A Pinch of Snuff — Complete Study Guide for Class 12 Bihar Board English
By Manohar Malgaonkar | Bihar Board Rainbow English Book Chapter 3
Who Wrote This Story and Why Is It So Fun to Read?
Focus Keyphrase: A Pinch of Snuff Class 12 Bihar Board English
Before we enter the story, let us meet the man who wrote it. Manohar Malgaonkar was born in 1913 and is one of India’s most celebrated novelists and short story writers. He has over 25 publications to his credit. His famous works include Distant Drum, The Princes, A Bend in the Ganges, and Bombay Beware. He writes with extraordinary wit, accuracy, and a deep sense of comedy that makes you laugh and think at the same time.
A Pinch of Snuff is taken from Contemporary Indian Short Stories in English — a famous collection. The story is described as being full of wit and adventure, and its excitement is built through sharp observation and what the book beautifully calls “the profound comedy of Malgaonkar’s narrative.”
But what makes this story truly special? It is not just funny. It is a mirror — a sharp, satirical reflection of Indian society, bureaucracy, politics, and the extraordinary power of one man’s shameless confidence. By the time you finish reading, you will be laughing, shaking your head, and secretly admiring the most entertaining rascal in your entire syllabus — Nanukaka.
The Characters — Know Them Before the Story Begins
The Narrator (the Under-Secretary) — A young government officer working in Delhi. He is on probation — meaning he is in a trial period and could lose his job if he makes a mistake. He is careful, nervous, and always worried about what Nanukaka might do next. He is the one telling us this entire story.
Nanukaka — The narrator’s maternal uncle. He is old-fashioned, dramatic, extremely cunning, and absolutely shameless in the most hilarious way possible. He wears a knee-length black coat, a red silk pugree (turban), and a white angocha (scarf) around his shoulders — looking like he stepped straight out of a royal painting. He carries a silver snuffbox and keeps taking pinches of snuff at crucial moments — which is where the title comes from. He is the star of the story — a man who tells lies with complete calm and pulls off schemes that would make your jaw drop.
Mother — The narrator’s mother. She adores Nanukaka because he is her brother. She is thrilled when he visits. Her excitement is in sharp contrast to her son’s horror.
Lala Sohanlal Ratiram — A powerful Party Boss in Delhi. A seasoned political operator with a saccharine (fake-sweet) smile. He has his own agenda and his own problems.
The Welfare Minister — A very important and powerful government minister. Hard to meet, even harder to impress.
The Story Begins — Terror Disguised as a Guest
Imagine you are a young government officer. You have a job that you are still on probation for — meaning one wrong step and you are out. Your life is careful, controlled, and quiet. And then one morning, your mother walks in with a smile and drops a bomb.
“Nanukaka is coming,” she said.
Those three words hit the narrator like a thunderclap. His immediate reaction? “Oh, my God!” He frantically asks if they can send Nanukaka a wire — a telegram — pretending they are going out of town, that he has been transferred, anything at all to avoid this visit. His mother calmly says — no, dear. He is already on the train. And besides, she adds reassuringly — he says he cannot stay for more than two or three days.
But the narrator knows better. He says — Nanukaka is coming to Delhi to see a Minister. And then he delivers the most wonderfully cynical line: “Ministers don’t see people for weeks… months! Oh, my God!”
This sets up the entire story perfectly. You immediately understand the dynamic — mother is happy, son is terrified, and Nanukaka has not even arrived yet.
Two Very Different Views of Ministers
Here the narrator reveals something very funny and very real about how different people see authority.
His mother believes in her brother completely. She says — if Nanukaka wants to see a Minister, he will manage to see him any time of the day or night. She has total faith.
The narrator, on the other hand, is an Under-Secretary on probation. He has been trained to see Ministers as almost divine beings — two steps higher than God, with Secretaries being just one step higher. The very idea of going to ask a Minister for an interview is, in his words, “more than my job is worth.” It could get him fired instantly.
