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ashokbhatia's avatarashokbhatia

When it comes to the oeuvre of P G Wodehouse, Stephen Fry says that ‘You don’t analyse such sunlit perfection, you just bask in its warmth and splendour.’

With due respects to him, yours truly would beg to differ. As someone who suffers from the 3rd and final stage of a pleasurable affliction alluded to as Wodehousitis, I cannot but analyse the sunlit perfection of his narratives. In a world full of hatred and conflicts, one survives on the metaphorical juice of the oranges of his whodunits. Unless one analyses, one does not extract the maximum possible juice out of these luscious oranges. My Guardian Angels have conspired thus, and I just cannot help myself.

Allow me, therefore, to capture here some of the life-enriching lessons which dot the vide canvas of one of his works, Something Fresh – tips on well being, riding the socio-economic divide, the spirit…

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jrsdavies's avatarOld geezer re-reading

In 1954 P.G. Wodehouse published another novel. Well, why wouldn’t he? He was only 73, and the novel that he wrote – Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit – was only (by some accounting) his seventy-second book and only the seventh full-length Jeeves-and-Wooster story. (There had been many more short stories, and there were to be four more J-and-W novels before he died in 1975.) And as my illustration shows, I read this story in its recent Everyman hardback incarnation – a delight. Nice cover, nice design, nice typeface.

I’ve been enjoying Wodehouse’s work, especially the Jeeves and Wooster stories, for over 50 years myself, so it was no hardship to go back to this novel for the online #1954Club. Or was I not going back, but rather reading it for the first time? It’s difficult to be sure, for Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit (hereinafter JATFS) contains almost…

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When it comes to owning a sprawling property like Brinkley Manor, there is no way I can compete with Bertie Wooster’s miserly Uncle Tom, or, if you wish me to be precise, Thomas “Tom” Portarlington Travers. I do have a humble roof over my head which serves its purpose rather well.

Nor do I have a dynamic wife like Aunt Dahlia who, when she loses a sum of 500 pounds while gambling at Cannes, might ask me to replace the money in order to keep financing her magazine, Milady’s Boudoir. Simply because I do not have ample resources at my command. 

My lair can also not boast of someone like Anatole, God’s gift to our gastric juices. Guests who get invited over to my place often try to come up with the flimsiest of excuses to escape the trauma of having to put plain dal-roti-subzi-chawal down the hatch.  

Nor am I a collector of silver cow creamers. I merely collect books, movies and music albums.  

But when it comes to an aversion to payment of taxes, my thinking absolutely matches that of Uncle Tom.

The Psychology of a Taxpayer

I daresay it is not greed that makes one detest the payment of taxes. Rather, it is the disproportionately high rate of taxes which one objects to. Services delivered by the government barely touch one. Our roads continue to be as bumpy as ever. Our power supply often keeps us on tenterhooks. Our public transport systems offer services which are rarely punctual, seldom tidy and often substandard. Quality medical care only enriches either the hospital owners or the insurance companies. Premium education is a rare commodity, accessible only to the well heeled.    

Above all, the taxation systems are designed to promote dishonesty. Evasion becomes the norm. By dodging taxes, a lay citizen has the power to cock a snook at the revenue authorities. What could be a sweeter revenge than to have been able to resort to some sharp practices to generate some black money and thereby contribute to the parallel economy of the country? In such matters, our ingenuity knows no bounds. Give us a tougher system and we shall always be one step ahead of the government of the day in browbeating it, appear to say the denizens. 

In fact, by resorting to such practices, a citizen may as well be contributing to nation building in his own humble way. One, the parallel economy is well isolated from the formal financial systems, thereby acting as a shock absorber to the jalopy of the formal economy when it runs into a speed breaker like that of the infamous 2008 meltdown. Two, politicians of all hues badly need unaccounted funds to keep winning elections all the time. Thus, we, the people, stand a better chance of keep electing governments which we deserve. Three, the shadow economy keeps greedy banks in tax heavens in the pink of health, partially fulfilling one of the key dictates of our scriptures, namely Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam. Four, such professions as accountants, lawyers and management seniors keep thriving in a perennial state of blissful existence, guiding one through the taxation maze.

I wonder if the tax rates are deliberately kept high so the above mentioned objectives of diverse stakeholders keep getting met. Also, the compliance maze is so designed as to invariably need a bevy of professionals to keep interpreting the fine print year after year. 

