Ah, the turbulent year is almost dead.
Few days were bad, worse were the rest.
Copyright © 2018 RAMU DAS
Ah, the turbulent year is almost dead.
Few days were bad, worse were the rest.
Copyright © 2018 RAMU DAS
“Keep your voice down!” a woman in my neighbourhood shouted. She was telling this to some of her family members – husband, son, daughter, or whoever – in her flat.
Once again she cried: “I said lower your voice, stupid!”
But maybe that did not work, for in the next thirty seconds she exclaimed at the top of her voice: “You, I said lower your voice, don’t you understand it, you!”
This went on for a while. The woman’s voice resounded in the whole building. It was nighttime, around 11:30. Most people were quite. Another neighbour was playing some mournful Hindi song in his/her phone. But, because of the woman’s shouting the sound from the phone died down. The only thing that could be heard for a full ten minute was the woman’s voice asking someone to keep that someone’s voice down. But not even a faint sound came from that someone. All one could hear was “lower your voice” or “keep your voice down” from the woman.
Copyright © 2018 RAMU DAS
Dog: Hey, Cow, holy or unholy, I hate you!
Cow: Why do you hate me?
Dog: Because I am loyal, I am kind and cute, but you, oh dear god, why do you get all the attention, all the love! I hate you! Hate, hate, hate! Bow-bow, bow!
Dog: Don’t call your man! All men discriminate! Their best friend – a dog! To hell with men!
Man: What troubles you, darling cow!
Cow: The dog hates me!
Dog: Bow… Bow-bow!
Man: We men love you, cow! Don’t cry, don’t cry!
Dog: Bow… Bow-bow… bow, bow!
The man and the cow ganged up against the dog. The man decided to ship the dog to China (to be consumed in their popular Yulin festival), but the cow had more more intelligence than the man and the cow made more sense. The cow suggested that instead of transporting the dog to China (a foreign country) which would incur heavy transportation cost, it would be better to send it to Nagaland (which, whether some of the Nagas like it or not, is within India) where dog meat is as much a delicacy as it is in China! The man agreed and the dog was never heard of again.
Copyright © 2017 RAMU DAS
No one wants to be fat, no one! But, and this makes me sad to say, I am putting on weight (after looking at me in my present state, my friends, too, have said that to me). My belly is growing bigger. It is not beer which should be held accountable for it. I have stopped drinking beer a long time back (but, let me also inform you, when I say ‘a long time back’ I mean it has been a month). And, no, it is not even the junk food; I avoid all kinds of junk food (burger, vada pav, and what have you, to hell with them!). Lately, on the basis of one of my colleagues’ suggestion, I have started drinking green tea (it works wonders he claimed and I, the fool, believed). All this, no matter what merit they may have, don’t seem to work for me. Hence, like many of my friends, I decided I would join a gym. But after hearing what my parents had to say about me joining a gym, I decided not to join any gym ever.
My mother asked: “Gym? But what is gym?”
I tried to explain what a gym means and what people do in a gym.
My father, being a business-minded person that he is, asked, “Well, then, how much will you get paid for it?”
I told him that it is I who has to pay instead. Hearing this my father heaved a sigh of disappointment. “I grew up doing hard work,” he said in a very serious tone, “but never have I taken the pain of lifting someone else’s load.” He looked at my mother who also seemed to be of the same opinion as him. “And,” my father continued, “if at all I ever did that, I got paid, not that I paid for it!”
Perhaps I can find a better way to be in shape than lifting someone else’s load. I suppose running would help, but I fear what my parents would have to say about that. Would they say: “What are you running from?” or “What/Who are you running after?” And then, I wonder, would they also add: “We never ran from or after anybody or anything.”
Copyright © 2017 RAMU DAS
Do you have an elder brother? What is he like? Conservative and dominating or friendly and humble? If you have an elder brother who is conservative and dominating, I feel pity for you as much as I feel pity for myself. If your brother, on the other hand, is friendly and humble, I will congratulate you, for you have a gem of a brother.
In India, as in the other parts of the world I assume, elder brothers are given great importance. Well, they may not be given as much importance as we give to our father and mother, however in the absence of our parents, the elder brothers (or sisters) play the role of one.
