Paper chase

Satiricus wondered how the govt could have been so insensitive to the plight of scribblers.
Didn’t they bleed? Didn’t they have feelings? Didn’t they have to wake up in the morning and have roti or saltfish and bake? How were they to be kept off the breadlines unless they got paid for their work. Ah… he knew that most people didn’t think scribbling words was work. Didn’t even his own wife sneer that he was sitting around all day and not bringing home much bacon? How could the govt encourage photocopying books?
“Well, if you blasted well had to send six children to school,” shouted Kuldeep, “you woulda know. You know how much them real books cost?”
“I know how much they cost,” confessed Satiricus sheepishly. “The wife does buy copied books for our son. But is the principle man, the principle!”
“Wha principle yuh talking about?” inquired Cappo softly. “De principle dat dem white people tek all awe old people knowledge and now we gat fuh pay fuh am?”
“What schupidness yuh talking, man?” his old partner Bungi said sardonically. “Is what old people knowledge dem thief?”
“Bai, yuh must read de paper, na?” retorted Cappo. “Yuh didn’t hear dem try to tek out wan patent pan turmeric? Me old Nanie always know dat turmeric good fuh all kind a sick!”
“All right… All right we get the point,” interrupted Satiricus impatiently. “But how about books. How is it fair if I write a book and everybody copy my book?”
“Sato my friend,” began Teacher Samad, “it’s obvious you haven’t written a book. No offence intended!”
“What that got to do with it?” demanded Satiricus belligerently.
“I write articles every day. And I get paid.” “Not a hell of a lot,” chuckled Hari good naturedly.
“I’m still waiting for you to pay me back for the drinks I stand for you last week.” “But that’s not the point, Sato old friend,” said Samad. “Writing articles is different from this text book business.”
“What you mean,” snorted Satiricus. “Writing is writing and getting paid is getting paid.”
“Budday… let me tell you something how this textbook publishing does work,” said Samad as he leaned forward to tell his story. “You remember a few years ago, I helped to write a maths book for the syllabus?”
“You know, you’re right!” exclaimed Suresh. “I forgot all about that. So how you still poor like the rest of we? They photocopied you books, right?”
“Wrong!!!” came back Samad. “Those days, they didn’t have this photocopying business. You know how much the book sell for?”
“Me remember,” said Bungi. “Me had to buy one fuh me daughter. Gy$ 10,000!! Me couldn’t tek a beer for weeks! Yuh Brucks me, man!!”
“Not me fella!” protested Samad. “The publisher gave me Gy$ 100 for each book from the first batch. And pocket the balance. Not a penny since.”
“That means these publishers making a killing!” said Kuldeep indignantly.
“Damn right!” replied Samad. “They hike up the price for books way beyond what it cost them to print. And the authors don’t see a cent from that.”
“So maybe there should be a commission of inquiry to check into the original textbook business,” suggested Satiricus in wonder. “You live and learn.”