This contrast between the mother’s innocent confidence and the narrator’s bureaucratic terror is one of the funniest things in the story — and it tells you a lot about how Indian society works.
Nanukaka Arrives — And He Comes With a Kitten
The narrator goes to the railway platform to pick up his uncle. And the moment he sees Nanukaka, the description alone makes you smile. He is standing in the doorway of a second class carriage — a striking figure, white-haired, with an impressive moustache. He is wearing his old-fashioned knee-length black coat, his red silk pugree, and his white angocha draped around his shoulders. He looks like he belongs to another century altogether — which is exactly the point.
The very first thing Nanukaka does? He hands the narrator a basket and whispers urgently — “Take this out, quick. I’ll join you outside the station.”
The narrator, trained to obey his uncle, takes the basket without asking a single question. He tucks it under his arm and turns to leave — and immediately crashes into a large Marwari woman in a burka. He begins to apologise, but his apologies are immediately drowned out by sounds from the basket — the outraged protests of a kitten. “Spitts… strupst… meow… meooow!”
He ducks, runs, mingles with a crowd following a Sikh marriage party, and squeezes through the gate — all while carrying a basket of an extremely unhappy kitten. This is pure comedy — and it is happening in the very first few minutes of Nanukaka’s arrival.
The Ticket Scandal — Already Arranging Things “Amicably”
Nanukaka finally emerges from the station — after a very long time — escorted by a fawning (very eager-to-please, oily) ticket inspector. The station yard is almost empty by now. Nanukaka explains the situation cheerfully.
He had a third class ticket but there was no room in third class, and the TC would not issue second class tickets without reservation. So Nanukaka just travelled second class on a third class ticket — and called it all arranged quite amicably — meaning pleasantly and without any trouble. He even praises the TC as a nice young man.
The kitten, he adds casually, travelled free.
The narrator’s silent thought — “Very quiet. Perhaps it is dead, I thought hopefully” — is one of the funniest lines in the entire story.
And before the narrator has even changed to second gear in the car, Nanukaka is already asking — “When have you arranged for the minister to see me? Can’t stay here for more than two or three days.”
The Narrator Is Honest — And Nanukaka Is Unimpressed
The narrator decides this is the moment for frankness. He tells his uncle directly — I am merely an Under-Secretary on probation. Asking Ministers for interviews is more than his job is worth. It is simply impossible.
Nanukaka’s response is perfect. He says — “Oh! I had rather hoped… oh, I see. Well, never mind.” He then opens his silver snuffbox, takes a pinch of snuff, brushes his fingers delicately on his angocha, closes his eyes, puckers his eyebrows as if in deep thought, and clucks his tongue several times in the typical Deccani way — registering pity. Not for himself. For the narrator.
He has already moved on to Plan B. You just don’t know it yet.
Home — And the Bedroom Problem
At home, mother is waiting with a face wreathed in smiles — beaming with happiness. She goes into squeals of delight over the kitten and makes a huge fuss over Nanukaka. She has already installed him in the narrator’s bedroom. The narrator now has to sleep on a charpoy (rope bed) in the back verandah.
This is a small but telling detail. In Indian households, respected guests always get the best room. The narrator has not just lost his peace of mind — he has lost his bed.
The First Attempt — The Minister’s Office — A Disaster
At mother’s insistence, the narrator takes two days’ leave from office and drives Nanukaka to the North Block — where the Minister’s office is. Nanukaka goes in. The narrator waits in the car park.
Two hours later, Nanukaka returns — mumbling colourful Marathi swearwords. The narrator wisely says nothing and drives in silence.
After cooling down a bit, Nanukaka explains what happened. He spent two hours being transferred from one chaprasi (office attendant) to another — being passed from person to person through corridors — and in the end, only managed to get an appointment with a Deputy-Secretary, three days from now. He explodes in another series of Marathi expletives (bad language). In moments of what he calls a linguistic emergency, Nanukaka always returns to his mother tongue.
