The safety satire

1.

Mr. Anwar Hasan Mizanee was woken up by the prison guard for his breakfast. It was his habit to wake up for morning prayers, eat some fruits, and then turn in for a second spell of slumber. The guards assiduously work him up in time for a proper breakfast, usually bread, vegetables, and some dessert item. Even past eighty, he had the blessing of not being encumbered with diabetes, and it was one of his few indulgences to enjoy desserts with all three meals. This morning it was some shuji. Mr. Mizanee finished his meal, said a lengthy sermon of gratitude that left both his attendants teary-eyed, and then sat down with a book. This was prison, for sure, but there were few material comforts he lacked for here. Meals were healthy and served punctually, there was a lot of time to read and write and doze off at times in between. Maybe it is true, God watches out for those who do His bidding on earth. God had blessed him with able sons who were carrying on his mission outside, while here he was, in a VIP cell, living off the taxpayer's money until his time was out here on earth.

2.

Alimullah Ali Majumdar lay very still in his easy-chair out in the balcony. It was still rather early in the morning, and hopefully he still had another hour of solitude before the yelling and quarrelling began. Unfortunately today his luck seemed to run out earlier than usual, as he heard the already raising voices of his son and daughter-in-law. The usual topic persisted – money is tight, how long did his father plan on being here, what about his other brothers, why couldn't they take turns housing him, how about his sister in Malaysia?

In the first few months of his stay here, there had at least been the pretense that things are ok. Lately that pretense had been dropped for loud arguments, constant nagging, and the increasingly less subtle statements made directly to him about how inconvenient it is to have an extra person around, how the apartment was not big enough, and there were always guests over. At least she had not brought out the embarrassment card yet, but Alimullah did not doubt it would come soon – how it was embarrassing to have him around when her family or friends visited, or her children had friends and their parents over.

What was there to be embarrassed about? So the side he had taken had lost out forty years ago. He was not alone in making that choice, and he personally knew people who had done terrible, unspeakable things to ensure victory. He had only stood by and let them, that is all. Maybe that is why he got all the bad press and none of the perks. In the forty years since then, he had not gotten any major party nominations, and when these young rascals began calling out for trials, somehow his name never surfaced. Just plain bad luck. All his comrades from back then had become Ministers, and some were living in the comfort of prison hospitals and VIP cells. And here he was, still waiting for breakfast, definitely not likely until after the argument blew over.

3.

Asaduzzaman waited outside the glass doors. The waiting room was rather comfortable, and the people ahead of him all seemed to be turned around pretty quickly. Asad hoped to be out of here within the hour. When it was finally his turn, he gathered his papers and went inside. He decided to get straight down to business, and asked the tax lawyer, "Is there any way for you to make sure I don't have to pay any taxes?"

The lawyer smiled knowingly, this clearly not the first time he had been asked that question. "That is everyone's dream, of course. But if you are making money, I doubt it can be done. I will of course try to minimize your…"

"No! You don't understand! I have seen seven lawyers before this, and I am not doing business with any of you until you can assure me that I won't have to pay taxes!"

The lawyer's voice grew stern now. "Now look here, it is not worth our time, or the risk involved, trying to pull off any such stunt here. If you are getting a salary, if you have a bank account, the government has ways to trace all that…"

"Fine, fine! Can you at least make sure that I can specify what purposes my tax money is used for?"

Now the lawyer was confused. "What? I am not even sure what that means!"

Asad spoke softly now. "They…they killed my father. Raped my aunt. I…I just don't want my tax money to pay for their amenities. Please? Can you?"