Rainy blues

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Rain

Rain, rain go away,
Come back another day;
Neha doesn’t want to wade,
Through waist deep water in Bombay.
Muck and sewage come to play,
With germs and disease and decay;
Lets not forget the road spray,
The price we all pedestrians pay.
In plastic shoes you must sashay,
Even if they squeak, to your dismay;
Jeans and cottons are passé,
But with synthetic garb, you’re okay.
Umbrellas are no protection, by the way,
Maneuver them in crowds, I dare say.
Monsoons are the best, they all convey,
I’d agree, if I whiled away, sitting in a café;
But I walk to work, everyday,
Drenched and soaked and in disarray.
‘I hope it doesn’t rain,’ is all I pray,
But its four more months with the Season Grey!

A pinky nail inquisition

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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.

You are FAT, missy ! – How the Indian salesperson ‘subtly’ rubs it in.

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fat

“Bhaiyya ye top dikhana.” “Ai Chotu, zara XL mein red top lana.” (I didn’t tell you my size. Please stop guestimating.)

“Madam, size barabar se dekho, haan. Badme change nahi hoga.” (WTF)

“Hamare pas dress material aur darji bhi hai.” (Maine poocha kya ?)

“Bhaiyya ye top dikhana.” “Is piece mein large tak hi aata hai.” (Again, will you stop sizing me up ? Its offensive.)

“Ye color heavy logon par mast dikhta hai.” (Abhi mera heavy haath tujhpe uthega.)

“Anarkali lo madam… ek dum slimming effect aata hai.” (You should be my stylist !)

“Medium size ?! Kisi ko gift karne ka hai ?” (Tumse matlab ?)

“Jeans? Aapke size mein ? Dekhna padega…” (Really ?! Coz, believe it or not, the pair of jeans I’m wearing, were actually made on earth.)

“Aiiye madam… bohat suits hain. Aapke size mein bhi milega.” (About turn.)

“Itna margin hai is kurte mein. Aapko kya, kisi ko bhi aayega.” (Haan, teri biwi ko bhi.)

Mousy troubles

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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 !’

Mom

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Mom

Dear Mom,

For waking up at nights, to put your crying baby back to sleep,

For dressing her up every morning and teaching her how to tie her shoe laces,

For being by her drowsy side, day and night for two days, when she drank half a bottle of cough syrup (true toddler story, that),

For never letting her bunk school, even on sick days,

For being there when she was in pain,

For teaching her school lessons on brown paper bags,

For waking up at 5 am to wake her up with a glass of warm milk,

For packing her school bag every night,

For helping her make friends, when she was a shy kid,

For laughing at her silly jokes,

For never telling her what not to wear,

For forcing her to take dance classes which she resented then but loves now,

For being her friend, her movie and shopping companion and the buddy she watched cricket with,

For loving her even when she was difficult and unreasonable,

For believing in her when she didn’t,

For cheering her up when she was down in the dumps,

For teaching her what was right, even if it was the hardest thing to do,

For always being with her, even when you were gone.

I love you, each moment, every day.

Hope you’re having a rocking time, up there in heaven !

An ode to Maggi

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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.

A classic conversation in the life of an Indian female doctor

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Doctor

“Sister!”

(I am not responding.)

“Ai … Hello sister!”

(Seriously, this is how you address people ?!)

The guy now confronts me face to face.

“Sister, main aapse baat kar rahan hun.”

“Main sister nahi hun.”

“To kya ho ?”

(Kya ho ? I am not a ‘thing’, for starters…)

“Aap hi soch kar batao bhaiyya.”

“Mujhe nahi pata.”

“To mujhe roka kyun ?”

“Arey, aap to bura maan gayi, didi.”

“Didi ?”

“Ab sister nahi to didi hi bulaenge na.”

“Bhaiyya, main aap se pehle baar mili hun. Zahir si baat hai, main aapki didi nahi hun.”

“Uff, to kya bulayen ?”

“Socho. Thoda dimaag par aur zor lagao.”

“Behenji…”

“ Behenji ?….Behenji ?!! Main tumhe behenji dikhti hun ?”

“Accha …Sir. Ab Sir to theek hai na?”

