Rhythmic multichromes

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One day, four kindergarten mates – alpha, beta, gamma and theta, met at a bar. Alpha had become a famous doctor, beta a popular psychologist, gamma a wrestler, and theta an amateur writer / blogger, enjoying the desi life. The bar was celebrating Holi Week, and as they gulped down their half-off drinks one after another, the nursery colour rhymes came spilling down (Red Red, Susu in the bed… Yellow Yellow, Dirty fellow…). Many shots later, the four friends decided to put their own twist on those intently perceptive verses.

 

Alpha sang, with a whiskey in his hand…

 

Red Red, Capillary Bed.

Blue Blue, Tropical sprue.

Green Green, Sickly Spleen.

Yellow Yellow, Oncology Fellow.

Violet Violet, Pancreatic Islet.

Brown Brown, Molar Crown.

Black Black, Cul de sac.

White White, T Lymphocyte.

Orange Orange, Saintly Florence.

Pink Pink, Catch a wink.

 

Then came Beta, jo ‘kabhi nahi peeta’…

 

Red Red, No fear you dread.

Blue Blue, Let happiness brew.

Green Green, No words obscene.

Yellow Yellow, Calm and mellow.

Violet Violet, You’re a fighter pilot.

Brown Brown, Simmer down.

Black Black, Cut some slack.

White White, Look on the side bright.

Orange Orange, No abhorrence.

Pink Pink, I’m a great shrink.

 

Gamma the macho man, gruffly his rhyme began…

 

Red Red, Drop Dead.

Blue Blue, Screw you.

Green Green, Stick your head in a latrine.

Yellow Yellow, Crush you like a marshmallow.

Violet Violet, My punch drive is on auto pilot.

Brown Brown, Back down.

Black Black, Hand me your lunch pack.

White White, Get up and fight.

Orange Orange, Are those headphones foreign?

Pink Pink, You and your rhymes stink !

 

Theta came in the end, and from him these words stemmed…

 

Red Red, Amul butter aur bread.

Blue Blue, Har jagah tatti ki boo.

Green Green, Pan thookne mein vileen.

Yellow Yellow, Murga bane main aur mera classfellow.

Violet Violet, Sab ka sahara, Sulabh Toilet.

Brown Brown, Masala chai at sundown.

Black Black, Deewane over Salman ke six pack.

White White, Daru marathon on international flight.

Orange Orange, Jai Maharishi Torrent.

Pink Pink, Patiala peg meri drink.

 

Lamba chala us din, wo colours ka session,

Aur sab ne jamaya apne profession ka impression,

Rangon ki saji bahaar,

Amongst kuch baithe yaar,

Bharat ke ubharte sitar,

Riyaaz karte hue in that bar,

With yaadein, spirits, aur random vichaar.

What’s in a name ? (At a government office)

images

Naam boliye.

Neha.

Neha aage ?

Neha Kumar.

Neha ‘Kumar’ ??… ‘Kumar’ ??

Jee.

Ladeez thodi naa ‘Kumar’ lagati hain…

(Stumped silence)

‘Kumari’ hoga. Neha Kumari.

Jee nahi.

Pucca?

(Negotiating my surname, are we ?) Bachpan se yehi naam likhti aa rahi hun. Maa-Baap ne bhi yehi naam rakha tha.

Batao ji. Koi baat hui ? Neha ‘Kumar’! Maine to kabhi aurton ke naam ke aage ‘Kumar’ nahi suna. Manager sahab, aapne suna hai ?!

(I can hear my eyeballs, rotating in their sockets amidst the chattery chuckling.)

Maa-Baap bhi kaise naam rakh dete hain. To aapke legal documents mein aapka naam ‘Kumari Neha Kumar’ likha hoga, nahin ?!! He he he…! (Raucous guffaw)

Kyaa paar ki nazar hai aapki !

Bura mat maniye, main to sirf soch raha tha. Shaadi shudaa hain ?

(Seriously ?! Aapse matlab ? … I pendulate my head in an emphatic ‘No’.)

Nahi ? Arrey…shaadi ho gayi hoti, to kam-se-kam Shrimati Neha ‘Kumar’ to likh hi sakti thi…

(Affsos. Kuunwari Kumari Neha Kumar.)

Kahan se hain aap ?

Dilli se.

Dilli se? To ye aapka asli surname hai ?

Matlab ?

‘Kumar’ kisi ka asli surname to hota nahi hai.

(Chalo police thane mein report darz karwate hain.)

Kuch aur bhi to hoga… ‘Kumar’ ke aage ?

Nahi. Hamare parivaar mein kisi ne zyaada dimaag nahi lagaya. Jab mere pitaji ka janam hua, tab Rajendra Kumar bohat bade Bollywood actor the. Mere dadaji ne bhi, bina zyada soche, mere pitaji kaa naam Rajendra Kumar rakh diya. Unhi dino se ye ‘Kumar’ surname ki parampara chali aa rahi hai.

