I’ll be honest, I’ve never had a head for numbers. I got by in school and never failed a mathematics paper, but I have always been strictly average at the art of number crunching. He has never admitted it, but I suspect my father has nursed a lifelong disappointment at my lack of mathematical prowess. At the peak of his powers, he was a a poor-man’s-version (quite literally) of Shakuntala Devi. Ask him to multiply three-digit figures in his head, and he would have the answer within seconds. Query him on the decimals and factors produced by divisions, and he would pronounce a string of numbers as if they were floating in front of his eyes.
When I was in school, he would gently test me on occasion, hoping to see his abilities mirrored in his progeny. “What is two times three?”, he would ask me. I would screw my face up in an inhuman effort of concentration, count the numbers on my fingers, and after six to seven minutes had passed, would reply, “I think it’s six….. Is it six? I think it is six….. No, wait! ……Okay, yes, six.” He would try to smile and slowly pat me on the head1.
Genetics had dealt us both a cruel hand. My father’s mental agility had given me a miss. But his grotesquely large nose sits squatly on my face. C’est la vie.
My arithmetic mediocrity was one of the things that had steered me towards a career in law. So, it should come as no surprise to anybody that I have never come to grips with the one field of legal practice that involves numbers: taxation law. I don’t understand it. And like any reasonable person, I stopped trying a long time ago. For years, I had blithely ignored all matters tax-related - much to the chagrin of my CA - until a recent news report about a tax dispute caught my attention.
Last month, the Gujarat Appellate Authority for Advance Ruling on Goods and Services Tax (GST) had to settle a nettlesome question that has often been debated in Indian households: are paranthas the same as chapatis? Vadilal Industries, which produces packaged paranthas, claimed that they are, since they are both: (i) made from wheat flour, (ii) consumed in a similar fashion, and (iii) listed under the “Indian Breads” section of the menu in high-end restaurants2. The dispute related to the tax rate applicable to paranthas sold by Vadilal. Tax authorities had levied tax at 18%, while Vadilal believed that the tax rate ought to be 5% (the rate applied to chapatis).
I don’t know about you, but when I read about this case I didn’t buy Vadilal’s arguments. I have nothing against chapatis but truth be told, they are ordinary; they embody the mundane, the routine, the supporting act; they offer comfort and familiarity, but nothing more. Chapatis cannot make your heart race.
But paranthas. Now they are a different ball game. Paranthas are not meant to be consumed impetuously - they have to be earned; by your good conduct when you are young, and later, as you grow older, by adjusting your calorie intake to accommodate an indulgence. The perfect parantha demands reverence. It stands alone and prideful, acutely aware of its own magnificence. You may pair it with a pickle or curd, but you dare not sully it by dipping it in curry. No amount of legal wrangling could convince me that paranthas and chapatis ought to be painted with the same brush. And I was pleased to discover that the Appellate Authority also agreed with my assessment: it ruled that paranthas were indeed different from chapatis.
Reading about the parantha-chapati controversy led me down a rabbit hole of other taxation disputes of similar nature, and eventually, I stumbled upon an Order of the Customs, Excise and Gold Tribunal, Mumbai issued in 1999. In that Order, the Tribunal had sought to answer the trickiest question humanity may have ever faced: Is Kit-Kat a biscuit or chocolate?
Ponder upon it for a moment, let the nuances of the query sink in. It is a zinger, isn’t it? Should, as the tax authorities argued, one’s nature be defined by their predominant component: in this case, chocolate. Or should, as Nestle claimed, it is what lies within, a core of wafer, for instance, that offers a key to knowing one’s true identity.
An ontological conundrum for the ages. One can imagine Aristotle mulling over this matter, while running his nail smoothly across the silver foil and snapping the two limbs of a Kit Kat apart. “To be sure, it doth snap like a biscuit,” he mutters in bewilderment, “but verily it doth taste like chocolate!”3
I have read the Order multiple times, but I still do not know which side I believe to be correct. Sometimes I see merit in the arguments of the former, at other times I lean towards the rationale offered by the latter. I have spent the last couple of nights awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind awhirl with Kit Kats, but no closer to the truth. I shall not tell you what the Tribunal ruled, for I cannot claim to make sense out of any of this. You may read the Order here and judge the matter for yourself. As for me, I learnt a valuable lesson. It was wrong on my part to have avoided engaging with taxation law merely because it dealt with numbers. I should have avoided the damned subject because it deals with philosophy too.
P. S.: A big thanks to everyone who participated in last issue's poll, except the person who voted “Don't care”. (I've written to Substack to find out who you are. You and I will have a chat later.)
Also, a warm welcome to the folks who’ve just tuned in! This newsletter recently completed 50 issues and is now 1 year old. Issue #50 was a highlight reel, of sorts, and you can read it below.
And, of course, Happy Diwali, folks! May love and light rain upon all of you.
Before you leave…
Head over to the newsletter Where’s the Bathroom? for some travel stories that are bound to make you smile. Click on the “Read more” button to, well, read more and LOL!
The fact that I had a math tutor who claimed to be an undercover R&AW operative didn’t help matters. But I suppose that’s a tale for another day.
Okay, that last one is something I made up, but I think it is a legally sound argument.
I don’t know why Aristotle would speak in a poor imitation of Shakespearean English. Just go with it, will you?
Wow Rohan FUNtabolous
The Kit Kat mystery is elementary my dear Watson. Kit Kat is definitely NOT a biscuit (cookie for us Americans). Biscuits come in tins, boxes and sleeves that contain many multiples of itself in a single container, whereas the Kit Kat is individually wrapped, making it a chocolate. I have a PhD in excessive sugar consumption.