Thursday, August 27, 2009
Carrots, cauliflower, ginger, tomatoes and… penis!
Housewives leaned out their windows enquiringly… while I craned my neck to spot the hawker in the milling crowd. There was only his voice, ringing loud and hearty.
Penis? He hawks penis? I was stumped for a moment.
And then he came into view, his pushcart, piled high with “Cae-rett, koli-phlaver, inji, takkalli, penis!”
There on a corner of his cart was a neat little mound of beans!
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Pen poised over paper,
He sits to deliver
Like a pregnant woman,
Now in pain,
Now stifling a
Words fall about him
Now he perms,
Now he slashes, then,
Confines them to the
For it just isn’t so
He can’t get a go,
Hanging there high-strung,
He’s left for the
His child cries for
Who’s left him for another.
He knows not how he’ll
He knows not how he’ll
His landlord stands
His debts aren’t getting
Yet, he waits
In vain, over paper,
To catch the eluding
Like a man in haste
Now mouthing a
Poetry my man, springs
From honest thought,
It cannot be
You see, just
To feed a lazy
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Good! Now as calmly and deftly as you can, put both palms on your cheeks, fingers slightly spread.
No. No. The other cheeks. You are not being taught to burp…
With the lesson so far? Excellent!
You are now in the launch mode.
Shhh! No sobbing in there. And shhh… No guttural intonations either. And… what?
Ok. Ok. We’ll cut the crap. Now spread your cheeks as wide as you can to allow free passage for the fiend.
Wait! Did you check for inflammable material on your person or immediate surroundings? Do… waaa… What did you just fling into outer orbit! Your lighter? Ok!
And wait! Do you have an exhaust fan running on kingdom-come-or-bust mode, well above your head? You do! And your palms are firmly on cheeks? Yes? Hallelujah…
All systems are go dude!
Monday, July 27, 2009
Wait! You heard it wrong. It’s OSMOTIC. Not ASTHMATIC. Which means you won’t choke on your gut fumes. It’s just a postulate that it might fuddle your brains a wee bit, making you hallucinate. So you might go “What’s that noise” and all that. Now the explanation is complicated. Besides you’re in no mood for it, remember?
You’ve got business to do, so lets get rolling.
No. No. Not your eyes. That’s no way to release pent up gaseous fury. Dude, did you just try passing wind through your eyes? Momma! We better get down to the expulsion bit then. You must be ready to explode to try something like that!
Ok. Ok. That fierce nodding says it all.
Now get your butt into a cubicle. You done? What?! Why’s the rest of you out! “Butt into cubicle,” means your whole frame into it. You need to shut the door, remember.
To be continued…
Friday, July 24, 2009
So you know how to squirm. You know how to jam lock your release valve to prevent untimely escape of the wind genie. You even know how to blush a bright pink, come Armageddon.
Now learn how to pass the stinker with the finesse of a diplomat.
The trick, to begin with, is to release with at least token camouflage.
If you work on a shop floor you are one of those twice blessed ones who needn’t care a rats arse about the consequences of suspicious shifts in decibel and odor levels in your immediate surrounding. You are well camouflaged any way. And a fart or two wouldn’t bring the roof down.
But if you work in a nice-nice office with nice-nice people, you better learn up quick about out-smarting the flatulence genie before it’s too late.
Let’s suppose you’re at your nice-nice desk when the genie stirs within and gets progressively annoying. No amount of tightening your rear musculature is going to discourage escape. In fact you’ll only be walking into a highly explosive situation when the said musculature would willing give way, not unlike the pressure cooker on a bad day.
So before it gets fiendish, you must slowly slip to the rest room.Of course, nice-nice offices have nice-nice rest rooms. Make sure you have your all-is-well smile firmly in place. And don’t squirm as you make a beeline for the launch pad. That’s a dead give away.
