“Just another day on the job,” thought the CEO of Pakistan as he strode in masterfully to chair the Wednesday weekly cabinet meeting at the CEO’s office in Islamabad. It was a weighty responsibility, but he knew he was man enough for the job. He had achieved a high level of fitness from carrying all those stars on his shoulders. “Responsibility is a heavy burden,” he thought to himself as he opened the doors and surveyed the scene before him.

The room was completely empty, except for a few stewards cowering in the corners. “Where is everyone?” said the CEO to the nearest steward, who could hardly speak for the chattering of his teeth.

“Sir, sir, they are just coming,” shivered the man. “They are just watching the end of the cricket match in the anteroom…”

“What?” roared the CEO.

“Sorry, sir. It was a vital point in the match. Inzamam had just scored his seventh six and Shoaib pulled all the muscles in his arms, legs, and groin. Shall I go and call them?” The steward shot out of the room without waiting for the CEO’s reply. A few moments later, the members of the Cabinet shuffled sheepishly into the room. They found their places at the table, rearranged their papers and gulped the freshly-opened bottles of mineral water in preparation for the grueling hours before them.

The CEO cleared his throat and began to speak. “Today, my fellow colleagues, we have important items to discuss. On the agenda are the following: the Afghan refugee crisis, the famine in Thar, the rivalry with India, and our economic crisis. Now, who wants to go first?”

The Minister for Refugees raised his hand and said, “I have just returned from my trip up north and the Afghan refugees are in a dire state. They are hungry and cold. I say, let them eat cake.”

“I’m sorry, respected colleague,” interrupted the Minister for Agriculture. “They cannot eat cake. Our wheat mills could not produce enough wheat to make cake for all of them. Besides, they are Afghans. Wouldn’t they prefer French pastries instead?”

“Stupid feudals,” grumbled the Minister for Refugees. The Agriculture Minister glared at him. But for the presence of the CEO, who was much bigger and stronger than both of them, they would have almost come to blows right there in the room.

“I have an idea, I have an idea!” shouted the Minister for Labor excitedly. All heads turned towards him. “Why don’t we hire all the Afghan refugees as official bakers for the country. After all Afghanistan had some of the best bakeries before the war. This way they will not only make the bread but also eat it too! They will be gainfully employed."

“Excellent idea, Minister-sahib,” put in the Minister for Finance. “That will kickstart our economy as well.”

The CEO couldn’t believe his ears. “This is nonsense!” he shouted. “We cannot solve the Afghan refugee crisis by turning them all into bakers. The solution is to keep negotiating, through the UN Office for Refugees, terms for their peaceful return. Minister-sahib,” he said, turning to the Minister for Northern Affairs, “that will be your job.”

“Oh God, no,” muttered the Minister. “Don’t send me back up there again. I can’t take those squat toilets anymore. Can’t you change my portfolio and make me Minister for Dubai and European affairs? I mean, we enjoy such a close relationship with them, we should have a separate department…”

In the meantime, the Minister for Women’s Uplift and Empowerment was shaking her head darkly. “We can’t send those refugees back to Afghanistan. The conditions there are terrible. We cannot send women refugees back to prehistoric, barbaric conditions. It’s inhumane. I won’t allow it.”

“But, bibi-ji, as long as they are travelling with their mahrems they will be perfectly safe,” said the Minister for Religious Affairs. “And as long as they don’t wear white socks with their black shoes, no one will whip them!”

“You are mad,” said the Minister for Women. She looked at her colleagues, the Minister for Education and the Minister for Law, for support. “Tell him the ground realities.”

“The Ministry for Education plans to educate sixteen trillion, five hundred billion, three million and seventy-two thousand Afghan refugees by the year 2005,” said the Education Minister quickly. “Out of those numbers, one gazillion schools will be opened especially for girls and women. Eight kabillion teachers will be trained and fourteen squillion schools will be opened to accommodate the numbers. Of course –” and here she consulted some figures she’d scribbled hastily on the notepad in front of her – “to do this we will need more money than is currently in circulation in all the treasuries of all the nations of the world. The World Bank just authorized that amount to us yesterday, I am pleased to announce, in return for each family’s first-born son.”