Perhaps, the sage advice dished out by Chanakya a few centuries back is willfully neglected. It may be recalled that in his seminal work Arthashastra, he had opined as follows:

Ideally, governments should collect taxes like a honeybee, which sucks just the right amount of honey from the flower so that both can survive. Taxes should be collected in small and not in large proportions.

What we have instead is a group of honeybees which collects not only the honey but also keeps a sharp eye on the soft petals and other tender parts of the flower.   

Our revenue authorities would be quick to point out the miniscule base of the tax-paying public being a reason for high taxes. Uncle Tom may not concur, though. Instead, he may recommend the following: a relentless focus on the employment generating businesses, thereby ensuring a steady income in the hands of a majority; predictable taxation systems which enthuse investors; use of modern technology to connect the dots between the direct and the indirect tax bases.  

However, these are not low hanging fruits. Our politicos typically have a five-year vision which prompts them to continue to be in an election mode most of the times.     

The Great Indian Milled Class

Unlike Uncle Tom, I did not make a fortune doing business in the Far East. I belong to the great Indian Middle Class, famed for the manner in which it upholds such values as honesty, truthfulness and fairness in its dealings with others. Those who belong to this segment of the society also uphold family values and social harmony.

Having slogged for over 35 years in the private sector as a salaried employee, I have always been a sitting duck for tax collectors of all kinds. Scriptures have taught us the value of perseverance and patience. Take away our Standard Deduction and we would simply squirm and keep quiet. Reduce the rates of our bank deposits and some of us may merely write a protest letter to the editor of our daily newspaper. Keep threatening us with a change-over of our hard-earned savings parked in a public provident fund account from the Exempt-Exempt-Exempt category to the Exempt-Exempt-Tax category, and few of us might make some ineffective noises.

Keep inflating our personal transport costs and we shall meekly accept the same. We ignore the fact that close to 45% of the fuel prices get cycled back to the government of the day. Home makers amongst us may keep twiddling their thumbs trying to balance their domestic budgets, but unless there is a direct threat to political power, nary an eyebrow is raised. We eagerly look forward to the next round of elections in the country so at least a transient relief may come our way.

Not to forget the Great Spiritual Tax which does not discriminate between the haves and the have-nots. It is designed to make us suppress our desires, focusing only on our bare needs. Thus, it makes all of us a wee bit more spiritual. A CEO pays as much tax on a bottle of shampoo as his liftman or driver does.

In general, the only long term satisfaction we may have is that of educating our children well and facilitating a smoother life for them in the times to come.

The Exorbitant Price of Honesty

Honesty does not come cheap, though. Recently, when I enquired about the kind of taxes applicable if one were to sell a property and send funds abroad, I was baffled. The mind was boggled to its soggy core. If I were lucky enough to find a buyer who would agree to do a 100% transparent transaction, the dreadful tax implications left me shivering from the top of my head to the base of my feet.

The buyer would need to shell out close to 11% by way of registration charges. As to the seller, a slice of close to 23.6% will need to be paid by way of compliance to the mandarins in the taxation department. If this were not enough, the bank would be happy to provide foreign exchange only if the seller would agree to an additional cost of 5%, by way of a higher education cess. The plea that a 4% education cess would already have been paid as a part of the 23.6% and that a further 5% contribution towards improvement of higher education in the country made no sense may simply fall on deaf ears. The only assurance provided was that of the total damage of 28.6% suffered, the seller may get some refund in due course of time. Thus, between the buyer and the seller, the transaction would get shaved off by a whopping 39.6%. Add to this the legal costs and the speed money which smoothens our lives in general, and we are talking about a cost in excess of 40%!

I am not too sure if the government ever played any role in the organic appreciation of the value of the property over a period of some 20 years when it would have remained in my family’s investment basket. However, I am certain that those framing our taxation rules have undergone an advanced diploma at an academy run by Shylock somewhere on the outskirts of Venice. Chanakya, were he to discover this harsh reality, would surely be found turning in his grave.

A vast majority amongst you would be quick to point out the need for a prospective seller to promptly consult some sharp minds in the realm of finance, so that much of this excessive cost may be avoided. What else could a mentally negligible nincompoop like me do?