Aap to mazaak kar rahin hain, madam.

Nahi, nahi..bilkul nahi. Aap hi to jaanna chahte the ki mera surname ‘Kumar’ kaise pada.

Chalo jee… koi baat nahin. Shaadi ke baad to badal hi jaiyega. Hain jee ? Ha ha ha.

No aunty-waanty

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I know I’m thirty and something,

And to say this is, is probably a dumb thing,

But I can’t seem to get my head around,

Kids calling me ‘aunty’ and making me frown,

Even when I’m wearing jeans and a tee shirt,

Carrying a backpack, lest that dreaded name they blurt.

 

I mean, how in the world, do they gauge,

To call a human female an ‘aunty’ at which particular age,

How do they discern, with their eyes beady,

That this one is an ‘aunty’ and that one a ‘didi,’

Coz even if I dress up like a twenty year old,

“Aunty, zara ball pass karna,” is what I’m always told.

 

Its this Indian thing which makes me wrinkle,

Every woman is an aunty and every man an uncle,

Even in my thirties this is hard to digest,

To be called an ‘aunty’ or an ‘aurat’ is a sob fest,

Here I am, minding my business and walking with my jhola,

When someone calls and I pounce, “Salaa, aurat kisko bola?”

 

So how would you like to be addressed, my alter ego wonders aloud,

Probably a ‘lady’ or ‘Ms Neha’ may my wounds, and age, enshroud,

A ‘lady’ and an ‘aurat’ is the same thing, you might say,

But the two sound horrifically different, however you argue may !

 

This is an anger cloudburst and a disgruntled mutter,

And to cry “Aunty mat kaho na!” I’m dying to utter,

A new Hindi Shabdkosh, I petition, to invent and design,

To address the ladies in their thirties, some words divine,

A shabd poetic, for a young woman you just met,

No longer a ‘didi,’ and an ‘aurat’ not yet,

So let nobody, in the future, have the jurrat,

When they meet and greet, to call us an aunty or an aurat.

Murphy’s Law

murphys-law

Murphy’s Law states, in no order of particular importance, that :

No matter what your seat is on the aircraft, the diagonal distance (in feet) from a crying baby is constant.

The queue you are in, is always the longest. Especially when the nature’s call is strongest. And it increases in length, with your every chessboard move in the contest.

Your smartphone takes eons to recharge from 99% to 100% but seconds to discharge from 100% to 99%.

The stainiest food and the drooliest drip from your brood, electromagnetically attracts the newest dress with certitude.

The smelliest derriere blasts, are quite often the quietest. The loudest ones, on the other hand have a predilection for closed lifts and discerning company.

Your teeth turn into spinach hooks just before the toothiest smile and a frontal camera profile.

Among all the elements of this world, the time period for which you can wear a pair of jeans unwashed, has the highest tensile strength.

The nosy neighbourhood aunty calling out your pet name scores highest on the decibel scale. This test is validated strongest in the midst of your office colleagues.

You may not be Robert De Niro, or a superhero, but you will always be a zero for your boss.

The reason for all your problems is your marital status, single or married.

Fuller the stomach and fuller the bladder, bumpier the road. And dirtier the petrol pump commode.

When you’ve been bit by the stomach flu and the oft visited place is your loo, the Municipal Board spitefully cuts off the water supply too.

VDs

valentines-day

Amidst the barrage of heart shaped balloons and rose wrapped love-sick loonies on this Valentine’s Day (VD), here are a few ironic, oxymoronic, uncannily apt VD acronyms which could weakly or strongly be statistically associated with the crazy VD which is today…

Very Difficult

Voltage Drop

Volume of Distribution

Virtual Directory

Value Date

Veak and Dizzy (an emergency room non-urgent complaint)

Variability-Distortion

Vir Devotus (Latin: Devout Man, epigraphy)

Vivens Dedit (Latin: He Gave When Alive, epigraphy)

Vertical Descent

Venereal Disease

Vascular Dimentia

Voluntary Disclosure

Voluntary Departure

Weighty Wars

fat

It is probably a lot that I ate,
Or an ere supressed genetic trait,
Maybe a decelerated metabolic rate,
That pushed my BMI into ‘overweight.’

But let me make this straight,
It wouldn’t really help or motivate,
If you greeted someone at the gate,
Not with a hi, hello or you-look-great,
But “God, have you put on some weight !”

Coz there is a fact, if I may be so bold, to state,
Everyday, I look into a mirror and fixate,
Twirl around and my proportions calculate,
Wondering if the reflections an illusion create,
Praying for a magic pill for my adipose uprise to abate.