The Car and the Discovery That Changes Everything
This is where the story takes its most brilliant and funny turn. A garnish (flashy, pretty) yellow sports car blasts past them, horn blaring, and the young man at the wheel waves at the narrator.
The narrator explains — that is Ratiram, works in the same Ministry. There was talk of him going as Trade Commissioner to Hajrat Barkat Ali, the Ambassador, but it seems that is off now.
Nanukaka’s ears prick up immediately. “Why don’t you get sent on one of these foreign assignments?” he asks.
The narrator says — getting a foreign assignment is in the same category as getting a Minister interview. It takes pull — meaning political connections and influence. And then he adds the key detail — “Ratiram is the son of Sohanlal Ratiram, the Party Boss in Delhi.”
Nanukaka literally sits up with a jerk. His eyes sharpen. His brain starts working at full speed. He stares at the narrator for a long, long time. And then he says — “Now let me see. You’ve got a close-collar Jodhpur coat, haven’t you? Good! And can you tie a turban? No? Well, I’ll have to put it on you…” And then — “After you have changed, we will go and see him.”
“See whom?”
“Why, Lala Sohanlal, of course!”
“Do you know him at all?”
“Of course not,” Nanukaka said.
And there it is — the engine of the entire story roaring to life. Nanukaka is going to walk into the house of a powerful political boss he has never met, with no appointment, no connection, and no preparation — and somehow make it work. How? Read on.
The Disguise — Nanukaka Creates a Character
The narrator changes into his Jodhpur coat. Nanukaka ties a huge orange turban round his head. Then Nanukaka gives the narrator his role to play — “Act as though you were my er, a sort of A.D.C.” — meaning an Aide-de-Camp, like a personal assistant to a military or royal officer.
So they arrive at Lala Sohanlal’s house — the narrator in Jodhpur coat and orange turban playing the role of a royal aide, and Nanukaka in his full old-fashioned Deccani brahmin glory.
A secretary in spotless white clothes receives them politely in a cool white room and asks their business. Nanukaka says casually — “Just dropped in.” And then he launches into a brilliant piece of bluffing. He mentions — he was in Delhi for the Zamindars’ Convention, a rather unofficial gathering; the V.P. has also sent a cable and wants to see him but is not coming from Washington until tomorrow; so he thought he might drop in and tell Lalaji what arrangements the zamindars have made for the agricultural vote…
The secretary listens politely and says he will check if Lalaji is free. From the adjoining room, they can hear the unhurried sound of a hookah — Lalaji is definitely there, relaxed. The secretary goes in and comes back — Lalaji seldom sees visitors without a previous appointment.
The Hookah Stops — Nanukaka Strikes
Nanukaka now does something absolutely genius. He asks the narrator loudly — “What day is it, today?” in an unusually loud voice. The narrator says — “Tuesday.”
“Ooh, only Tuesday,” Nanukaka says with great satisfaction, also loudly. “And to think that on Sunday I was in Beirut. Amazing, isn’t it?”
The narrator agrees — “Amazing.”
Then Nanukaka says — loud enough for anyone in the next room to hear — “And if I had listened to Hajrat, I’d still be abroad. Old H.B. was just dying to drag me to the Foreign Minister.”
The steady gurgling of the hookah in the next room suddenly stops. A moment of silence. And then the haughty secretary comes back — Lalaji will see them now.
The mention of Hajrat Barkat Ali — the very Ambassador whose office controls Ratiram’s son’s foreign posting — worked like magic. Lala Sohanlal could not afford to not meet a man who was apparently close to the Ambassador.
Inside Lala Sohanlal’s Room — Two Masterclass Performers
Lala Sohanlal Ratiram waddled out of the inner room — a stout, seasoned political campaigner — and from that moment, everything was wrapped in saccharine courtesy — that fake-sweet, professionally warm manner that politicians use with everyone. Coffee, sweetmeats, and pan are ordered immediately.
