Indus Waters Treaty for Dummies

Politics

Indus Waters Treaty for Dummies

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nce upon a time there were two children called India and Pakistan. Childhood neighbours, they went to the same school and were in the same class. They were underachievers in class, and were often outshone by achievers and bullies like America, Britain, Russia, and China. In spite of being the underdogs, they hated each other, as neither of them could get this new attractive girl, Switzerland, to go out with them.

Through the years, Pakistan and India got into little skirmishes. Pakistan once stole India’s eraser, which India, being a little bigger took back. Another time Pakistan took India’s protractor and tried to poke America with it, only to be shushed by Russia, which then became friends with India.

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Pakistan, always small and pokey, never really made any friends except China, who felt envious of India because of its prowess in science class. Pakistan, empowered by the big, bulky new friend on its side started annoying India again.

The year was 1960 and the class teacher, United Nations put an end to it, and India, in a gesture of good faith, promised to give Pakistan eight out of every 10 sips of water from its lunch water bottle. This handshake, forevermore, was to be called the Indus Waters Treaty.

As a result, Pakistan got eight whole sips of water every year compared to the tiny disputed 0.005 sips, which has resulted in protests all over Tamil Nadu and Karnataka.

Now Pakistan got accustomed to taking these eight sips over time and to a certain standard of living, but in spite of taking India’s water, Pakistan threw darts at India in class, aiming at India’s sensitive organs – Uri and Pathankot.

Meanwhile in Delhi, class topper Arvind Kejriwal will refuse to believe any of this. He is expected to throw a tantrum and keep flinging shoes at everyone, calling everything “a media conspiracy”.

Tired of being the good boy, India contemplated to stop sharing water with Pakistan. But the problem is that until India starts drinking a lot more water, it doesn’t really have any place to store the extra water and is likely to flood its own face – Jammu and Kashmir. But the bigger problem is not flooding, it’s the class bully, China. China controls the tap from which the water flows and is likely to do its friend Pakistan a solid and stop its flow from it stepson Tibet altogether. Tibet, along with J&K will flood, but no one, least of all China will care about that.

The UN, America, and Britain will call out India’s boo-boo and ask it to stop taking its anger out on poor Pakistan. But by now, class monitor Modji’s 56” chest is full of Bhakt (and Arnab) love. They have been egging him on and he doesn’t want the music to stop.

The class’s nonpartisan leaflet, The Times of Mudi, will declare this a major victory for the people. With all the might of the intellectuals, Rahul Gandhi will go to the flooded J&K and try swimming, in a show of solidarity only to drown because mommy, Sonia Gandhi, won’t make the trip.

China will then get angry and attack India’s Northeastern arm. As a result, Monitor Modi will finally have to lift AFSPA and pass CFSPA (Chinese Forces Special Powers Act), allowing China to do what it feels like with this “unwanted arm” of India with impunity.

Pakistan, in the meanwhile, will be put under pressure by its class rogue, Hafiz Saeed, to launch a Lego nuke attack on India’s heart, New Delhi. Delhi will use its political clout to ensure it’s misfired and lands at India’s feet (read South India). Everything below India’s balls will perish in the attack and the RSS, this group of really odd boys, will finally put India’s photo as their Facebook display picture and check into this swank hotel called The Indian Parliament, which will then be shifted to Nagpur.

Meanwhile in Delhi, class topper Arvind Kejriwal will refuse to believe any of this. He is expected to throw a tantrum and keep flinging shoes at everyone, calling everything “a media conspiracy”. He will be thrown out of the class, as one of the shoes ruffles the hair of a Zee News anchor. Monitor Modi will then tweet, “Mitron, let’s rock.” The monitor’s social media cell will retweet the shit outta this, drop Lego nukes on Pakistan, finally bringing to life the internet phenomenon called, “Retweet Armageddon”.

All this while, Amit Shah, who hadn’t gone to school as other kids had been calling him fat, is playing chess with himself at home, listening to Coldplay’s new album, Chanakya.

Editor-in-chief of The Times of Mudi and author of comics on defence and strategy, Yogi Adityanath, will declare India victorious in the war and start a Twitter poll to change India’s name. Class defender Manohar Parrikar, who was last seen trying to stop bacteria from entering into Kashmir with his bare hands, will use his Reliance Jio connection and cast the final vote in Adityanath’s poll.

India, now without any friends, a face, an arm and both legs, will become Hindutvastan, and somewhere, somehow a saffron penis will rise in salute.

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