Red red, Susu ahead.

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In a land, rich, vibrant and diverse,

Have you noticed an ammoniacal aroma perverse ?

And tried to trace it with your nose,

Whiffing and squinting, to see how far it goes,

Only to find a splattered parapet wall,

Or a soiled tree trunk enveloped in that misty aerosol.

 

The fragrant remains of the river that once ran,

Emanating from the insides of the proud Indian man,

For he, you see, couldn’t be gladder,

To let go of the reins, and relieve his bladder,

The mantra being, to hydrate, librate and liberate,

And never shy away, from an opportunity to publically urinate.

 

Is it the love for living au naturel, and pooh-poohing the lavatory ?

Taking a leak and thence marking his territory,

Or is it likely a Mard thing ?

And a display of manhood to the traffic, makes his heart sing.

Is the Indian man on a philanthropic mission ?

Cleaning the city, without inhibition,

Helping out, in the time of water scarcity,

With a jugaad to water the plants, witty,

And shoo away the notoriety under the flyover,

With the superpower of his pee pee spillover.

 

Perhaps it is a medical condition,

And a weak bladder is my suspicion,

So the sphincteric attrition,

Forces the open micturition,

Or it is an olfactory bulb dysfunction ?

And the mard can’t tinkle and smell in conjunction,

So he’s oblivious to its odour, is the claim,

And you can’t put him to blame and shame.

 

Should we put up a pee resistant wall ?

That would, the incoming jet, stall,

Deflect it into a urinary waterfall,

And douse its human into a squall.

Or in the potential susu targets, instill,

A freezing agent, to cool the stream into a chill,

Ice it all the way up, along its course,

And glaciate and benumb the source.

 

Maybe we should create a distraction,

Click snapshots of these men in action,

Paste them on the very walls they wet,

And exhibit their manhood, lest they forget.

Or aggarbatis with a urinary bouquet, make,

Stuff them under their noses, for them a whiff to take,

A remembrance of what they splash the city with,

And shock and awe the Bhartiya mard monolith.

 

All hail the peeing Indian man,

It takes spunk to do what he can,

No sidelong glance or a jeering jibe,

Could lessen the zeal of his tribe,

Neither an angry lady’s frown,

Nor an outcry for modesty, would put him down,

For the whole world is his toilet,

And no behest or a public convenience can spoil it.

 

 

* susu : Hindi slang for urine;  * mard : man;   * agarbattis : incense sticks

Animals and Humans

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Humans, quite often, are so ‘animal like’,

In the looks that they look, or the pose that they strike,

In their actions, and their ways, and their demeanour,

And in their nature and disposition, nicer or meaner.

 

A heavy female is a whale, a buffalo or a hippo,

And a fat male an elephant, a boar or a rhino,

A sultry woman is a wild cat who’d bewitch,

But a nasty one is a cow or a bitch,

A cunning person is a sly old fox,

A muscular man is as strong as an ox,

A friendly someone is a social butterfly,

While a doe eyed girl will make your heart sigh.

 

Gazelle is a runner agile and swift,

A nightingale’s voice is a songstress’ gift,

A treacherous back-stabber is a snake,

A mole is a double-agent in the make,

A brave man has a lion’s heart,

And an ass is the opposite of smart.

 

A nasty person is a vulture or a dirty dog,

A pig, would gorge, and all the food hog,

A chameleon, would his words and stance, change,

A bear is a rough and uncouth person, with manners strange,

An individual, off balance, would walk like a duck,

But a ballerina with her swan dance, will leave you awestruck.

 

Parroting words is a mindless repetition,

Wolfing down is a devouring mission,

Beware of somebody who’d tell on you, and rat you out,

And of the charmer, who with puppy dog eyes, put good sense in doubt,

Pigeonholing would compartmentalize, and restrictively tag,

And monkey business is mischief and tomfoolery and a lot of gag.

 

So isn’t it strange that the men think,

That they are above animals, in a blink,

And disgrace them in any way they possibly can,

Over the ages, and ever since the time began,

Has it ever occurred to the world,

That the humans may be beasts unfurled,

And that the animals may be more ‘humane’,

Quite possibly, the ‘higher’ species of the food chain,

For they wouldn’t know ‘how to act like a man’,

Parade power and pillage, and ‘brutish’ destruction plan.

A boxer plead

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This is an appeal to the Indian men,

Who every now and then,

Dare to venture out gallantly,

In a pair of boxers, oh so casually,

Strolling on a morning walk,

In a local market, or out for a casual talk.

 

You see, boxers are an under thing,

And though the looks may be deceiving,

They cannot, your shorts, replace,

Nor the need to wear your pants, efface,

For this is not a two-in-one deal,

And though we appreciate your undies saving zeal,

Wear your bottoms, you must,

And the laws of aerodynamics, trust,

Coz the territory down south, may get a little too airy,

And turn into a peek-a-boo show, scary.

 

In the end,

Your boxers may prevent,

A fungal infection or two,

But the ‘flash dance’ will spew,

Chuckles and snorts and some infamous fame,

With the king’s berth in the hall of shame.

 

Though your inhibitions, you want to inhibit,

Be wary of a ‘chaddi’ wear-and-show exhibit,

There is only one guy who can pull off such a plan,

If you couldn’t guess, his name is Superman,

And even he, would wear them over his costume,

With a matching cape, in red bloom.

But Superman, my dear, you are not,

So even if it is blazing hot,

Do not try the dangerous boxer stunt,

To catch off guard, the world out front,

It may be wise to be a little discreet,

And wear your trousers whilst on the street,

For though I hate to burst your bubble,

Such prudence, will save you a world of trouble.

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.