To be continued…
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
He’d just downed his usual measure of ‘fieriness’ to wipe away his weariness, before heading home to his dear wife, when he heard the familiar whirr. Did he perhaps dispatch a wee bit more than usual? He wasn’t certain. But he was sure that the blurry thingy that whizzed past him was his last bus home.
He grabbed his paper bag of porottas and beef and weaved his way to the bus bay, debating if he should empty his bladders in the mean time. No! He’d rather be smart and grab a seat for himself on the bus first. Then perhaps he could go for the piss, leaving the paper bag on his seat, proclaiming his imminent return. Brilliant! Samiyo beamed. It was such brilliance that had helped him fortify his position as Porotta Master.
Still beaming, he hurriedly boarded the bus, chose an empty seat, placed his paper bag carefully in the center and walked out for a quick ‘leak’.
Appada! The sudden exertion had exhausted him or so it seemed because he’d missed the last step and stumbled on to the bay. And now his bladders were bursting.
Still swaying, he tottered into the darkness to relieve himself. Perhaps he should light up a beedi to accompany the piss. Now that was a fine idea. He presently felt cheerier.
He must have taken a while because when he returned he saw to his horror that the bus had already taken off and was rounding the corner at a distance. Damn! He cursed himself. He had to save his paper bag somehow.
He jumped into an auto rickshaw and pointed in the general direction of the bus, insisting that the diver follow in hot pursuit.
Five minutes later the bus was in sight. There! It was stopping now. “Faster! Faster” he goaded the driver of the three-wheeler. And yes! He’d just made it. He’d have his paper bag soon. But just as he was getting out the bus pulled away. Moreover, he realized it was the wrong bus!
By the time Samiyo tracked it down to the terminus, the bus was long empty. He couldn’t find his paper bag anywhere. The darned driver’s eaten his porottas and beef he decided, grinding his teeth. That was way too much for Samiyo to bear.
“Oh yeh? I’ll show you what you get when you steal a man’s porottas and beef,” he swore as he sat in the driver’s seat and switched on the ignition.
The next day a horrified driver reported his bus missing and an hour later the police called to tell him they’d tracked it down a kilometer away, where it had crashed into a tree, with Samiyo still asleep at the wheel, unawares.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Four tiny ones
On my plate;
Laced misty thin
And a hint of pungent mint
Of an apprentice
Is food enough for thought
But token appeasement
Not the burp
Yet you choose
To skip the gravy
On tea and coffee
In salt and pepper
To stretch your serving
To a fill
Ah! For a spread
For a full,
You sink into
Your lumpy bed
And hear the bugs
You shut your eyes
You dream your dreams
And tuck in idillis
In your sleep
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Florentyna followed the charade closely thinking: “What a sham!”
There was a knock on the door.
I book marked the page I was reading, before tossing it on bed, thinking to myself: “What a sham…” as I opened the door.
“You have sham?” asked pasty face next door, looking a little embarrassed.
Oh crap! What did I get myself into while I was reading a book, I wondered as pasty faced repeated...
“You have sham…”
And then it hit me - an emphasis on the ‘P’.
Pasty face had come to borrow my shampoo again. And he’d always called it ‘shamp’ never shampoo. Very economic with vocabulary too, not just with buying himself a bottle of ‘shamp’.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Gent walks into a store in Bangalore.
"I need a blank DVD" he says at the counter.
The young chappie behind nods his head wisely, apprises Gent for a fraction and then vanishes into the inner recesses of the store. As Gent looks around the store, wondering how long it would take, he hears a slap on the counter.
Quick gun huh? However that didn’t look like a DVD to Gent.
"I need a blank DVD" he repeats to the chappie.
"That only saar."
"But this is not a DVD, it's a VCD"
"Same only saar! DVD, VCD same only."
But this is not a DVD, it's a VCD" insists Gent.
"Saar! Same only saar! DVD, VCD same only. Today we already sale three." He says triumphantly.
And as if strength would add to it, another chappie comes to the rescue and insists that his colleague is right. A DVD and a VCD are one and the same, he says firmly. But not firmly enough or so it seems as the colleagues eye each other, unsure for a moment. One of them suddenly turns round.
