Reports filtering through the gin-soaked trenches of international diplomacy suggest that Donald Trump is preparing to grace the Indian subcontinent with his unique brand of bombast, just as the frosty relationship between him and Narendra Modi experiences a sudden, inexplicable thaw. One can only imagine the scene: a summit where two men who have built entire political careers on sheer, unadulterated ego stand side by side, each convinced the other is a bit of a prat but too polite to say so. The agenda? Possibly a discussion on how to monetise the concept of ‘strong leadership’ or a joint venture to rebrand the Taj Mahal as ‘Trump Mahal’ with a golden toilet in the east wing.
Meanwhile, in a corner of the world that once ran a quarter of it, Britain is waking from its Brexit stupor and remembering that it has ‘friends’ elsewhere. The Commonwealth, that vague collection of former colonies and current awkwardness, is suddenly the talk of Whitehall. Trade ties are being strengthened, they say. Old bonds are being re-forged. But let’s be realistic: the Commonwealth is like a family reunion where no one really wants to be there, but everyone feels obliged to bring a bottle of cheap wine and a vague sense of historical guilt. Britain’s renewed interest is less about affection and more about desperation. After all, when your closest neighbours are sulking over customs arrangements, you start looking for pen pals with lower tariffs.
One cannot help but admire the sheer theatricality of it all. Trump, the man who once called climate change a Chinese hoax, will likely land in New Delhi with a retinue of aides toting briefcases full of ‘alternative facts’. Modi, ever the showman, will probably greet him with a 21-gun salute and a photo op that makes them look like two grandfathers trying to out-squint each other in the sun. The talks will be ‘productive’ and ‘candid’ a diplomatic code for ‘they shouted at each other for three hours but agreed to disagree.’
As for Britain and the Commonwealth, the news is peppered with phrases like ‘mutual growth’ and ‘shared prosperity’. But let’s call it what it is: a glorified book club where the books are trade agreements and everyone is skimming the chapters. The UK needs markets, the Commonwealth needs investment. It’s a marriage of convenience, not love. Yet, we must play along. We must nod sagely as ministers announce ‘historic deals’ for ‘digital trade corridors’ and ‘sustainable development goals’ all while knowing that the real talking happens over warm beer and cold curry, with someone inevitably spilling chutney on the minutes.
So here we stand, on the precipice of a new era of global cooperation. Or rather, on the edge of a very expensive, very public, very embarrassing game of international musical chairs. Trump will shake hands, Modi will smile, and Britain will clasp its hands together and say, ‘Look, we’re relevant again!’ The rest of us will be left to wonder if anyone has checked the alcohol level in the diplomatic gin cabinet.
Oh, but there is a silver lining: at least the memes will be brilliant.
