The US and its ’’allies’’ tried hard but the dreaded ’’weapons of mass destruction (WMD)’’ in Iraq were never found. After months of frantic manhunt, Saddam was finally captured and put in a detention centre.
Bush visits Saddam at the detention centre and tries to pry out information about the WMD. Saddam says he’d tell only if Bush took him to Mumbai for lunch. Desperate for the information, Bush has to agree. They agree to travel incognito.
They arrive in Mumbai after a long and tiring flight. Used to the pleasures of Air Force One, Bush looks completely dishevelled after 17 hours of flying Economy Class.
Saddam: Dubya, I’m hungry. The Grittish Airways food was fit for Texan cows. Let’s grab some decent grub first.
Bush: Damn it, you’re always hungry. You were hungry for Iran. You were hungry for Kuwait. And now you’re hungry for food. Let’s find a classy joint. How about the Taj? Lemme call up my consulate guys.
Saddam: your consulate. Remember, we’re travelling incognito. Let’s go to this place called Baghdadi.
Bush: Baghdadi? Saddam, we’re in India, not Iraq.
Saddam: Yes cowboy, I know. Do you know that now we’re in an area called Santa Cruz and we’re not in California! So just shut up and be a good boy.
Shaken by the reprimand, Bush decides to sit quietly as they zip through the Western Express Highway towards downtown Mumbai.
When they arrive at Baghdadi, the absolute lack of elegance of the place disturbs Bush. The restaurant is noisy, there are rows of long tables and no-airconditioning.
Bush: Damn Saddam, where have you brought me? One of your dirty tricks?
Saddam: For once, Dubya, at least for once, trust me.
Bush and Saddam somehow manage to find a place for two at a long table where six other guys are gobbling up succulent pieces of mutton. The waiter appears and Saddam places the order.
Bush: What are we gonna have?
Saddam: I’ve already asked for rotis, dal fry and chicken fry.
Bush: Chicken fry? That at least sounds edible. I dunno about the other stuff.
The food arrives. Two huge rotis (10 inches in diameter) appear on tiny steel plates. The very look of the dal fry with fried garlic swimming in it puts Bush off. The chicken fry shares its space with a huge fried potato, both equally red.
Bush: Hey, where’s the topping on this pizza? And why does this yellow soup look so thick?
Saddam (laughing out loud): My dear Dubya, this ain’t a pizza. What you see is an Afghani roti. and what you call a ’’soup’’ is actually lentils cooked with spices and a generous amount of garlic.
Bush: Afghani roti in Baghdadi!!! Now I see the connection. And you still want me to believe that Iraq has had nothing to do with Osama?
Saddam: Dubya, now stop being a fool and EAT.
Very tentatively, Bush takes a piece of the roti, dips it in the Dal and puts it where it belongs. His expression changes from sombre to pitiable to that of pure delight.
Bush: Man, this does taste good. Why didn’t you tell me about this place earlier? We could’ve subcontracted all the airdropping of food packets when we went to war in Afghanistan. You surely know how hard we tried. We spent millions of dollars in airdropping bread, red beans, fruit bars, peanut butter, strawberry jam and many Afghans found it plain inedible. To top it all, we tried to save a little money on paint. There was a lot of yellow paint left over after painting the cluster bombs and we used it to paint the food packets. Now tell me something honestly, if the Afghans can’t tell a bomb from a bread, is it my fault?
Saddam: You disgust me.
Bush: The feeling is mutual.
Bush eyes the fried chicken and potato suspiciously.
Saddam: Now please don’t expect an intern to come and feed you. Go ahead, help yourself.
Bush bites into the chicken. As the crunchy crust and the tender inside do a tango in his mouth, he reaches out for the fried potato. He closes his eyes to enjoy the taste.
Saddam: Thinking about something, cowboy?
Bush: Yeah, I was wondering if potatoes can taste this good, why on earth would somebody drop a hot potato?
Saddam: If bombs were so expensive, why should people drop them?
Bush: Let’s drop this conversation.
Completely satiated, they ask for the cheque. When it arrives, Bush picks up the tab and pays. He just can’t believe that such good food can be so inexpensive.
Bush: That’s small price to pay for the information. Now out with it, smart boy. Where are the weapons of mass destruction?
Saddam takes out some toothopicks from his pocket and places them on the table.
Saddam (with an ear-to-ear grin): Fooled ya, like always. Just wanted to have some good food. The food at your detention center sucks.
The use of characters in this review is only for humour’s sake. It is not the reviewer’s intention to malign anyone or to hurt anybody’s sentiments. Baghdadi is on Tulloch Road behind the Taj Mahal Hotel at Colaba. If you’re coming from Regal, take the left turn at Mondegar’s and then take the first right turn.