“You need to go back to school,” said the Minister for Science and Technology sulkily from behind the mask of his high-tech made-in-Pakistan spacesuit. “Everyone knows there’s no such number as a squillion.”

“We are all getting off the point,” said the CEO, his face red with impatience. “We will not send any refugees back to Afghanistan as long as they face any physical danger. All those in favor, say aye.”

“Ayes” were heard from around the table. The CEO looked pleased for the first time in the meeting. “Good. Now, Thar is no longer an issue because our honorable Science Minister has discovered how to create artificial rain. He informs me that by next year there will be no more desert but instead a giant mangrove swamp, which should please the environmentalists. On to the next item. The rivalry with India. Now we know we do not want an arms race. But what can we do if they wave their arms in our face? We have to wave ours back. Everyone knows that. It’s the first thing they teach you.”

“In military school?” asked the Minister for Interior Affairs. “I don’t remember that lesson.”

“No, in aerobics class,” muttered the Science Minister, still irritated by the imaginary numbers.

“What was that, Minister-ji?” said the CEO quickly.

“Nothing, nothing…”

“Still, we can’t be blamed for escalating the tensions in this region. So, we have to try a different tack. Any ideas?”

“Open the borders and let’s have a party!” shouted one of the Ministers. “Convert them all to Islam and let the devil take the rest!” This was the Religious Affairs Minister. “Kick out all the men. Women will never want war.” “Treat them with love and kindness!” “Turn Kashmir into a giant ski resort!” “Give them a good spanking!” This last suggestion was met with applause and shouts of “Jolly good, jolly good, sir!”

The CEO hid his face in his hands. With civilian talent like this, it was no wonder the country was in the shape that it was. But before he could fire his army-issue pistol above their heads, the Science Minister spoke up.

“Actually… I have a proposal that may help both the Kashmir issue and the economy.”

Snickers were heard coming from the end of the table where the Finance Minister and the Foreign Affairs Minister were seated. But the CEO held up his hand. “Let our respectable colleague speak. After all, he did invent Pakistan’s first spacesuit.”

“Perhaps he should work on inventing first Pakistan’s space program,” grumbled the Finance Minister.

The Science Minister ignored the jibe. “Well, I’ve been speaking to Bill Gates on my hotline PalmPilotPhoneEmailElectricShaver, and it seems he has a very interesting proposition indeed.”

Everyone leaned forward expectantly.

“If we annexe Kashmir to Microsoft,” continued the Minister, “Bill has promised to turn it into a software park from which Pakistan can start the next IT revolution and become a superpower in the world of business. He’ll give us five hundred million dollars worth of investment if we change the name from Kashmir Valley to Kashmir Dot Com.”

“Brilliant! Brilliant!” shouted the Minister for Labor. “And we can train all the mujahideen to become software experts…”

“And we’ll give free software to girls!”

“We can set up cable cars to all the high-altitude software development houses…”

“It’ll be just like Switzerland!”

The whole room erupted in cheers, bringing the stewards running in alarm. The CEO waved them away generously. “We have just solved all the problems of Pakistan,” he said. “Go and tell the reporters. And if they misreport this, tell them I’ll have them sent to Peshawar on a press tour they’ll never forget.”

The next day, the newspapers were full of the triumphs of the Cabinet. “CEO and Brilliant IT Plan Save the Day for Pakistan!” “Bill Gates to be Next President of Pakistan.” “Computers Mandatory Under Shariah.” A three day national holiday was declared and even the sectarian groups put down their arms in a celebratory cease-fire. But the CEO knew that there was no need to be complacent, for those wily Indians would always think of some way to sabotage the best-laid plans. He sighed as he put the newspaper away and readied for his next appointment. “Just another day on the job,” he thought to himself as he strode masterfully down the corridor.