Face-Off Bring on the mukhautas, let the music play

ADVANI: Haan, Atalji, my tailor has just delivered another superb set of waistcoats and bandhgalas. Quite a wizard, that man, you should get him to make some for you. But I am looking for suitable accessories to go with them. Something that will enhance my stature and make me even more appealing to my Pakistani audiences.

VAJPAYEE: I know just what you need. Take a look at my collection.

(With that, he flung open a gigantic wardrobe in his bedroom and displayed what was perhaps India’s most impressive collection of masks. There were masks for every occasion. Sad Masks. Angry Masks. Happy Masks. Realist Masks and Poetic Masks. Liberal Masks and Fundamentalist Masks. Modernist Masks and Traditionalist Masks. Together they represented the entire gamut of human emotion and political locomotion.)

ADVANI (so overwhelmed by the display, he almost squealed in delight): Arrey, Atalji, you have a veritable khazhana here!

VAJPAYEE: Yes, yes. (He picked up one) Take this one, the Statesman-as-Dove Mask. This one, I remember. It worked very well when I visited the Minar-e-Pakistan in February 1999. Or, when the time came to wind down the dove image, there was that one, my Battle Mask. I wore it when I swore to expel every Pakistani infiltrator from our sacred territory during Kargil. Now take the one near your right elbow. It really is one of my favourites. It is my Poet Mask. I keep wearing it, especially when I go for my Manali sojourns and wish to send messages in verse to my detrators hatching my downfall in the hot plains below (he threw a side-long glance at Advani at this point which caused the Iron Man to squirm a bit).

ADVANI: Go on, Atalji. Go on.

VAJPAYEE: Now this. This is my Nehruvian mask. I wear it for effect. Like when I reminded Modi about his rajdharma or expressed anguish over the demolition of the Babri structure in parliamentary debates. As for this one, I like to call it my Pravin Togadia Face. It works as a useful corrective when my colleagues think I have gone too soft (here, again, he tried to catch Advani’s eye, but the latter looked away). I remember I had it on when I asked that famous question at Campal Maidan in Goa: Who lit the fire? But when that comment caused rumblings all around, I pulled out this little number. My Compromise Mask, I call it. Like the time when I said in Gujarat in 2004 that ‘‘those less in number must be protected’’. By the way, every time, Nagpur starts complaining about me, I wear this one. My Saffron Mask. I wore it, for instance, at Staten Island in September 2000, when I let the world know that no one can take away my right to remain a swayamsewak. Remember that, uh? And this one is my De-Saffron Mask. I wear it every time there is a complaint that we are overdoing our allegiance to the RSS. These masks work like a dream, Krishenji, take it from me! They give me the power to be all things to all men.

ADVANI (very excited): You think I could borrow the Statesman-as-Dove Mask for my Pakistan trip? The one you wore to the Minar-e-Pakistan? Please, please, Atalji, I promise to take great care of it and return it to you in mint condition.

Vajpayee: Zaroor, Kishenji, arrey what’s a mask between us? It’s all yours! Take your time in returning it. Meanwhile I may think of donning this one. Just for a change of pace…

With this, the former prime minister slipped on his Hawk Mask, guaranteed to keep the government on the edge over its Pakistan policy. He took it off, nudged Advani in the ribs and winked, as if to say, ‘‘Now you play Dove and I’ll play Hawk.’’