Sunday, May 31, 2009

I wish I were

When I was ten and four,
I read this poem by a bloke called Tagore,
He raved and ranted all along,
Being the stereotypical meandering bong,
About the inane and stupid vocations he'd choose,
So I decided to sit back and step into his shoes,
Grow a beard,name an ashram and be a playa,
Now mortally afraid of another bong called Shreya.

Anyway, I sat and thought and thought and thought,
Till my heart and brain were one big blood clot,
For unlike the man I had no hope,
Of being a watchman or sweeper or even the pope,
I believed in beatniks and job satisfaction,
Somewhere in the way, a little bit of action,
Be proud, be loud and hold up your pinky,
Gyrate you hips and tell them you're kinky.

So you see the dreams I had of love and hate,
Seemed awfully difficult to satiate,
Till I realized there was one possible profession,
That would overlook all my previous education,
There'd be issues and questions to moot,
When I put somebody's mouth in someone else's foot,
Because if I must live through this anarchy,
A teleprompter I must be.

Oh what joy I'd be sure to find,
When American presidents speak my mind,
When climatic conferences invite Al Gore,
He will bravely claim his butt is sore,
Or when the porn stars ooh and aah,
I'll make them recite the Casabianca,
And they sure would've made the right pick,
Because now the boy will stand on a burning dick.

Of course the newest controversy courters,
Will be the wicked TV reporters,
For now they and their TV crews,
Will not present but make the news,
Their producers will fume and flush,
While I get them to incessantly blush,
Boy, whatever it be I promise I wont be a bore,
Not like that other dude Tagore.


P.S: You may read the original here.

Friday, May 29, 2009

Shad Ub

Now that our stay in Trichy, (we say our because well I sounds a little too selfish), is temporarily (never bait fate) done with we will now proceed to detail in great length the disadvantages of learning another language.

As Arthur Dent observes in the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, the day he began to understand what the birds speak, he stopped flying with them. That holds a wonderful but oft forgotten truth. Of course I..errm.. we wont tell you what that truth is because that would not be any fun.

Being blessed with the knowledge of the colloquial and mysterious tongue of the soon to be rulers of the worlds the mind numbing, super intelligent, double brained, IPL champs, the Gults, is quite a pain in the chilly pickle. Which incidentally is a pain in the ass the next day.

Add to that the growing vocabulary and Dravidian pride of Tamizh and you have a Molotov cocktail. Oh wait you don't, we believe TASMAC does not allow such heresy.

Anyway the short and poignant story, which relates to an incident that occurred at a large supermarket known as Spencer's Hypermart (or Giga or something) tells the tale of woe, fear, gluttony and most of all, too much radio chatter.

After a day of hard core (kaur if you're feeling Punjabi) shopping, I (yes, there was no we at the hypermarket) waited in a short queue to get the mangoes I was holding in a flimsy, translucent plastic wrapper, weighed and billed. In front of me was this young couple who spoke Tamizh. My eyes lit up for a second, I don't quite remember why though.

Incidentally behind me was this rather fat moustached man with an equally large moustached female partner who kept screaming into the phone ( I believe he was later picked up by the TATA Indicom people for their next "hello!hello!" commercial). He had a lot of shiny yellow metal all over him, gold perhaps and he was the only one in the queue buying Begumpalli mangoes. Obviously Gult.

Translated conversation transcripts below:

Tamizhian Lady :TL
Tamizhian Man:TM
Gult Lady: GL
Gult Dude: GD (Notice the sombre word play)

TL: Wyy are you gewing me soo many blastic baggets? Just put all the vegetables in one bag noo, what will I do with so many bags (to TM) What are you doing? Where is the daughter? Why don't you go look for her instead of staring here and there?

TM looks down and obliges

GL: Who are you calling?

GD: Hello! Hello! Hello!

GL: Give it to me, I will talk. Hello? Yes Srini garu, are you good? Oh yes we are in Gujarat. It is... yes yes he is fine. He is in USA. No not Ankapalli, USA. Hello! Hello!!

TL:(to TM) See how ill mannered they are. These people no respect for environment. Look how that woman is shouting. (turns to see TM is gone and I have usurped his position for tactical advantage. )

(I grin loudly (yes I can do that))

TL: Aiyyo!

(looks around for TM)
What are you doing! Come here and help me. What will I do with these plastic bags!

GL: (to GD) I can't hear anything! (notices GD is staring at the condom closet) Oh hello?? Yes yes I can hear yes tell me, tell me. Oh no no that woman is worsht she has ruined my life. What will we do? No no we cant leave her.

TM come running and nudges GL who drops all the mangoes. I laugh and TL is looking sickles at me. TM starts gathering the mangoes while apologizing profusely. GL suddenly feels free since all the mangoes are gone and walks off into the distance while chatting on the phone. GD continues staring at the condom closet.

TL: (to TM) What are you doing? Those are not our mangoes! (to the employee) I will gomblaint to you manager, where is she? all this stupid blastic (to TM) What are you doing!?!?!

TL looks at me, I grin again. Loudly. Suddenly GL returns and GD snaps out of the trance. They look at each other.


GL: Where are the mangoes?

GD: What mangoes?
(looks down at helpless TM, then addresses GL)
Your father!! Can't you even handle the fruit? Full day on the phone. You have to get me angry all the time.

TM: No no it was my fault you see I walked into..

TL: (now hysterical, possibly because of my grinning) What are you doing? Can't help me carry all this? Go you take the daughter and sit in the car let me take care of all this billing.

---------EOC--------------

Oh the things we have to go through. Sigh.