Chinese Chatter

When things seem hunky dory you have to get suspicious especially if you are an unlucky, exploited person as me is what I learnt. I was sitting in the cabin of the editor eating Chinese food with him which was an honour because on all previous occasions, I was in the cabin to be on the receiving end of his raving and ranting making me wonder why my teachers gave me so high marks in languages to spur me in the career of journalism. ‘You like Chinese food I hope’ he said in a grammatically wrong statement. I converted that statement in my mind to a clearly worded rhetoric and concluded that he wanted a ‘Yes’ even though I strongly suspected it was packed by a street vendor. I guess amy vinegar is strong enough to hide many culinary fallacies.

‘I am elevating your assignment’ he announced munching on a Gobi Bonda dipped in sweet and sour sauce pretending it is a vegetable ball. I almost did not believe my ears that after three years of merely copy check I was getting an assignment. ‘I hope your passport is still valid’ he added. Now I was beginning to feel faint with excitement. ‘Your passport says you were born in Hong Kong’ the Boss said. As they had taken a copy of it at the time of recruitment, they knew.

‘What is the assignment?’ I asked hoping I could meet Obama or even knock on 10 Downing Street. That is when my world came crashing. ‘You are to investigate the issue of Chinese Visa on paper for Indians’. I think after a 10 minute gap of shock I found my voice. ‘Sir, they give that visa only to border residents and I am not.’ That is when he started to guffaw. I had read the word ‘guffaw’ but never seen it in action. ‘Your POB is HK so that was on the border when you were born which is well inside their territory since last decade’. I realized that in the quest to a better assignment, boss had literally sent me in front of the firing squad. I was to specifically ask why the Chinese are upto these kind of tricks. Why they are stamping visa on a paper to be stapled to the passport instead of the pages of the passport designated for the purpose. I hoped the Chinese Embassy would not grant me a visa which unfortunately it did, prompting me to write my will which was simple as only my PF was to be bequeathed to my one and only.

At the Chinese customs, I noted a queer policy. While the Americans walked in with 70 mm movie cameras, journalists and any person remotely connected with the press of any nation was given the body search and all cameras and voice recorders were confiscated. ‘How do I record the reactions of your honourable officers?’ I asked as I bid bye to my small inexpensive Chinese made digital camera though bearing brand of another country. The officer pointed to my pen and gestured writing action in air. Wow I thought, these guys understand English but do not speak which made it illogical.

I had already taken appointment with the Bureau of Unrestricted Licensed Leavers, Settlers, Home people, Immigrants, and Travelers. It was easy to find with its English abbreviation written on the building in 10 foot characters as BULL SHIT. One must appreciate that long names have to be abbreviated no matter how the abbreviation sounds. Unlike other countries, instead of bureaucrats, this department was run by the Army which was easy to guess as all wore uniform. The receptionist was a gruffy male who looked at my paper of appointment confirmation as well as my passport. I wondered if he expected I would illegally come into the country to meet an officer of BULL SHIT. ‘Room 217 Comrade Lee Ping’ were the only words I could understand even though others were also English. I was escorted by a young marching soldier who left me in front of Room 217. I knocked on the door to hear something gibberish in Chinese and opened it. Addressing the only one visible behind a desk I asked, ‘Mr. Ping?’ He shook his head to indicate a no and pointed to the area not visible to me from that position and said, ‘I am Juan Pong he is Ping.’ I realized that this country has a reason why they created world class Ping Pong players – they were born for it.

I steeled in front of Mr. Ping. As I took out my pad for writing which was so graciously permitted by the customs, he took out a folder with my name on it. I asked him what it contained. He replied, ‘Answers to all your questions’. I was flummoxed. ‘But I have not even asked you a single question yet?’ I protested. ‘That is the problem with your country with that Right to Information Act etc. Here, we are ready with answers before the questions even germinate in your mind.’ he replied crossing out a line which I could read marked as ‘1’. Now I understood that they had taken tact to the next level.

