Best of Rajesh Rajoo

Again, with Pen poised over paper, He sits to deliver Verse. Like a pregnant woman, Now in pain, Now stifling a Curse. Words fall about him Haphazard and Terse. Now he perms, Now he slashes, then, Confines them to the Hearse. For it just isn’t so He can’t get a go, Hanging there high-strung, He’s left for the Worse. His child cries for Her mother, Who’s left him for another. He knows not how he’ll Feed her, He knows not how he’ll Nurse. His landlord stands Taller, His debts aren’t getting Any smaller. Yet, he waits In vain, over paper, To catch the eluding Verse. He waits Like a man in haste Now expectant, Now mouthing a Curse. (Sigh!) Poetry my man, springs From honest thought, Spontaneously begot. It cannot be Curried together, You see, just To feed a lazy Purse.

You docked inside safe? 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!

Oh good, the launch pad (the poop ‘n’ pee place u *#@^) is free. And whoopee! There’s no one around. But! What’s that noise? Maybe you’re imagining things. Remember, when you’re all filled up and ready for release, there’s a chance that the gases could, you know… get osmotic. 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!

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

Samiyo stood up tottering and burped loudly. He was rather content with the way the day had ended. After all he’d spent a good part of it making porottas at the wayside restaurant where he was the undisputed Porotta Master. 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,

Now, I do admit that it's mighty easy to smear the work of others. But I'm doing it now. Without further preamble, let me tell you that I found this book The Righteous Men by Sam Bourne a huge let down. There isn't a story in there. But guess why I picked it up? Because the tag read - The end of the world is coming. One body at a time. Boy! That’s dramatic by any standards and then the first page was pretty taught too. And I was suckered. I must admit, that I read this book through, trying to figure out what I'd missed as I turned the pages. It turned out that I didn't miss much. There’s even a review by Mirror right on the cover that reads: the biggest challenger to Dan Brown's crown. Pha! Nothing could be further from the truth. I enjoyed Dan Brown's da Vinci Code immensely. The logic there was woven in well, plotted studiously and the pace never slackened even when the story swung into historic detailing. But that's not the case here. It’s plain bo