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Book excerpt: Me, The Jokerman: Enthusiasms, Rants & Obsessions
With malice towards one and all: Khushwant Singh jokes have made the world a better place
I have a large collection of jokes: some I make myself, others I pick up from friends or books and remould to suit me. Several slim volumes of my jokes liberally contributed to by readers have been published and sell better than any of my other books. I get the royalties, my contributing readers only get the pleasure of seeing their names in print. The joke is on them. Unfortunately, most of my best jokes are unprintable because they have to do with sex aberrations. What is a joke if it hasn’t something to do with sex? Book censors don’t see it that way.
My second best jokes are about my own community, the Sardarjis. At one time they had the confidence to laugh at themselves. No longer so. They have become as touchy as Tamil Brahmins who happily laugh at jokes about Marwaris, Chettiars, Bengalis, Parsis and Mian-bhais; but you tell one joke about them and they are up in arms.
I will tell you a few of my favourite jokes that are printable. If you have heard one before, skip it and get on to the next one. The first is one about Sardarjis of the Ramgarhias caste, the same as Giani Zail Singh, whose main profession is carpentry.
Two Sikh carpenters settled in London were reminiscing about their good fortune since they immigrated to England. Said one, “The Guru has been good to us. In India we were poor carpenters. And, see, here we have our own house, our own car, TV set, Frigidaire, washing machine. We’ve got everything we could ask for.”
“True,” replied the other, “we have all we wanted except one thing. We’ve never had a white woman.”
“That can be easily done,” said the other. ‘I’ll get one from the streets and ask her to join us.”
So one went out and soon brought a white girl home. The only trouble was that the Sardarji spoke no English and the girl spoke no Punjabi. After a long moment of silence, the girl picked up a plate from the table and with her lipstick drew the picture of a bottle. “She wants whisky,” said the Sardarji.
So they got a bottle of whisky. After another spell of silence, the girl wiped out the picture of the bottle and drew one of a bird.
“She wants to eat chicken,” deciphered the Sardar.
So they brought a tandoori chicken and the three ate it.
After yet another period of silence, the girl drew a picture of a bed on the plate.
“How in hell did she get to know we were carpenters?” shouted both the Sardarjis.
Saved on the verge of being a dirty joke. This one is somewhat political and also clean. It was told during the time Indira Gandhi imposed Emergency on the country. Bapu Gandhi in heaven was very perturbed that after all he had done for the country no one really bothered about him anymore. So he sent for Nehru, who was also in heaven, and asked him, “Nehru, what did you do all the years you were prime minister to perpetuate my memory?” Nehru replied, “Bapu, I did all I could. I had a Samadhi made at the spot where we cremated you. Twice in the year, your birthday and the day of your assassination, we collected in the thousands to sing ‘Ram Dhun’ and pay homage to you.”
Bapu was satisfied with Nehru’s answer. He sent for Lal Bahadur Shastri and put to him the same question, “Bapu, I had a very short time as prime minister,” replied Shastri. “In those two and a half years I had all your works and speeches translated into all the Indian languages and put in village libraries.”
Gandhi was satisfied. “Who became PM after you?” he asked.
“It is Nehru’s chhokri who is ruling the country now,” he replied.
So Bapu sent for Indira Gandhi and put the same question to her. Indira replied, “I’ve done more to perpetuate your memory than either my father or Shastri. I’ve made the entire populace like you and left them with nothing more than a loincloth of the type you wear and a stick of the sort you carry.”
Bapu was very alarmed. “You mustn’t do this. The people will rise in rebellion against you,” he warned.
“I’ve taken care of that,” replied Indira. “I let them carry the langoti in their hands and have stuck the stick up their bottoms.”
This last one is again a Sardarji joke. But restricted to one, our ex-president Giani Zail Singh. When Indira Gandhi had him elected president she began to doubt the wisdom of her choice. She called a cabinet meeting and told them, “Giani speaks no English. How will he communicate with other heads of states?”
They pondered over the problem and decided that Gianiji should be given an English tutor. “But only a head of state should teach the head of our state,” was the cabinet consensus.
So a global tender was floated for a head of state to teach Gianiji English. Only Ronald Reagan applied. “You send him over to the White House for six months and I’ll have him speaking English like a Yank,” he wrote.
So Gianiji was flown to Washington and was a house guest of the Reagans. After six months Indira sent for Rajiv and said, “Our president has been missing for a long time. You go to Washington, find out how much English he has learnt and bring him back.”
So Rajiv flew to Washington and called on the Reagans at the White House. “Mr President, I’ve come to fetch Gianiji and find out how much English you have taught him.”
Reagan replied in rustic Punjabi, ‘Iss munday nun angrezee kadee nahin aunee—this lad will never pick up English.’
Excerpted from Me, The Jokerman: Enthusiasms, Rants & Obsessions (209 pages, ₹ 499) by Khushwant Singh, Edited by Mala Dayal, with permission from Aleph Book Company.
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First Published:5 Sep 2016, 01:54 PM IST
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