“Pata nahi. Mujhe to lagta tha ki ‘Sir’ sirf aadmiyon ke liye use karte hain.”

“Oho, acchha chalo Madam… khush ?”

(Well done !…you are getting there. At least ‘madam’ tak to pohache.)

“Haan, batao.”

“Hamare mareez ki pishab ki thaili bhar gayi hai. Usko khali karna hai.”

(Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Count to ten. Ommmm…..)

“Bhaiyya, us counter par sister baitheen hain, unko bata do. Wo orderly ko bol dengi.”

“Accha, ek baat aur. Hamey woh doctor saab keh rahe the…”

“Kaunse doctor saab?”

“Arey woh doctor saab…” and he points to a male resident in the ward.

“Acchha ! Woh doctor hain, to main kya hun ?”

“Main kya janu ?”

“Kyun, ladkiyan doctor nahi ban sakti ?”

“ Ji TV par dekha to hai. Banti hi hongi.”

“Maine bhi safed coat pehna hai. Mere gale main bhi aala hai.. aapke doctor saab ki tarah.”

“To?”

(Okay, I give up.)

“Main bhi doctor hun.”

“Accha, aap bhi doctor hain ? Batao.”

“Haan bhaiyya batana hi pada.”

“Arey koi baat nahi daactarni, bura mat mano… Philhaal, hamare mareez ka saline bhi khatam ho gaya hai, aake badal do.”

To the space and beyond !

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APJKalam

He said, “ Great dreams of great dreamers are always transcended ;”
Oh, what a sad day, what a splendid life that has ended ;
Unto the almighty, the great soul commended ;
To carry him to heavens, the angels descended ;
The mighty tears, leaving every face bended ;
A glimpse of his greatness, that we all attended ;
A life, simple, honest and contended ;
To science, service and education, all moments expended ;
His inspiring lessons on life, with anecdotes blended ;
The nation salutes, the best teacher we befriended.

RIP Dr Kalam.

Diwali Nostalgia

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diwali

Wo beeti hui diwaliyon ke goonj abhi bhi yaad hai…

Jab mummy ki fatkar aur anar bomb ke dhamake se neend khula karti thi ;
Aur sari subah, apne kamre ki safaayee aur ghar ki sajaawat mein, ek pahaad si padti thi.
Poore din, doston ka ghar pe taantaa bana rehta tha ;
Aur kisi diwali gift mein mithai ya dry fruits ke bajaye chocolates nikal jayein, yehi armaan rehta tha.

Dilli ke sadar bazaar se bhar packet pathake, teen hafte pehle hi khareed liye jaate the ;
School ke toilets mein, classes ke beech mein, bijli bomb ke footne se sab lot pot ho jaate the.
Jab ek haath mein patakhon wali pistol, aur doosre mein saapon wali kali goli raha karti thi ;
Aur ‘atom bomb’ ki sannate ko cheerti hui cheekh, kano ko sunn kar deti thi.

Wo papa ke saath ghar ki chhat par bijliyon ki ladiyan lagana ;
Aur lakhsmi pooja mein chehre banakar apni behen ko hasana.
Mummy ka kisi tarah hum shaitano ko pakad kar diwali ke naye kapde pehnana ;
Aur paach minute mein hi, un kapdon ka mitti ya fuljhari ki chingari se chhalli ho jaana.

Wo cousins ke ghar pohach kar unke pathakon par dhhaava bol dena ;
Kiska rocket kitna uuncha fata, isi competition mein aadhi raat bita dena.
Jab nani maa prashad ko batkar sabko ashirwad deti thi ;
Aur kabhi angaare haathon pe lag jayein, to puchkaar kar haathon ko choom leti thi.

Jitna besabri se intezaar, mohalle ki aadhi raat ki aatishbaazi ka hota tha ;
Utna hi khayaal mummy ke haath ki poori, paneer aur kheer ka rehta tha.
Jahan doston ke saath tark-witark aur vipakshi dalon se muqablon mein, khilkhilaahat jama karti thi ;
Usi ullas ki goonj, aur diyon aur mombattiyon ki roshni mein, diwali ki jagmagati raat dhalla karti thi.

Conversations with Kabu

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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