Now, from time to time – that is, on special occasions (which, I must submit, are rare in my case) – I like to indulge in a little drinking. Many people find it difficult to spend their time without imbibing a little on the night of 31st December (the night of the nights). A few days prior to 31st December, friends and neighbours start asking what your plans are for the 31st. When a neighbour asked me the same question, I replied to him saying that I was not doing anything much; I would just sit quietly in my room and have a glass or two of wine and have something to eat with it. My neighbour wanted to say something but he was holding back. At last, when he could hold back no longer, he wished his desire to have a drink with me in my room. That was the 31st of December and I wanted to say goodbye to the year in a high spirit and welcome the coming year with even more enthusiasm. I could have denied my neighbour to have a drink with me by giving some excuses, but then I thought what’s the harm in having a company who will only make the environment livelier while I drink? So, I said that he was welcome. He asked me whether I would mind if he brought in a friend of his. I said I would not. He seemed delighted to hear that. He informed me that he would join me in a few minutes.
After a while, he came to my room. Along with him came his friend and (well, yes, one more person) his brother. I looked at them, they looked at me. I was just about to say, “come, feel at home and make yourself comfortable,” but they did it voluntarily and I saved my words. The neighbour had something in his hand that was wrapped in plastic. When I asked him what it was, he placed it on the table and started unwrapping the plastic and said: “See for yourself, homie.” It was a bottle of Whiskey.
I sat on my chair. The neighbour and his friend sat on two chairs near me, while the neighbour’s brother lay down on the sofa (he didn’t join us). I had prepared salad and made omelette to eat while drinking. The neighbour suddenly had an idea and asked us to wait a few seconds till he returned. The sudden idea of the neighbour was a mystery to me. After about five minutes the neighbour returned and with him he brought a few pieces of fried chicken. “Excellent stuff!” he exclaimed. His friend gave a half smile and his brother seemed sad and occupied with some thoughts.
I had my wine with me. The neighbour and his friend drank Whisky (which I found too strong due to its high alcohol content) and chew on the chicken pieces. The neighbour’s brother looked at us all the while and I thought he wanted to join us. “Come, join us,” I said. But he did not come. I did not know what was stopping him from doing so.
I asked the neighbour: “Doesn’t your brother drink?”
“He does or he does not,” said the neighbour, “I can’t say for sure.”
“Oh,” I said, “he is a good guy unlike us.”
“He is or he is not,” said the neighbour, “I can’t say for sure.”
As we were drinking, suddenly, once again, the neighbour got an idea and he excused himself and said he will come back soon. Right after he moved out of my room, the neighbour’s friend locked the room in a hurry and then what had to happen, did happen. The neighbour’s brother jumped from the sofa and sat right in the chair where his brother was. He poured a glass full of Whiskey and offered his thanks to some god, dipped his little finger in the glass of Whiskey, sprinkled a few droplets and, without even mixing water, he emptied the glass at one gulp. “The chicken,” he said and he had one piece, thereafter he had many more. His elder brother never came back and, after a while, after thanking me a thousand times, the neighbour’s brother and his friend went tipsy topsy out of my room.
Copyright © 2017 RAMU DAS
One man: [Enters the washroom].
The other man: It’s been a long time since I saw you here. What happened, don’t you drink enough water? But, anyway, it’s good to see you.
One man: Good to see you, too. It’s winter time, and water is cold. Don’t feel like drinking much.
The other man: Do drink a lot of water no matter it is winter or summer. I am not saying that, like some nutritionists do, for your good health, but I am saying that because that way I will have the opportunity to see you here more often.
One man: I would rather contain the water in me as long as I can than visit the washroom, as often as you do, and waste my time.
The other man: Be careful of such thoughts. Have you not heard of people accumulating stones in their bellies? It is winter, and if you contain the water in you for too long, the water would freeze, and then you would find it difficult to carry yourself with all the weight, plus, of course, you would incur unnecessary cost to remove the stones.
One man: Well… [Makes a move out of the washroom].
The other man: See you again! The sooner the better.
