In my last blog, having shared with you a dose of my dad’s volcanic temper, I’m moving on from the hapless Dr. Mukund Lal, leaving that gentleman behind, scurrying for cover.
Barring those few and far between instances when my father would erupt, most of the
time he was a very jovial gentleman prone to what could only be described as being childish shenanigans. I have patchy memories (almost as patchy as this faded photograph I have of him) of quite a few of those pranks, while this particular one being so eccentrically over the top, is as though etched in my memory. Had this episode been in the present time, when folk click and share photographs as easily as falling off a chair, back then – zilch! A photograph would have made it so easy to explain that quirky side of daddy’s character, but in the absence of the visual evidence, have to rely on the written word to try and get the crazy picture across.
Back then Simla being a very small town with a very thin population, it follows that every person in that town having any standing would know and be known to everyone else. This included the government functionaries, with most of the senior bureaucrats being members of the Simla Club and the Masonic Lodge. One of the club-going lot was the district Income Tax Officer, Sardar Satwant Singh, who also happened to be a rather close buddy of my dad.
Came the day when daddy received an income tax notice, advising that he present
himself in the IT office on a particular day for a re-assessment of his previous years IT return. That my dad was not amused would be somewhat of an understatement leading to him, that evening over a drink in the club with Satwant, making a song and dance about it and raising issue, questioning the gentleman as to why their friendship had not stymied that notice from being issued. The response, as one would expect, was that this was a routine follow-up action initiated by the department which Satwant in his personal capacity could not be expected to interfere with and that it was rather unfair that my dad was upbraiding him for that official missive. The conversation was ended with the suggestion (advice) that daddy simply attend the summons, following which he (the IT boss) would make sure that the file was closed.
On the day that he was required to make his official appearance in front of Mr. Satwant Singh, daddy had my mum pull out a badly frayed and almost in tatters kurta/pajama. Ahead of donning this attire he picked up some mud to daub that across the front of his kurta. That done he rolled up one leg of his pajama so that he had one leg down to his shoe, while the other was turned up till his knee, tousled his hair to which he had applied a liberal helping of coconut oil so that his mane was standing up in short uneven spikes and topped that up by smearing some gook across his face. The cherry on the cake was the tasseled end of his pajama drawstring (nala/nada for those who understand the word) far from just peeping out from under his kurta, was hanging all the way down to below his knees, in line with the one pajama leg which had been rolled up. 
Dressed as he was, looking like a disheveled and unkempt clown or some insane lost soul (that being exactly what he wanted to convey) he picked up his umbrella and nonchalantly, as though without a care in the world, walked the distance to the IT office which was located about half an hour away from our house.
Up until this point is what we saw at home, what his behavior was on reaching the IT office is what Satwant shared with my mum and all his friends for that crazy drama to become the topic of conversation and much laughter for a long time after the episode.
Daddy apparently walked up to the IT Officers chamber but did not enter. Instead, he simply stood in the doorway with his mouth agape making strange gurgling noises and shaking his hands in a manner which indicated an ‘I know nothing’. The result of this strange behavior being that all the staff in that office en-masse abandoned their respective desks to run across to assist this gentleman and keep him from toppling over. Satwant, of course, immediately understood what my dad was playing at, cracked up and walking across to daddy suggested that he immediately head back home as he was obviously not in good shape.
As to whether Mr. Khanna’s IT return of the previous year was re-assessed is what I don’t know. What I do know is that my dad’s whacky behavior kept everyone in splits for months on end. I know this to be a fact because for months after, whenever my dad had me accompany him for his amble across the Mall, whichever friend or acquaintance he’d bump into, they’d stand around ribbing him and chortling about his antic that day in the IT office.
While I, from my vantage viewpoint with my line of sight at the level of their thighs, would be enjoying watching the ‘belly dance’, being entertained by a whole lot of pot bellies shaking with mirth.