They sparred — meaning they talked carefully and guardedly — about zamindars, votes, and the weather for a while before coming to the real point. Sohanlal mentions casually — “I hear you know Hajrat Barkat Ali, well.” He says this with an ingratiating (flattering, trying to win favour) grin.
Nanukaka plays it perfectly. “Oh, old H.B.! How did you know? We were at school together. He always regarded me as a sort of elder brother. Even today he seldom takes a big decision without consulting me. When the P.M. offered him the Embassy, who do you think had to make up H.B.’s mind for him?”
“You?”
“That’s right. Me. Good old H.B.”
Sohanlal laughs delightedly, his pan-stained teeth all showing. He tells Nanukaka it is a lucky day that he has come — because his son was supposed to go as Trade Commissioner to Hajrat Barkat Ali, but someone has poisoned the Ambassador’s mind about his son. The posting has been blocked. He wonders if Nanukaka could help…
Nanukaka does not even blink. “That should be quite simple. I’ll write and tell H.B. to do it.” He waves away any thanks — “One good turn deserves another.”
The Snuffbox Moment — The Real Mission Revealed
At this exact moment — just when Sohanlal thinks he has found his saviour — Nanukaka opens his silver snuffbox, takes a pinch, flicks on his angocha, and casually mentions the name of the Welfare Minister.
The fixed grin on Sohanlal’s face vanishes instantly. It turns out the Welfare Minister and Sohanlal were once the best of friends — but they are now at daggers drawn (completely at odds, quarrelling bitterly) because the Minister had refused to consider a marriage proposal for his daughter to Sohanlal’s son. Sohanlal launches into a furious tirade — “I gave him a ticket, helped him in every way, and what do I get in return?”
He says the Minister has burnt his boats — meaning destroyed all his political bridges — and would be surprised if he gets a ticket for the next elections. He snorts and rages.
Nanukaka snorts back, equally indignant — “Disgraceful! What prince did you say?”
“Some twopenny state called Ninnore.”
And here — the narrator quietly notes in his heart — is where Nanukaka’s entire mission lies. He needed to meet the Welfare Minister. And now, through Sohanlal, he has found the backdoor.
The Big Car Scheme — Creating the Illusion of Wealth
The next morning, Nanukaka is cheerful (chirpy) again. He announces — they are going to the Minister’s house. The narrator begs — “Not me, please.” Nanukaka ignores him completely.
He says — the secretary treated them coldly at first visit because their car was too small and old. “If we had gone in a bigger car, he would have been quite different.” This is Nanukaka’s sharp reading of how status and appearances work in India’s elite circles — and he is completely right.
He insists on a private car, driven by a liveried (uniformed) chauffeur — the bigger the better. Not a taxi. A private car.
The narrator remembers that an acquaintance has been trying to sell an enormous, stately, outlandish (extremely strange and unusual) car — the kind that looks like it was built for a royal court procession. He tells Nanukaka. Nanukaka is delighted — “That’s it! We’ll take it for a brief trial.”
But the narrator points out — the car dealers will see through them immediately. They will look like they cannot afford it.
Nanukaka says simply — “You leave that to me.”
He writes a cheque for a thousand rupees and puts it into the inner pocket of an old coat. Then he calls the narrator’s dhobi — the laundry man — gives him the coat, and tells him to take it outside. Some private arrangement is made. The narrator does not know what.
At the Sikka Auto Dealers, they have barely started talking when the dhobi rushes in, holding Nanukaka’s old coat in one hand and brandishing (waving dramatically) the cheque in the other — “Look what you had left in this coat of yours!”
Nanukaka holds the cheque at arm’s length, clucks his tongue, and says — “How careless of me! I am always doing this sort of thing. Bearer cheque too; anyone could have cashed it.” He gives the dhobi a two-rupee note and a pat on the back for his honesty.
