The old days

Satiricus enjoyed listening to budget speeches. Some people might find them boring. But not Satiricus. He always parked himself in front of his TV; made sure his channa and phoulourie were ready – not to mention his beers and let the numbers roll over him. The heckling from the opposition benches was an added bonus. This year, he was not disappointed. It was like Christmas all over again – there was something for everybody. But the opposition did their number.
There was Karl in the front seats opposite Minister Sing. Gnashing his teeth and working himself into a lather. Karl was the shadow finance minister. Satiricus thought that Karl was living up to his title – he was a shadow of his former self. But as usual, an hour into the speech, by the time the minister got to drainage and irrigation, the beer got to Satiricus and he fell asleep. He started to dream.
There was Karl – but he was on the government benches.
It was the PNCee time and the Kabaka was at the helm. And Karl was delivering his budget speech. “What I gon tell you all, comrades? We broke. The treasury empty. The comrade leader said all a we must bear strain. He bearing strain. He down to one tin condensed milk a day.”
From the opposition benches came the shout: “What happen to all the sugar money?? It in Fat Boy Swiss bank account?”
Karl paused in his speech. “Don’t worry with you, Ram Attar. You ain’t going nowhere. You know the comrade leader building hydro for we up the Mazaruni. He spend the money deh!”
Quick as an arrow came the retort: “He giving we hydro, all right. The pressure so much, all a we getting hydro!” The opposition benches cracked up in laughter. There were a few snickers even on the PNCee benches.
Karl was not amused. “Like you want the comrade leader tell you to write you will, or what? Anyhow, let me tell you what we gon ban this year. This year is flour.”
Chowramootoo, who was some regional minister or something, jumped up from behind Karl. “But you can’t ban flour, Comrade. Is how I gon have me roti in the morning?”
“Roti, me arse!” exclaimed Hammie Cream. “Is how I gon have me saltfish and bake?”
“Order!!!” screamed Sase Na Rain from the Speaker’s chair. “Let the comrade minister finish his speech. But Odo better arrange to get me some flour for my dhal puri.”
Over from the government benches came the advice, “Don’t worry about dhal puri, Sase. You can continue drinking soup!!” Satiricus woke up in a sweat.
Minister Sing was telling old people they would get bigger pension. Karl was over in the opposition benches. He was smiling. He would soon be receiving his pension.
Satiricus realised that it had been a dream. No, it had been the PNCee nightmare. Satiricus hoped they never got back in government. He didn’t like hydro. It would make him walk funny.