"Saar! What difference?"
Gent blinks stupidly.
"The capacity. The difference is the capacity."
Never mind, he told himself and made a quick exit while the chappies were left to figure out what they’d just heard.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Give me that coffin-feeling
Colder than death itself
Let in the warm sunshine
And the mellow air
Let the cat walk in
Without a thought or care
Don’t wait to knock
I know you’re here
Come in, do
You need not fear
Are not for me
Let in the sweet odour
Let in the breeze
I’ve thrown out the
Along with the keys
No. They’re not for me
Unfasten my shackles
That I embrace light
That I celebrate life
Handsome and bright
Monday, April 13, 2009
Imagine combining these twitches and winks and precipitating them at random or by design. That would be particularly handy at office meetings, wouldn't it?
Picture this. Mr. Self Important has just strutted into this terribly important meeting, late as usual. He thinks it makes a big impression. He's all fake smiles and then as he sits down he quickly explains it off with a "wasn't feeling well this morning... had to drag my self here."
'Hrump!' you sniff to yourself and write 'Flatulence' on your pad.
Mr Self Important suddenly goes pale with the wish-I-weren't-here look. You would too if you were in his shoes, trying mightily to stifle a fart in public.
That should fix him for a while you think, enjoying the looks on the pompous face, which is not so pompous now.
But nothing ever bothers Mr Pompous for more than the wink of an eye, or so he makes it seem. In no time at all he recovers. The self-important frown is back as he peers down his glasses at the lesser mortals round the table.
'Hiccup', you write on your pad in disgust. Promptly everyone's surprised by a loud hiccup. And another. Oh! You’re enjoying this! Ha! And furiously thinking up wicked combinations.
'Wince', you write and an already embarrassed Mr. Bumptious winces involuntarily, adding to his discomfort. As everyone looks on amused and some even frown, you quickly scribble a vile combination.
‘Hiccup’. ‘Wince’. ‘Hiccup’.
This is fun ugh? How about a ‘Wobble’ and ‘Clown Jig’ as well just as Mr. Self Important makes a hasty retreat after trying in vain to control his bouts of unexplained hiccups? Or how about 'Burp' and 'Fart'.
I leave the rest of the combinations to you. I know you'll enjoy it.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Your ‘ex’ is in town unannounced. She didn’t know she’d be coming until the last moment and then there wasn’t time for a grand announcement. But she’s in town now and you can’t keep a straight face. You’re all smiles and delicious anticipation.
As you’re shaving you catch yourself smiling ear to ear. When your wife walks in with tea it’s all you can do to feign nonchalance. But the wife, like all wives, reads something in your face. You see it in her eyes and you hastily yet slickly evade it. And catch yourself in the mirror again. “Eeeeks!”
“That me?!” Why is my face all contorted into a… why do I look like something that deserted a cat’s chow bowl in a tearing hurry, you wonder, trying desperately to appear relaxed again, with that careless morning look.
“Are you ok darling?” Asks the concerned wife.
“Yeah! Just my acidity acting up darling. I’ll skip tea and have some water instead.”
And you make a beeline for the kitchen, without turning back.
In office you’re all smiles again. The printer is out of cartridge. You’re smiling. Once the cartridge is in, you run out of paper. You’re smiling. You put the paper, wrong side in. But you’re smiling. She’s here! She’s here!
And then you force on a straight face again as you hear footsteps, but not before the approaching company wisecrack and clairvoyant sees another one of your desperate facial contortions and gives you an aha-so-she’s-in-town smile as he passes. “Sheeeet!” You tell yourself annoyed. “I can’t be this open story book that everyone can read.”
Lunchtime and you rush to the nearest drug store to get yourself the Glum Pill. But you’re wise for once. You keep it for after the meeting and get back home suitably morose. What a wonderful pill you tell yourself next morning. Doctor & Bramble have a good thing going there; bless them.