But what about one’s humble contribution to the mighty task of nation building? Also, is there a merit in inviting a jaundiced view of the authorities concerned, leading to some nasty notices in the letter box six months hence?

Indeed, it is at times such as these that one’s commitment to honesty and transparency gets tested. Scales fall from one’s eyes. It dawns upon one as to why the real estate market continues to be a shady one, perpetually contributing to the parallel economy of the country.

A Sense of Detachment

Just as P. G. Wodehouse once wrote in the Vanity Fair, I also imagine sitting in my poverty-stricken home and wondering how a tax bandit, having entered my house uninvited, would wave a gun at me, rummage through my pockets and empty these out. He now wears a mask which reminds me of the popular OTT serial Money Heist. Alas, he does not realize that I am not the Royal Mint of Spain.

Nevertheless, he would be leading me to cultivate a sense of detachment from my hard-earned money, much along the lines of what Lord Krishna advises in the Bhagavad Gita. Hope when he leaves me, I shall be in a carefree state of mind.

Next time I get invited to Brinkley Manor, I shall surely ask Uncle Tom about the tax expert he consults!

(For details on the tax blues faced by P. G. Wodehouse, please check out Tony Ring’s book: https://www.amazon.com/You-Simply-Hit-Them-Extraordinary/dp/1870304225)

(Inputs from Dr Renu Singh Parmar are gratefully acknowledged; Illustration courtesy Suvarna Sanyal)

Related Post:

Remembering Chanakya (Kautilya The Great)

https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2016/09/09/psmith-and-mike-discuss-the-great-spiritual-tax-of-india/

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Here is a delectable piece, if piece is indeed the word I want, which can be accessed at https://www.deccanherald.com/opinion/right-in-the-middle/full-moon-still-shines-brightly-1091669.html

(Note: Somehow, yours truly could not resist the temptation of sharing it here. Should the author or The Deccan Herald have any objections to my sharing this piece here, prompt corrective steps would surely be taken.)

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ashokbhatia's avatarashokbhatia

Many of our homemakers happen to be depressed these days,

They wish their spouses to refrain from inviting yours truly to their homes;

Lest he behave like a male Laura Pyke, exhorting them to lay off the vitamins,

And while away his own time merely devouring some literary tomes.

 

A lazy bum, he continues to gobble up cookies from the kitchen jar,

Making the Aubrey Upjohn in the family take a jaundiced view of things;

He opens the hatch to guzzle down jugfuls of tea and milk,

Much like Bertie, he gets up very late, anticipating what the morning tray brings.

 

His cooking abilities are limited to boiling milk and eggs,

An apprenticeship under Anatole is what he desperately needs;

Doing the dishes and tidying up the place is not his idea of fun,

Oh, how they wish these could count as some of his chivalrous deeds.

 

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ashokbhatia's avatarashokbhatia

In order to celebrate the 137th birth anniversary of P G Wodehouse, the Pittsburgh Millionaires decided to meet up on the 14th of October, 2018. The meeting took place at one of the Panera Cafés in the Oakland area of Pittsburgh, USA.

Lest some of you get an impression that the millionaires foregathered to discuss some trustworthy sources from where one could secure either a cow creamer or a scarab, you would be sadly mistaken. If your ambitions lead you to believe that you could have run into an arts dealer offering The Girl in Blue, the famous Gainsborough miniature, to one of the millionaires present at the gathering, you would be even more off the mark.

Had you been able to make it to the gig, you would have discovered the Pittsburgh Millionaires to be a group of strong and adventurous folks, well endowed and successful…

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ashokbhatia's avatarashokbhatia

Allow us to welcome you belatedly to this wonderful world on a special day,

When you turn one and fans in different continents are celebrating Plum;

For this is the day he decided to hand in his dinner pail,

Leaving a rich legacy of joy, should we ever become glum.

Unbeknown to you, you have brought happiness in many lives,

Not only to that of your parents and immediate family members;

But also to the lives of fans suffering from Corona-induced blues,

You brought hope to a sick planet and kept aglow joyful embers.

You dispelled our manner of death-where-is-thy-sting-fullness,

Keeping us safe indoors, devouring the works of the Master;

Reveling in the antics of those who lived almost a century back,

Keeping our sanity intact, building immunity, recovering faster.