I attacked the issue upfront. ‘Why are you not issuing visas on the pages of the passport instead of the via media of paper visa?’ He smiled and traced his finger on answer no. 9 of his sheet indicating I was jumping issues and answered, ‘there are few reasons for that. The first reason is that your paper is too small for our visa and it is of a quality that smudges our ink. Besides, when you seek our appreciators of visitors, you discriminate against them.’ I shook my head saying, ‘I doubt very much we have the habit of asking our citizens for their papers on the streets.’ ‘What about the border issues?’ I was trying to finish my job fast. Turning over the page his finger settled on answer no. 26 and replied, ‘Borders are lines on land that is continually moving in the Himalayan ranges. Your own geography books talk of moving plates of the continent. When the land moves, so does the line. But you do not seem to find that logical.’ That made me gawk at him mouth open. He misunderstood my expression as questioning his answer and said, ‘This answer has been sent to us by the Department Of General’s Bureau Assisted & Regularised Knowledge (DOG BARK)’. I was getting nowhere. My boss would have my hide if I persisted in this bureaucracy.

I threw my pad in the bag and said, ‘Let us go off the record’ hoping I would get some meaty matter which I would memorise and write later. Mr. Ping said, ‘Good’ and took out another folder. I looked at him with a questioning look and he answered, ‘this contains answers to your off the record questions.’ I sighed.

‘We feel you are trying to expand your territory-after Tibet Arunachal Pradesh?’ I risked getting shot. His hospitable demeanor predictably disappeared. ‘Can you not see that people of Arunachal have our eyes and not yours? You misunderstood what the British handed over to you and us. We are settling the issue slowly.’ He replied, slowly pushing some official photographs of their 60 year celebration across the table. ‘The world said you are intimidating the world with your strength much like what Germany did before the World War II.’ I intimidated him. ‘Do our comrade girls intimidate you and make you quake in fear?’ I stared at the skirted girls with hems 12 inches above the knee and admitted that emotion evoked was not fear but something else.

‘Let us not hide behind the hems of the skirts’ I protested. ‘What is your intention on the territory issue?’ In the second folder he turned over to the last page to answer me. ‘Why are you looking at the recent events only? We have plans that span decades. You are sleepy there. Why do you think your citizens are liking Chinese food? We are trying to acclimatize them to our way of life.’ I was aghast. ‘You mean the Chinese restaurants are your agents?’ ‘We prefer to call them ‘Agents of Gastronomy’ and they are our most important part of cultural export. In other countries we also send our circus.’ I was reminded of a Bond movie where the villain’s organisation was fronted by a circus. I spluttered, ‘You mean noodles are your Trojan Horse?’ ‘Don’t you love it?’ he asked. ‘We even introduced our Northern Province cuisine of Shezvan to appeal to your fiery tongues.’ ‘Do you think we will go down without a fight?’ my nationalist pride surfaced. He looked at me and I swear it sounded like the guffaw of my boss. ‘You are known as Diplomats and what Diplomats do is only talk. We are showing you the newly shifted LOC and what are you doing so far? Only talking’. His reply made me think un-parliamentary words for the persons working there. Now he chuckled and educated me, ‘You had mooted the WTO treaty and we flooded your streets with Chinese goods which the public had to lap up due to the ridiculously low cost items made by our comrades. You even welcomed us in your homes in the form of Fung Shoi Admit it, All of you are so used to Chinese things, that you will even appreciate Chinese Government.’

I think I must have fainted because the next thing I knew, I was strapped in a plane which was dark inside. I started sweating thinking I was being sent to a reforming camp in Mongolia. After the plane landed, the Chinese Air hostess helped me deplane. I closed my eyes trying not to see the airport’s name in Chinese Character. However, curiosity got the better of me and I opened my eyes slowly to realize I was in India. Frankly I did not know whether to be happy or not.