The car dealers are convinced they are dealing with a man of serious wealth. The enormous car is theirs for the test drive.
The Minister’s House — Nanukaka’s Greatest Performance
They drive to the Minister’s house — the narrator in his white Jodhpur coat and orange turban driving, Nanukaka sitting regally at the back of the enormous car, looking every inch a hereditary pundit from a princely state.
At the Minister’s house, servants and the secretary fussed around Nanukaka. He refused to state his business. He simply called for the visitors’ book. And while the narrator watched in pure admiration, Nanukaka wrote his name in the visitors’ book with a magnificent flourish and added —
“Hereditary Astrologer to the Maharaja of Ninnore.”
His address? The narrator’s Delhi address.
Then he announces — “I have just come to make a formal call. I have no wish to disturb the Minister. It is just a formality that we in the old princely states still observe. His Highness is a great stickler for these courtesies.”
Without another word, he jumps into the car and shouts loudly — “Take me to the Maharaja Sutkatta’s palace. I have to return all those horoscopes entrusted to me!”
As the car pulls out of the gate, the narrator glances back and sees a huge dark, khaddar-clad figure peering at them from an upper-story window. The Minister himself, watching them go.
The Ending — Mission Accomplished, Somehow
That evening, Nanukaka goes to sleep early, strangely silent. But the next morning he is back to his cheerful, chirpy self.
And then — the final twist. While the narrator and his mother are having tea, trying to house-break the new kitten, a car with a white triangle stops in front of the house. The Welfare Minister himself has come to see Nanukaka.
Nanukaka walks out — with folded hands — to receive the Minister who has come to him.
The next morning — Nanukaka leaves. His mission is accomplished. The narrator never finds out what exactly he wanted from the Minister. He only says — he wonders what will happen when the Minister discovers that Nanukaka has never been within a hundred miles of a place called Ninnore. But then — he is now convinced that Nanukaka will deal with the situation without allowing a single fold of his angocha to fall out of place.
And the narrator ends with the funniest last line of the story — “Only, when it happens, I want to be somewhere far out of range.”
What Is the Title “A Pinch of Snuff” Really About?
This is a brilliant question that the textbook itself asks. Why is the story called A Pinch of Snuff?
Nanukaka takes a pinch of snuff at every crucial moment in the story — when he is thinking, when he is performing, when he is making a move. The snuff is his pause button. It is the signal that something important is about to happen. It is also connected to his entire personality — old-fashioned, deliberate, theatrical, completely unhurried even in the middle of a scheme.
But more deeply — a pinch of snuff is a small thing. Yet it has enormous power in this story. It gives Nanukaka time to think. It marks his performance. It defines his character. And the story itself — about a small old man with no real power or connections — somehow pulling off things that seem impossible — is itself like a pinch of snuff. Small, sharp, and surprisingly potent.