In Plumsville, Death is surely not a dreaded phenomenon,

On the contrary, it confers wealth, castles and titles upon heirs;

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ashokbhatia's avatarashokbhatia

{Here is a transcript of the Key Note Address delivered by Reginald Jeeves at the recently held Annual General Meeting of the Society for Prevention of Internet Narcissism (SPIN)}

Ladies and Gentlemen,

Allow me to thank your esteemed Society for having bestowed upon me the honour of sharing some of my thoughts on the issue of remaining happier and safer in these challenging times.

I take the liberty of calling our present as a challenging one not only because of the pandemic we collectively face these days. I also do so because we all suffer from another pandemic – that of the so-called social media spreading mistrust, misinformation and misgovernance.

Values which are vanishing like Indian Fakirs

I believe that truth and reality have taken a back seat. We live in an illusory world of our own where reality is nothing but a simulation. A handful of smart and…

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My nerves are all of a twitter these days.

I learn from reliable sources that some time back, David Bennett, a resident of the USA, has had his ailing human heart replaced by a porcine one.

Of course, I wish David all the very best. May he remain in the pink of health for a long time to come and keep vanquishing any cardiac Goliath he comes across. May he even develop such traits as having an insatiable appetite and a penchant for rollicking in the mud. May he relish his moments as a Pig-hearted person of eminence and remain a metaphor for medical triumph amongst the Homo sapiens.

Some of you may know that the kidneys of my species have already been transplanted amongst humans, thereby enabling them to live a wee bit longer. Few others may recall that the first insulin used to treat a diabetic patient was derived from one amongst us. Assorted chemicals used in vaccines and medicines are formulated from different organs of ours. Speak of items ranging from gelatin and anti-coagulants to digestive supplements, and you will find us contributing to the general well being of all humans.

Those who do not mind their stomachs being treated as a graveyard of the animal kingdom would be aware that my species yields ham, bacon, spar ribs, loins, sides, shoulders, trotters and even heads. We add a unique allure to the pleasures of the table, something which can only be overcome by those who have nerves of chilled steel.  

But the latest development is worrisome. Given the innate greed of humans, the time is not far off when an entrepreneur in the mould of Ukridge would start pig farming in a big way, specializing in supplying genetically modified pigs which would be ready-to-use for the heart transplant industry.

I accept that our hearts are more readily acceptable by the human frame. Also, that we are easy to raise since we happen to be open to devouring all kinds of nourishment. Besides, we have a rather healthy litter size and lesser gestation periods. But the prospect of being reared in bulk in a genetically modified mode merely for our organs to be harvested so the human race may lead a happier life leaves me shaken from my snout to my tail.  

This is the nightmare which is making me lose my sleep these days. Soon, I intend to follow the fine example set by Mahatma Gandhi and start refusing my daily quota of 57,800 calories. This time, I am determined not to get swayed by a call of ‘pig-hoo-o-o-o-ey’ and give up my protest. Pepping me up without addressing my genuine concerns on the subject of xenotransplantism, the art and science of using animal organs for human purposes, will just not work.  

I do hope Lord Emsworth would rise to the occasion and order Rupert Baxter to start an intense campaign on social media against any such onslaught on me and my kind. The Shropshire Agricultural Show is just coming up and I am certain he would like me to win a prize without fail.  

If this does not happen, the development has to be faced by those of the porcine species with an upper stiff lip. I wonder why we can’t have wings.

(PS: Am sorry to note that David survived only two months after his surgery. RIP.)

(Related Post:

A dilemma faced by the Empress of Blandings

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ashokbhatia's avatarashokbhatia

An Anonymous Doctor

Yet another medical practitioner who wishes to remain anonymous specializes in the realm of diet and nutrition. Like all good doctors, he advises those who have been disappointed in love to eat frugally. Fail to do this, and the result is as inevitable as the climax of a Greek tragedy. No man, however gifted his gastric juices, can go on indefinitely brooding over a lost love and sailing into the starchy foods simultaneously. If so, indigestion grips him soon enough, making him consult a physician like the one alluded to here.

His solutions to cure a soul in torment may sound drastic, but are invariably effective. He is apt to put one on a diet comprising nothing else but the juice of an orange.

He may advise the patient thus: ‘Precisely. Take your orange. Divide it into two equal parts. Squeeze on a squeezer. Pour into a…

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