So, I don’t really need my ‘wazan’ update,
Or anyone to look concerned and an intervention implicate,
That I’m upping the scales is no cause for a debate,
Let us talk about the weather, if after a pause we must wait,
Coz this tale of weighty wars is hard to narrate,
And no reason to frustrate and infuriate,
For this may be hard for you to relate,
That to shrink myself thin, is what I obsess about most, of late.

A pinky nail inquisition

Riddle me this, my thinking hat ;
Why do Indian men, keep a long pinky nail like that ?
Is it to better scoop their ear wax ;
Or to better pick their nose boogers with ?
Is it a spoon to sprinkle the salt ;
Or a knife to cut meat like a paleolith ?
Is it to scrape off their grimy scalp ;
The muck and the mites and all such menaces ?
Or is it a jugaad for a toothpick ;
To extricate plaque from the corners and the crevices ?
Is it a screwdriver to fine tune their gadgets ;
Or a weapon to gouge someone’s eye ?
A contraption to crack open an egg ;
Or a key to a secret closet, lest their wives should pry ?
Is it to better scratch an itchy bum ;
Or to stress that they really need to pee ?
And to top it all, they adorn it with nail paint ;
For women to chuckle and giggle with glee.

Mousy troubles

Mouse

There is a mouse in my friend’s bathroom,
Who wanted to add to his diet, a little zaiqaa ;
So he started munching on her bath soap,
And is now suffering from pica.

He thought he would slip under the radar,
And no one would smell a ‘rat’ ;
But he isn’t very clever, you see,
Coz every morning, he leaves behind a trail of crap.

At first I thought he might be a cute fledgling,
Who’s gnawing and chewing because he’s teething ;
But he seems to have a mature taste,
On a detergent bar, he wouldn’t dare his buds waste.

A metrosexual male that he is,
Only a fruity, flowery soap would do ;
To keep his bowels velvety smooth,
Rinse his interiors and soften and scent his poo.

Does he lick the wall paint,
or more abominably, eat his own shiite ?
Does he sneak a snack of chalk,
Or devour some teeth chattering crushed ice ?

Is there a bloodsucking hookworm lurking in his guts,
Or does he have tingling and numbness and bones that are weak ?
Is he suffering from separation anxiety,
Or is it a companion that he longs for and desperately seeks ?

If you, my dears, see a mouse roaming,
With bubbles from his mouth foaming ;
Do not scream and get a load of wrinkles,
Instead, just keep calm and give us a tinkle.

We’ll load him with iron and pump him with calcium,
And put him on some counselling and therapy ;
We’ll even register him on a wedding dot com,
Find him a beautiful wife and yell ‘whoopee !’

An ode to Maggi

Maggi

O Maggi, Maggi, how much I have missed you,
Wherever, dear, did you flee ?
I cry, I whine and I sigh for you longingly,
Whilst this cruel world chortles with glee.

I hear you eloped with Mr Lead,
Chose not me, but that rascal instead ;
And now the two of you are nowhere to be found,
But baby, what goes around, comes around.

You have been with me since I was three,
I hid you in my lunchbox from hungry eyes galore;
My special treat on Fridays,
The one I fought and nagged my Mom for.

How could you forget the rainy evenings we spent together,
You, me and our cutting chai ;
Or those exam nights when the world slept,
And you were my sole companion till the sun hit the sky.

The only reason I could flatter that I cook,
My saviour when my stomach growled in rage ;
You rescued me when I was dreary and famished,
On every weekend and at every age.

This is an ode to Maggi,
My one true love that ten rupees could buy ;
Who left me stranded in despair and in woe,
Wondering to myself when, how and why.

Desperately and in vain have I searched for her,
I know she hasn’t left of her own volition ;
When I look for her in grocery stores and stalls,
People exclaim no and what and eye me with suspicion.

Now when the hunger hits and my guts shout,
I grumble and frown and say with my teeth grit ;
Maggi is not here, fellows,
So you better get used to eating some healthy shit.

Conversations with Kabu

Capture

Call me Kabu.

Kabu ?

Yeah, short for ‘Kabutar.’

Really ?

What, I can’t have a cool name ?

Uhh… sure you can.

So, how are you doing, human ?

I’m hallucinating.

You are ?

Hell, yeah. I can’t believe I’m talking to a bird.

Well, it’s your lucky day.

What ?

You heard me.

Yeah, that’s the scary bit.

Ahh… a smart mouth. And a sulker. I have been watching you for the past half hour brooding in that chair. I was really tempted to poop on your head but I let this one go by.

Bad idea. You shouldn’t hold up your poop. Makes you constipated. Gives you gas. You’ll be miserable all day.

Funny. But your face speaks melancholy.

I didn’t know that pigeons could read faces.

Better than you think.

Fine, I’m a little out of spirits.

And why is that, my dear chap?