Important Words and Their Simple Meanings
Wire — send a telegram or urgent message
Fawning — being oily and overly eager to please; greasy flattery
Pugree — a traditional turban
Angocha — a traditional scarf worn around the shoulders
Puckering — knitting together, scrunching up (as in eyebrows)
Wreathed — adorned, covered completely (as in a face wreathed in smiles)
Swearwords — bad language, curse words
Tramping — walking heavily, marching, slogging
Expletives — words of bad language used when angry
Chaprasi — a peon or office attendant
Garnish — pretty, flashy, attractive
Convention — a conference or large formal meeting
Trailed off — grew faint and weak, gradually stopped speaking
Waddling — walking with a rolling, strolling gait (like a fat person or duck)
Sparred — talked guardedly, argued or debated carefully
Ingratiating — flattering, trying to win someone’s favour
Brass tacks — the real, hidden point or purpose of something
Evacuee-property — property of someone who had to leave their home because of dangerous circumstances (like Partition)
Legitimate — lawful, fair, according to the law
Flicking — tapping lightly
At daggers drawn — in serious conflict, bitterly quarrelling, at odds
Auspicious — favourable, promising, considered lucky
Chirpy — cheery, happy, lively
Liveried — uniformed, wearing official uniform
Outlandish — extremely strange, bizarre, and unusual
Blandly — without excitement, in a flat and uninteresting way
Brandishing — waving something so that others can see it clearly
Stickler — a perfectionist, someone who insists strictly on proper behaviour
Saccharine — excessively sweet in a fake way
Short Answer Questions — Ready-Made Answers
Q1. Why were the mother’s and son’s responses to Nanukaka’s arrival so different? The mother was thrilled because Nanukaka was her beloved brother. The son (narrator) was horrified because he knew Nanukaka’s schemes would put his job at risk. He was an Under-Secretary on probation who could not afford to be involved in any controversial activity.
Q2. What “arrangement” was Nanukaka referring to when he said “it was all arranged quite amicably”? Nanukaka had a third class ticket but travelled in second class because there was no room in third. The TC (ticket collector/conductor) allowed this and even escorted Nanukaka out — which Nanukaka called “quite amicable.” He had clearly charmed or managed the TC. The kitten also travelled free. It was not a legitimate arrangement at all — just Nanukaka’s way of making illegal things sound perfectly normal.
Q3. The Under-Secretary always obeyed Nanukaka although he was never willing to do so. Why? Because Nanukaka was his mother’s brother — a respected elder in the family. In Indian family culture, you cannot easily refuse or disobey a maternal uncle, especially one your mother adores. The narrator felt obligated despite knowing every visit would mean trouble.
Q4. “This tie-and-collar business is no good these days.” What did Nanukaka mean? Nanukaka meant that in the India of that time, people who wore Western-style ties and collars were not treated with as much deference as those who dressed in traditional Indian style. He believed that wearing a traditional Jodhpur coat and turban would make them look more impressive and important — which is exactly what happened.
Q5. How did the Under-Secretary change his appearance to accompany Nanukaka? He changed into his Jodhpur coat (a traditional Indian coat with a close collar) and Nanukaka tied a huge orange turban round his head. He was instructed to act as an A.D.C. — a personal aide to a royal or important person.
Q6. How did Nanukaka impress Sohanlal Ratiram? He impressed him by casually dropping the name of Ambassador Hajrat Barkat Ali and claiming to be his close friend and elder-brother figure. Since Sohanlal’s son’s Trade Commissioner appointment to the Ambassador’s office had been blocked, Nanukaka’s claimed friendship with the Ambassador was enormously valuable to Sohanlal. He also pretended to be in Delhi fresh from Beirut and mentioned the V.P. wanting to see him.
Q7. What important information did they collect at Ratiram’s place? They discovered that Sohanlal Ratiram and the Welfare Minister were now bitter enemies — at daggers drawn — because the Minister had refused to consider a marriage proposal for his daughter to Sohanlal’s son. This told Nanukaka that Sohanlal would not be useful for his original purpose of meeting the Welfare Minister, but it also revealed the political dynamics around the Minister.
Q8. Who was the second important person Nanukaka planned to meet? The Welfare Minister was the second important person Nanukaka planned to meet — and most likely the real purpose of his entire Delhi visit.
Q9. What did Nanukaka do at the Minister’s residence? He arrived in a grand car, refused to state his business, asked for the visitors’ book, and wrote his name as “Hereditary Astrologer to the Maharaja of Ninnore” with great flourish. He announced he was making a formal courtesy call in the tradition of princely states and left quickly, shouting instructions to go to the Maharaja Sutkatta’s palace — all for the benefit of watching eyes and ears.