Copyright © 2016 RAMU DAS
Today, just like any other day, while I was travelling, I witnessed a furious commotion in the bus. A guy of about 23 years or thereabouts was standing (for there were no empty seats) in the bus and lost his balance when all of sudden the bus jerked. He did not know where his hands or legs were going; his right hand grabbed an iron bar while his left hand clutched one arm of an old man’s spectacles and the spectacles came undone from the old man and fell where the bus driver sat.
Though the driver’s eyes were on the road ahead but somehow he saw where the old man’s spectacles fell, and while his right hand steered the bus, with his left hand he picked up the spectacles and cried, “Hey, hey! Take this!” The old man, possibly in his mid-sixties, with great effort reached the driver and the driver handed the spectacles to its rightful owner.
While the old man was doing a thorough examination of his spectacles, the young man (the guy of 23 or thereabouts) said sorry to the old man. “Sorry,” repeated the old man, “is that a medicine!”
“Old man,” the young man said, “do not grumble. Said sorry, na.”
“Hutt,” said the old man, “what a world! Throw my spectacles and say sorry!”
“You old man!” the young man shouted, “shut your ugly mouth, or do you want me to help shut it for you.”
The old man’s pride was hurt, but he was scared (perhaps his age was keeping him from fighting back). For a few seconds he did not say anything, but after a few more seconds the old man muttered something under his breath. No one heard what the old man said. Then, dissatisfied, he sighed. “But if it were broken,” the old man began, a little louder so that others could hear; “if it were broken, I would have gotten him to buy me a new one as compensation.”
“Buy you a new one, my foot!” said the rowdy young man. “Keep your spectacles at home if you are so concerned about it,” he added. It seemed the old man used the conditional statement keeping no one in mind in particular and keeping everyone in mind in general. But the young man felt, and was certain, that the old man was challenging him, and only him. “No,” continued the young man, “even if it had been broken, you would not have received any compensation, at least not from me, though I do not know about all the other cowards here.”
In his excitement and bravado, the young man had made a big mistake. He called everyone coward. It was a golden opportunity for the old man to get his lost pride back. “Brothers and sisters, sons and daughters,” the old man raised his voice, “are you all cowards? Is that so?”
“Hey you!” said a well-built man, pointing finger at the young man, “I am not a coward.” Then many voices were heard. Unanimously everyone claimed that they were not cowards. Everyone attacked the old man to prove they were not cowards.
Copyright © 2015 RAMU DAS
Rainfall in Mumbai is always late. Once, however, it starts raining here, the downpour is massive and incessant, so much so that most of the activities of the city comes to a standstill. Mumbaikers are used to such show of the weather, and we accept what we can’t change.
The moment I got in the train and sat down by the window seat (which when vacant I greedily capture), waiting for the train to move, it started raining. In a few seconds, the water gushed forth from the roof of the train station. With displeasure I made a snap decision and rose from the seat and began moving to the other side of the seat where the rain water could not touch me, could do me no harm. I almost sat on the other side of the seat when I saw what a person – who sat opposite the window seat where I was sitting – was trying to do, and changed my mind instead. I realized my mistake.
The man was trying to pull the windowpane down, and he was having some trouble doing it because he was a feeble man and the window, rarely being lubricated or pulled down, was jammed. I lent him a helping hand and together we pulled the pane down, thus saving our good selves and the seats from getting watered. The drops were heavy; one could distinctly make out the thud-thud-thud sound that the falling rain drops made.
This is but a minor experience I am narrating, but then, I do believe, major things start from minor things; there are many other instances (minor and major) where we can do it. The choice is always yours. You can either do it or you can, like many others, back off.
P.S.: It seems like the lifeline of Mumbai (the trains) have now taken the form of ships; be it by water or land or air, we will continue going to office nevertheless. While some of the vehicles are freely and naturally washed, some of them are washed away. Would you care to join us in the largest theme park ever? It’s free! It’s free!
Copyright © 2015 RAMU DAS
I smell some fish somewhere. Where? That I need to find out, of course, and how carefully and intelligently I find that out will astonish you my friend, astonish you. Okay, I don’t want to waste my time telling you all about my plans. But, on a serious note what I am going to talk about now will horripilate you my friend, horripilate you.
