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Exposing the inner world of a recent Lutyens' cocktail party

Author: Minhaz Merchant, @minhazmerchant
Publication: Dailyo.in
Date: January 8, 2015
URL:   http://www.dailyo.in/politics/intolerance-lutyens-delhi-national-herald-odd-even-formula-pathankot-attack-narendra-modi/story/1/8351.html

Suleiman and Anwar meet Delhi elite and discuss Pathankot terror attack, Odd-Even rule, National Herald case and more.

Back in India from Saudi Arabia for a short holiday in the new year, Suleiman Khan was looking forward to spending a quiet evening at home. He switched on the TV. Four Pakistani panelists were angrily denying their country's role in the Pathankot terror attack. Why do Indian TV news channels invite such Pakistani commentators, he wondered aloud. Indian tolerance, he concluded with a slight shrug.

The phone rang. It was his friend Anwar Sheikh. "Suleiman, you couldn't have timed your visit better. I've been invited to a very special party tonight. You must come along! There'll be lots of politicians, businessmen, bureaucrats, editors, anchors and fixers."

"Ah, yes," Suleiman said knowingly. "The Lutyens' power elite, right?"

"Yes, yes," Anwar said impatiently. "Listen, Suleiman, be ready in an hour. I'll pick you up at 10 pm."

Suleiman slipped quickly into a Marks and Spencer jacket he'd bought at a discount a few weeks ago and splashed on some cologne.

Anwar picked Suleiman up from Nizamuddin West where he was staying with a cousin. Suleiman noted with curiosity that Anwar's black Honda City had an even number plate. Anwarbhai won't be able to drive the car tomorrow, he thought to himself as he clambered into the leather bucket seat and strapped up.

The car threaded its way through Delhi's traffic. The air was thick with smoke. "Smog," said Anwar, noticing Suleiman's quizzical look. "Gets really bad in winter."

They drove across a broad avenue towards a single-storied bungalow in the Lutyens' zone. After passing through a cursory security check, the two friends walked onto the large lawn that fronted the bungalow. 

Suleiman spotted a short, sharply dressed man with a Freddy Mercury moustache holding forth to a group of people hanging on to every word. "Pathankot shows how poorly prepared this government is to handle terror attacks," the man said through clenched teeth.

"That's Robert," whispered Anwar, nudging Suleiman conspiratorially.

Suleiman's eyes widened. "Are you serious, Anwarbhai? That Robert?"

Anwar nodded. He tugged at Suleiman's arm, guiding him through the crowd towards a rotund, ruddy-faced man dressed in an immaculate suit and silk tie.

"Suit-boot sarkar," grinned Suleiman. Anwar frowned at his friend and turned to the well-shod guest whom he seemed to know well.

"Kapil, I'd like to introduce you to my friend from Saudi Arabia, Suleiman Khan."

Kapil, a grin pasted seemingly permanently on his face, shook Suleiman's hand vigorously. "What an exciting time for you to visit us," he said.

Suleiman nodded: "Yes! The National Herald case has made headlines even back in Saudi! The Gandhis, I hear, are due to appear in court again next month."

The smile disappeared from Kapil's face. Had he said something wrong, Suleiman wondered as the rotund man walked away towards the bar.

"Anwar," boomed a voice behind them. Suleiman turned to see a small, silver-haired man slap his friend on the back. "Good to see you, Mani," said Anwar.

"Oh Suleiman, Mani here is an expert on Pakistan." Suleiman nodded pleasantly as the two men shook hands. "All quiet on the western front after Pathankot," Mani said jovially.

Suleiman shrugged "For now. One can never quite trust Pakistan. Another terror attack could be around the corner."

Mani raised an elegant eyebrow. "Really, Suleiman? You seem to be an expert on Pakistan too."

Suleiman ignored the sarcasm. "Not Pakistan so much but its best friend Saudi Arabia. I've lived there for over ten years and know the jihadi mindset quite well. Saudi Arabia finances Pakistan. And Pakistan finances terror groups like Jaish and Lashkar."

Mani's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. Before the conversation could continue, Anwar pulled Suleiman away, telling Mani they were going to get themselves some kebabs from the live barbeque station. As they moved ahead, Suleiman overheard Mani muttering to himself, "Uninterrupted and uninterruptible, uninterrupted and uninterruptible…" before his voice was lost in the growing cacophony of the crowd.

Anwar's face lit up as a television anchor waved to him. "Hi, remember me? We met in Pakistan last year."

Anwar nodded. "Of course, I remember. I was on a business trip with a delegation of steel tycoons. We were trying to convince the Pakistani authorities to grant India transit access to iron ore mines in Afghanistan."

The TV anchor seemed to be barely listening. She was almost beside herself with excitement. "I was super-excited about Prime Minister Modi's bold, imaginative stopover to meet Nawaz saab in Lahore," she trilled. "Such a pity about Pathankot though. Oh, and who's this, Anwar?" She smiled, looking at Suleiman who was standing by quietly.

"This is Suleiman," said Anwar. "He's from Saudi Arabia, soaking in the atmosphere of Delhi."

The TV anchor erupted in her trademark throaty laugh. "Atmosphere? What atmosphere! Despite odd-even, we're still choking on this smog! The air must be cleaner in Saudi Arabia, Suleiman, na?"

"It is," shrugged Suleiman. "But they flog us and confiscate our passports on the slightest pretext." He smiled wanly. "Frankly, I prefer Delhi's smog to the flogging." The TV anchor grimaced before traipsing away to talk to a group of Pashmina shawl-draped ladies. 

"Have you read my book yet," Suleiman overhead her asking them eagerly over the din. "You must. You really must. It's had such super reviews!"

Anwar tapped Suleiman on his shoulder to get his attention back. He pointed to a tight knot of kurta-clad men with scarves, shawls and assorted head gear to keep out the cold. "Those are some of the most powerful politicians in India," Anwar said. "One of them is a leading Congressman, the man next to him is from the Left…"

Suleiman interrupted him. "Anwarbhai, aren't they the same people who disrupted nearly the entire winter session of the Rajya Sabha?"

Anwar frowned. "Suleiman, these things happen in a vibrant democracy like India."

Suleiman's eyes were suddenly drawn to a short man with a clerk's moustache wearing an oversized, long-sleeved sweater, a coarse muffler wrapped around his neck. Noticing Suleiman's gaze directed at the diminutive man who was speaking in a high-pitched voice, coughing intermittently and waving his hands about vigorously, Anwar said softly: "He's quite a character, isn't he, Suleiman? He's got Modi in his sights. Wants to be the next PM."

Suleiman's eyes glinted. He'd been reading up on Indian politics. "Isn't he the same fellow whose party was set up as the B team of the then ruling party to discredit its main Opposition rival? Wasn't there a meeting in a boutique hotel on December 22, 2013 between two Delhi business tycoons with interests in steel and two-wheelers, a leader very close to 'Madam', and this man's senior party leader when the deal was fixed?"

Anwar looked at his friend's innocent face in amazement. "My, my Suleiman, you know things you aren't supposed to."

"That's the advantage of living in Saudi. We have… sources." Suleiman smiled disarmingly.

Anwar shook his head in mock exasperation. Both he and Suleiman were teetotalers and sipped on fruit juice. Around them Glenfiddich flowed freely. "Time for us to leave," said Anwar. "Let's hope 2016 brings better tidings for India."

As they moved towards the bungalow's imposing exit gate, they ran into the TV anchor who was flitting from group to group.  "Bye, Anwar! Bye, Suleiman!" She waved at them happily. "I'm off to interview Nawaz saab in Pakistan soon."

 
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