I guess I’m just put off… by difficult people, difficult situations, you know… life in general.

Wow… heavy stuff, man.

Sure it is… for an avian brain.

Don’t bet on that. This bird could give you more gyaan than your books.

Its funny how you speak of us humans as mere trifles. We could cook you for dinner, you know.

How do I break this to you… you humans are not scary. Some of you may seem intimidating at first, but if one is patient, sticks around, flutters about and explores deeper…

Like you ?

Yeah like me, I ain’t afraid of no humans !

Breaking news.

Aren’t you dripping with sarcasm…

Always.

Anyways, where was I ?

Stalking humans ?

I’ll ignore that. Like I was saying, if you observe these ‘difficult’ people long enough, you’ll realize they are not as scary as they seem. They are like the rest of you … a tad different, but not difficult. Just like no two pigeons are the same.

You all look the same to me.

Really ? You humans look the same to us when we are flying in the sky. Its only when we get close and sneak into your homes that we see you all are different. Some of you would run scared, some would get a stick and try and shoo us away while some would be more accommodating and let us sit on their window ledge and look around.

I have a friend who would run after you and shoo you away.

Then I would make a grand exit and give him shit before I leave, pun intended.

Tell me, what exactly are you looking for in our houses? I wouldn’t let you perch on my balcony and be privy to your voyeuristic escapades.

Voyeuristic ? Heh heh … I prefer to call it birdy curiousity. Come to think of it, you can’t even imagine the stuff I’ve seen. But don’t be so presumptuous my dear… you don’t exactly tickle my fancy.

Glad to hear it.

Even so, if I was sitting on your balcony, would you try to hurt me ?

Hurt you ? No. Why would I do that ?

Exactly.  Just like those ‘difficult’ people – they may seem unfair, they may piss you off … but they wouldn’t hurt you. At least not deliberately. In fact , after a while, you may even warm up to them.

That seems unlikely.

You better believe it. Difficult people as you call them, may find us pigeons irritating but they also sprinkle grains for us, click snaps with us at Trafalgar Square… hell they’ve even starred us in movies. Remember that Hindi film with the song ‘Kabutar jaa jaa jaa?’… Had a nice beat to it, don’t you think ?

No… but I would personally like to congratulate the lyricist for penning such apt lyrics.

I should have pooped on your head when I had the chance. My bad. Which brings me to my next point. Don’t lose your chances. Even if a window is just barely open, I sneak in to the house, loiter and litter about and have a grand time. So, always be prepared. And whenever you get the opportunity, snatch it. You may not live to shit another day.

You make life sound so easy.

It is easy, my dear. And you humans make it sound like a calculus exam. Let your dreams fly towards the sky, look at the world beyond your work. Don’t pigeon hole yourself, no pun intended. Catch the sunrise at a beach, dance in the rain, sing your heart out even if you’re completely out of tune. Don’t be afraid to embarrass yourself. If people ignore you, make a racket, make some noise, be heard. Make your presence felt. Haven’t you seen us strutting outside your homes pouting our chests proud ?

But your presence torments us. With all the strutting and the fluttering and the gutter-goo near our windows.

Goo ? .. heh heh. Theory of relativity, my friend… some people may think of you as nuisance, some may be allergic to you while some would worship you.

That’s not what that theory is about. I get the point, though. But what if life swirls around and hits rough patches? It was never meant to be a bed of roses.

Have no fear, chappie. Some situations in your life may get shitty and scary but if you face them head on, look at them as mere stepping stones in your path, you can overcome anything. Think of them as the jackass drivers who scratched or bumped your car… you look straight at them, eyes blazing and move steadfastly to face them, don’t you ? You don’t avoid them or run away. Have you seen how we fly at the planes, not afraid of them or anything? For birds, these planes look like ginormous super aviators hunting for their prey. But man, your pilots are so scared of us… they know if we run into one of their propellers, you guys are screwed.

And you wonder when people call you guys a nuisance.

They don’t know us as well as you do now.

That’s true. You’ve given me some stuff to ponder about.

Whether you liked it or not.

Ha ha ha. You are very persistent. And a revelation. Thank you.

My pleasure. For ages, we have delivered love notes; in world wars we delivered secret codes. Now we deliver gyaan and happiness, for those down the spiritual roads.

And you rhyme too. A poet and a philosopher. In fact, if you were a human, you could be a big guru with a mass of followers.

No thank you, I prefer my superior incarnation.

Touché.

I have to take your leave now. Will you think about what I said ?

I will. A conversation with a bird is hard to forget.

And keep that sense of humor, while you’re at it.

I’ll try. Bye.

Bye for now. Remember, keep flying towards your dreams, wear your wings proud and don’t forget your ‘f words’ – fun, flutter and frolic. Till we meet again. Peace.pigeon