return it but slipped and bruised his elbow. There were audible sighs from the British fans. It was six five now. All held their breath. Aamir served and it went in the net. There was a stunned silence. His knees felt weak and palm sweaty. His second serve was feeble. Tom lashed out at the ball. The ball sailed past Aamir. He thought he had lost the point but he heard Anna call it “out” And hell broke loose. The stadium exploded with the shouts of ‘Aamir, Aamir, Aamir.” He kissed the court and jumped with joy. He felt numb. He saw Tom coming towards the net, to shake his hand and to congratulate him. They both shook Anna’s hand. Aamir would have loved to hug her though. He quickly whispered to meet her at the Championship dinner. A Bollywood director complimented Aaamir and then whispered, “ Aaami,how about you and Sania in a movie “Chak de Sania”? Aamir smiled at the tempting offer.

A glittering ceremony followed when the Duchess of Kent handed Aamir a big trophy. Cameras clicked. After giving tons of autographs and air-kisses to Aamir-crazy girls, an overjoyed Aamir tossed a tennis ball towards the fans. I dived to grab it and fell on the carpet. “ What happened to you?” my wife asked me. She was puzzled when I said, “ Lets go eat at Golden Tandoori restaurant.No more Curry tax ! “