We Abdullahs never quit. We just resign. As dad succinctly put it: “It’s okay ‘beta’ to resign because one can re-sign on again.” And that’s exactly what I did. One day I was out, the very next day I was back in the CM’s gaddi. What an anti-climax! Jammu & Kashmir governor N.N. Vohra, who watched the entire drama on TV, felt it had all the ingredients of a C-grade thriller. “Omar, when you actually do quit, you should try your hand in a Ram Gopal Verma film,” he said while he re-signed me on. Did he say it in jest? One can never tell. Perhaps the truth will out only when the gubernatorial office table agrees to go on Sach ka Saamna.
Well, talking of sach, I believe there are a few truths about my ‘resignation’ that posterity should know. For starters, like all reality shows, it was also fixed! How did that happen, you ask? Well, a contact of mine who studied with Muzaffar Beig (the PDP leader who said I was on the sex scandal list) in Harvard had arranged a meeting. On a July morning, we met—Beig saab disguised as a boatman and I as a foreign tourist. And as the shikara drifted to a lonely spot on the Dal, I revealed my plans. “Beigsaab, this Shopian rape case is a big embarrassment to my government. What can we do to divert public attention from it?” He stopped rowing, took off his fez and scratched his head: “I have an idea. Can I link you to the 2006 sex scandal in the assembly and demand your resignation? You can then threaten to quit. It will create quite a stir.” Well, I gave it some thought and concluded that it was indeed a wonderful plan. “Beigsaab, you’re a genius! But don’t forget to also include dad’s name—he gets touchy about being left out.”
But did I really figure in the initial police report on the scandal? Well, actually I did. You see, the investigating officer who rummaged through my desk came across a letter dad had written to me when I was in school in Sanawar. It was a cryptic note that read: “Sonny boy, your ‘six’ problem is scandalous. But don’t worry, even I had trouble with that damn six.” He was reacting to my teacher’s complaint that I always mistook 6 for 9, making a mess of my maths book. Dad’s advice was that whenever I thought I saw nine I should turn the page upside down. “If it’s still 9 then it’s six!” Dad’s real clever, ain’t he? Anyway, that aside, the cop who took hurried notes from my papers misread six for sex and then since Dad was senior placed him higher (28) and me lower (102) in the call girl patrons list.
So there you are—the inside story of how I resigned and then became CM once again. Thank you Beig saab, thank you....
(As imagined by Ajith Pillai)
