Barcodes and Bottoms

The other day a computer burnt DVD refused to cooperate with my brand name DVD player. I tried to explain the benefits of peaceful conflict resolution to it. The pixels continued to squabble fiercely with each other. I called the man who’d burned the DVD for help. He said the problem was that my DVD player was too expensive.

“If you had just bought one of those three thousand rupee Chinese models you wouldn’t be having this problem at all,” he told me.

Embarrassed by my ignorance, I hung up quickly and thought about what he had said. The brand name player differentiated between quality and substandard. The Chinese ones on the other hand accepted, nay, embraced the substandard because they understood there could not be one without the other. The brand name player was snooty, elitist, misguided. The Chinese one was wise, proletarian, and cheap.

The cost and status associated with buying European and American goods reflected our intergovernmental relationships, demanding expensive subservience. The China Pakistan relationship was more balanced and sympathetic. They had stood by us through our ups and downs, supplying us with military hardware and nuclear know how even when the rest of the world was whining about our inability to be trusted with them. They had the fastest growing economy in the world but they didn’t send suited booted talking heads to tell us what to do with ours. And they never, never, criticized us for our human rights record.

The Chinese were our friends. In Pakistan we believed in taking care of our friends.

I decided to follow the logical progression of these thoughts but A came home before I’d finished dismantling the home entertainment unit.

“What are you doing?” he gazed in horror at the detritus of Electronica scattered around the room. The wires I’d yanked out at random lay scattered on the red carpet like digital entrails.

“It’s ok” I tried to soothe him, “I’m just junking our expensive stuff so we can buy cheaper Chinese versions of it,” but he wasn’t impressed.

“Why would we want to do that?” He sputtered, placing himself in the doorway between the big screen TV on the trolley and the staircase I was planning to tip it down.

“Because to achieve peace of mind we must bring our outsides in line with our insides.”

“Our insides are Chinese?”

“The DVD player wouldn’t play that DVD I had burnt. These branded products are all unforgiving, they don’t allow for inadequacy.” Maybe now he would understand. Maybe he’d even help me with the rest of the stuff. The laptop and speakers I could manage, but when it comes to disemboweling desktops and stereos there’s nothing like a good, strong man.

“Look! I don’t know who has put this silly idea into your head but you need to get rid of it pronto!”

“But the Chinese versions don’t require perfection.” I couldn’t wait to tell him what I was planning to do with his car. There were apparently these delightful little Chinese motorbikes on the market…

“I must be Chinese then.”

“Show me the barcode on your bottom and I’ll tell you…” but he just edged even further behind the trolley between us.

“If you’re so impressed by all this why don’t you trade in your new digital camera for Chinese binoculars?”

Now that was just plain silly.

“You can get all ridiculous if you like but even you’ve been subconsciously emulating the Chinese.”

“How is that exactly?”

“We only have one child.”

“Because we don’t want to pollute the gene pool any further now do we.”

“It’s a logical progression you know,” I made a mental note to get not one but two cheap Chinese TV’s, I senses an imminent splitting of viewing habits in our household, “most of the things we’ve bought in the last year have been Chinese.”

“Like what? Take out?” He raised an eyebrow.

“The car seat for the baby.”

“That was Chinese?”

“Why else do you think we could afford it?”

“What else?” He was curious now, I could tell. A little Chinese man was standing on his head carrying a “he’s curious” sign with an arrow on it.

“The trolley, the DVD’s and VCD’s, crockery, decorative items, the happy meal toys, Tupperware…”

“Not the Tupperware!” He was aghast at the thought that the Chinese had been quietly putting a lid on his things for ages and he’d been oblivious to it.

“Its only Tupperware…”

“That’s not the point!”

“What is the point?”

“Its practically an invasion!”

“But it’s a practical, reasonably priced one.”

“Hey didn’t your brother just marry a Chinese woman?”

“Yes. And she is also very practical.”

“Its like the Borg!”

“And he pursued her so it’s not an invasion. Besides, they don’t live here. It’s not relevant.”

“Oh no,” he agreed, “that would suggest love and commerce have something to do with each other.”

“So if you love me you won’t care if I mess with you economically.”

He stood aside gallantly. I accidentally ran the trolley over his foot as I maneuvered it to the tip of the landing but he didn’t even flinch. The stoic sensibility? Chinese of course. He disappeared for a few seconds and then reappeared with an armful of books and my lighter.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I thought we’d burn all your books and get their Chinese translations instead.”