By Karan Thapar

Do eunuchs have a right to harass? If you’re a regular reader of this paper you’ll know this is not as strange a question as it might at first appear. After all, a certain Amin Khan, Vice Chairman of the Delhi Pradesh Congress Committee’s minority cell, believes they do. In fact, when Delhi’s eunuchs recently met the Archaeological Survey of India to “demand” they be permitted to collect money from people who visit the Old Fort and Safdarjung Tomb, their cause – if that’s the right word – was supported by a letter from him. “How else will they earn their livelihood?” he asks. “They should be allowed for two to three hours daily at the monuments”.

Whatever next! Hijras are regular visitors to our office and stand at the entrance hollering for whatever they are worth. The noise is in inverse proportion to their value. The first time it happened my colleagues were perplexed. Heads popped out from behind closed doors to gaze in stupefaction. None of us had the courage to venture forth. A hijra in full sail is a daunting sight. In full voice he or she is deafening.

On such occasions my colleague Murari proves invaluable. He has a deft touch – or do I mean charm, discretion, even etiquette? – and can handle a hijra invasion effectively. I’m not sure if money changes hands but once he’s at hand the hijras disappear.

So on the back streets of Safdarjung there’s no doubt about it : hijras have a right to harass and neither the police nor the municipal authorities can do anything about it.

However, this strange story reminds me of how often people, who should know better, make demands that are thoroughly unjustified if not also unbecoming. Sir John Kotelawala, the former Prime Minister of Ceylon as it then was, recounts a story in his autobiography that would be amusing if only you’re Indian. At the Bandung conference of 1955, where the air was full of the hot rhetoric of anti-imperialism, Sir John delivered a speech that stunned the audience of Afro-Asian prime ministers. He had the gall to criticise the Soviet Union and see merit in America. At the time this wasn’t just different; it simply wasn’t done.

“Sir John” said an annoyed Nehru. “Why didn’t you show me your speech before you delivered it?”

“Why should I?” Sir John replied. “Did you show me yours in advance?” You and I, no doubt, would have said something similar.

Of course such arrogant assertion of one’s presumed right to make demands and be obeyed is most common in the young. At an adolescent age it’s usually considered charming. After all, children are indulged. Although, again, that does depend on who it happens to.

I can remember the Matron at Jaipur House in Doon School and her sense of outrage when a posse of hungry students appeared at her door, knocking violently and disturbing her post-prandial slumber, to insist on more food.

“Beta” she said in a high falsetto. “But you’ve just had lunch!”

“No Ma’am” they replied with a self-confidence that must have been alarming. “That was just a snack.”

My memory does not recall how this particular story ended but I suspect it was with punishment. However, the occasion I will never forget took place one rainy afternoon in London in 1986. I had just finished an excellent meal at a restaurant called RSJ and faced the daunting prospect of a wet dash back to work. The distance was too close to hail a cab yet far enough to get thoroughly soaked even if you ran for it. As I stood at the door contemplating the alternatives I became aware of a bunch of lemon-haired women protestors gesticulating to my left.

“Oy” one of them shouted. “Oy look this way”.

I’m not used to being oyed – neither then nor now – and assumed they had someone else in mind.

“Oy Lumpkin! Yes, you. Look this way mate.”

When I did it was to discover they were collecting money – actually, demanding it – for an organisation called OLAW. At least that’s what their tin box had emblazoned across it.

“What’s OLAW?” I harrumphed.

“Organisation for the Liberation of Argentinean Whores.”

“What?” I couldn’t believe my ears.

“ ’Ow does it matter mate? Give us your money and shove off!”

I’m afraid I did. And then I ran for it. By the time I got to work I was both disconsolate and drenched.

Our hijras, I suppose, are no worse.