Kumbhakarna Wakes Up

ok, i have decided that enough is enough. i am going to start writing again. its almost been two months since i have last written and it is time to work the pen and hear the applause and all. i don’t have a ready-made topic on my hands so i’ll just write what i can think of and then, my dear readers, you will do the same in the comments column.

i am going to give myself 25 minutes exactly to write all that i can. i have a very mediocre typing speed and i like the idea of killing two birds with one stone, Rajnikanth style. not that i really want to kill birds. oh no, its just an expression.

i’ll start with politics. and the drama played out in the lok sabha. i came home from class and i saw a group of people waving bundles of notes and clapping their hands. the assistant speaker or vice-speaker or whatever was scratching his beard and whimpering for quiet. l k advani was trying his best to smile and frown at the same time. lalu was giving a very comical speech. and i was laughing. really laughing. i mean, it was a true, real, hearty laugh. it was not a hollow laugh. it was not a laugh saddled with despair and disgust. i didn’t feel those feelings. why should i ? it’s not as if it was a bolt from the blue or that it was the death of democracy or whatever. no one was really surprised. we expect such things from our politicians. we criticise them so much that it would be a shame if they did not attempt to bribe or make it appear as if they were being bribed. and its not as if a change of order at the top would change anything. it wouldn’t. the opposition would keep opposing and the allies would keep making demands and we would continue crying tears of false despair.

ismeet singh died yesterday. he was in maldives and he drowned in the swimming pool. he was 19 years of age and had a bright future ahead of him. i normally do not watch talent shows but i had had occasion to watch “Star Voice of India” once or twice. he seemed a nice, polite, reserved and confident young man. i opened the newspaper and saw his smiling face and then saw the word ‘dead’ staring at me. i felt incredibly sad. and i mused on the uncertainties of life. my grandmother, who was reading a Marathi daily and was quite unaware of ismeet, recited a joke. a burglar enters a large house and demands of the owner,” sona kaha hai ?”. the owner replies,”ye ghar bahut bada hai. jaha so jana hai waha so lena.” i started laughing. and i forgot about ismeet. just like that.

right, time’s up…in fact , i am three minutes late. toodle-oo. more tomorrow, i hope.

Yogi the Wise

I wiped the sweat from my forehead and shouted,”guruji! arre guruji!”
I sat on the concrete katta next to the prosperous banyan tree and looked at the dilapidated building in front of me. One of the residents had kindly put up a sign next to it.

It warned any ‘guests’ from entering the haven as there was a more than likely possibility of premature burial.
Yogi the Wise came out of one of the ground floor flats and waved a greeting. Yogi the w. was one of the more peculiar residents of Sai Kripa(the aforementioned building).

He had a long squarish beard coloured in alternate vertical strips of black and white. His bushy mustache hid his mouth and a large part of his tiny nose. His eyebrows acted

as optional curtains to his grey eyes. He was in truth 45 years old, but could be easily mistaken for 60.
I bowed low before him and resumed my seat. “O wise one, what is to be today’s lesson?”
“Hmmm. The self-centered society of today.”
“Really?That…ah…that’s very interesting.”
“That it is. Cast your mind back to about a month ago. The CET exam.”
“Hmmm.”
“Don’t sleep.”
“I’m all ears, guruji.”
Yogi was rather fond of using flamboyant words which do not couple well with my useless typing skills. so i will endeavour to condense them for my benefit rather than

yours.
It so happened that Yogi wanted to try out a new disguise, and the CET exams provided him with the perfect opportunity to test his skills. So he oiled his eyebrows and

rolled them back, hid his bushy mustachios and funky beard in a veil and had an eyelash job done. Dressing himself in Muslim female attire, he headed to the nearest CET

centre. He made his way past the guards with relative ease and sat in one of the cramped chairs provided for parents.
Two minutes past 10 o’ clock(the official exam time), a girl and her parents rushed in through the gate. The police constable on duty refused to allow the girl in. The parents

pleaded with him and the school authorities to allow her in. The poor girl started crying. Yogi and a few set of parents also requested the authorities to reconsider their

decision. But the authorities remained firm. The frustrated father lost his cool and started mouthing obscenities(only natural, was Yogi’s take). The girl was inconsloable.

One parent got up and bellowed to the father to stop disturbing the students who were writing their exams upstairs and blamed them for coming late. She smugly said that

she had reached the centre at 6 a.m. and that that was the sensible thing to do. They had better keep their lopudspeaker of a crying girl quiet. Her poor son writing the

exam might get nervous with all the commotion. This went on for a few minutes till the parents were forced to leave the premises with their girl for the time being.
“Two minutes that laid a whole year of hard work waste.”Yogi had tears in his eyes.He was quite an emotional man, Yogi was. “It was not a Sunday, but a weekday. There

always is a lot of traffic on weekdays. The authorities could easily have considered that. But they had to stamp their importance. Petty fools, they deserve to be sacked. That

poor girl, what she had to…”
“Was she good looking?”
“Eh?”
“Uh…was she pretty?”
“What does that matter?”Yogi’s eyes glinted dangerously.
“Ah…nothing much, nothing much,” I stammered.”Only, sympathy comes easy when the victim is the angel of vulnerability and good looks.”
“I don’t really remember…all i remember is that the lady was enormously huge.”
“The one who made the cruel loudspeaker comment?”
“Yes, that’s the one. Very nasty, she was. Heartless lady.”
“Fat ass…hah!”
“Eh?”
“Ah…nothing.”
“Did you just say ‘fat ass’?”
“Uh…oh yeah…you know, ass as in donkey…”
“That was not your intended meaning, I’m sure of it.”
“No, really,that is what i wanted to say.”
“You lie! Maybe your mother needs to know of your…”

Yogi always did insist upon cleanliness of speech.

Blog The First

Gah, this is not a good title.

But i have taken the monumental decision to start blogging on the 31st of May, 2008. Because today is Apara Ekadashi which probably means that this is a somewhat auspicious day to start something new. Also my blog will get deactivated today if i do not write a post.

The blog name is temporary and will be changed as soon as inspiration strikes.

Right, this should do for today. More tomorrow…