Q10. Is the Under-Secretary ever impressed by Nanukaka? Yes — at the car dealership, the narrator watches Nanukaka in pure admiration as he executes the cheque-in-the-coat scheme. He is genuinely impressed by the man’s cleverness and audacity, even though he disapproves of his methods. And at the end, he is convinced that whatever trouble comes, Nanukaka will handle it without even a fold of his angocha falling out of place.
True or False — Answers
a) It was very easy for the narrator to get sent on a foreign assignment — FALSE (it required political pull, not just merit)
b) Ratiram was the son of Sohanlal Ratiram — TRUE
c) Sohanlal Ratiram was the Party boss in Delhi — TRUE
d) Nanukaka went to Lala Sohanlal because they both were Zamindars — FALSE (he went because he heard Sohanlal was connected to the Ambassador)
e) Nanukaka visited Lala Sohanlal in the guise of an astrologer — FALSE (he visited as a Zamindar leader attending a convention; he presented himself as an astrologer only at the Minister’s house)
f) Nanukaka’s meeting with Sohanlal Ratiram was very successful — FALSE (it was partially useful for information but Sohanlal could not help with the Welfare Minister as they were enemies)
Complete the Sentences — Answers
a) Nanukaka was coming to visit the narrator’s family
b) The narrator was Under-Secretary on probation
c) Nanukaka was to stay for two or three days (three at the most)
d) Nanukaka was coming to Delhi to see some Minister
e) Mother informed the Under-Secretary about Nanukaka’s visit
f) The Under-Secretary had to put a charpoy for himself in the back verandah because Nanukaka was installed in his bedroom
g) Nanukaka was related to the narrator as he was his maternal uncle
Word Meaning Exercise — Answers
In a friendly manner and without argument — amicably
Large in size or quantity — enormous
Attracting your interest or attention — striking
Small nail with a flat top — tacks
Correct according to law — legitimate
Extremely strange and unusual — outlandish
Word Formation — Making Nouns from Verbs
Impress → impression
Arrange → arrangement
Transact → transaction
Explain → explanation
Acquaint → acquaintance
Manage → management
Demonstrate → demonstration
Marry → marriage
Tag Questions — Grammar Answers
1. Amod was speaking in an unusually loud voice, wasn’t he?
2. That should be quite simple, shouldn’t it?
3. Nanukaka clucked his tongue several times, didn’t he?
4. You will do the work, won’t you?
5. Gulu is eating a mango, isn’t he/she?
The Deeper Message — What Is This Story Really About?
This story is funny — outrageously, brilliantly funny. But if you look beneath the laughter, Malgaonkar is saying something very sharp about the society he lived in.
He is showing us that in India, appearances matter more than reality. A man in a big car gets more respect than a man in a small car. A man with a traditional turban and coat impresses people more than a man in a tie. A name-drop of the right person opens doors that honest hard work cannot.
He is also showing us the absurdity of bureaucracy and political culture — where Ministers are more powerful than God, where getting an appointment requires political connections, and where an ordinary government officer on probation is paralysed by fear while a clever old man with a snuffbox dances through every obstacle.
Nanukaka is not a villain. He is a survivor — a man who understands how the world actually works and uses that knowledge with complete, cheerful shamelessness. You cannot hate him. You can only watch him, laugh, and think.
One Final Thought — The Snuffbox and the Man
Every time things get tense, every time a scheme needs to be launched or a trick needs to be pulled — Nanukaka reaches for his silver snuffbox. He takes a pinch. He brushes his fingers on his angocha. He closes his eyes. He thinks.
That tiny gesture — that pinch of snuff — is the symbol of an unflappable man. A man who is never rattled, never hurried, and never caught without a plan. In a chaotic world full of nervous under-secretaries and oily politicians and fawning ticket collectors — Nanukaka alone is perfectly, infuriatingly, magnificently calm.
And that is why the story is named after his snuff. Because in this world — calm confidence, even when built on a foundation of complete fiction, is the most powerful thing of all.