This happened yesterday as my benefactor lazed on a chair the whole afternoon, quite ill at ease, how suddenly then with the flutter of its wings a sparrow perched upon the railings of my window, my window, mind you!
It noticed me. At first I did not mean to do anything, no harm intended really. So I stood where I was, licking my body and making my skin shiny and silky and then scraping my benefactor’s boots with my strong and sharp claws, making my claws even sharper and stronger. The sparrow did not move an inch farther. “Is it not intimidated looking at my good self?” I thought. Perhaps not, I realized. “How I scared the hell out of that crow the other day, and this tiny creature here would not move an inch.”
So I straightened and puffed up my body to seem bigger and stronger than I really was. The bird shrugged its body, and then let its droppings fall on my benefactor’s cloths. “How dare you!” said I as loud as I could, “this means war!”
The fool of a bird nodded its head. “Hell and damnation!” cried I, my bloodshot eyes were now fully fixed on the bird and I growled and hissed. Just then did the bird tremble with fear and began flying away, but with utmost dexterity and agility I leaped high up in the air and caught the bird by its neck, killed it, and ate it.
But with great sadness I have to tell you that just as the deed was done, my benefactor grabbed my tail and reprimanded me and went on to slap me hard in the face. “What on earth have you done?” cried he. Then, looking at my bloody mouth and the feathers of the bird scattered beside me, he answered his own question: “Killed a bird, oh, a sparrow!”
He preached at great length the advantages of living together in peace and harmony and made me promise never to kill any living being on earth, not even a mouse.
Copyright © 2014 RAMU DAS
True indeed, animals have feelings and they express their feelings by different ways, for instance, a dog wags its tail when it is happy, a cat purrs to show its affection or when it wants affection shown to it.
I have a cat (had a dog as well but it died quite an unnatural death). One day, and which, I think, was the day before yesterday, this cat of mine went missing. Making complete use of my eyes and body I looked here, I moved here, I looked there, I moved there, and I looked everywhere where my eyes could see and body could move, but the cat was nowhere to be seen.
Has the cat gone away? Have I lost it? Has someone stolen it? I thought. These thoughts saddened me greatly; heaven knows how dear to me my cat is. Then, determined, I ventured out at… hmmm… the time? Oh, I have no clue what time it was, but this much I can say that the night was pitch black and much heavy rains did fall that night.
Several times I called my cat by its name. No answer did I get in reply – no, not even once. Now I was fully wet with the rain water, but I cared less about whether I was wet or not, for I was more concerned about my cat. An hour had passed away. Then, in the same manner as we turn off the key of the tap when we no longer want water, how suddenly the rains ceased falling as though the gods turned off some key, and everything was quite.
I have never been to the terrace of our building. I had no business there and I was not curios to know what might be there. However, that day when I was looking for my cat, for the first time, I felt it was necessary to go up the stairs and reach the terrace, for I have explored my vicinity in search of my cat, but having no luck, I thought of what remained unexplored, and at the flash of a second I got the answer: the terrace.
Curse my luck, rarely do we face power cut, and further I must say, on the day I went looking for my cat, I realized it was one such rare days. “But I am young and strong and all,” said I to myself, out loud, “being young and strong, who can stop me from climbing a ten-story building!” Thus, I displayed tremendous zeal and reached the peak of our building. And lo and behold! There was my darling cat, but she was not alone, someone was with her, er, what do you call, er… her boyfriend! My cat, upon seeing me, greeted me with a meow, came close to me and started purring (and she said to me, “Master mine, this fellow here is my soul mate.)”. Then, her boyfriend, taking a hint from her, greeted me and started purring as well. “Blessed be thou!” I said to them, and both the cats started purring and mewing at the same time.
Copyright © 2014 RAMU DAS
What I actually wanted to do was create history. And how was I going to do that? By involving myself in an infamous scandal? No, no way. I wanted to do something no one ever did… I wanted to do something wonderful in a very unique way. I had invited some great ideas in my head, but all great ideas preferred staying away from me (they think I smell). But one idea, when I was least expecting it, knocked my head. And I want to tell you dear readers, and tell you in no uncertain terms, that this idea I am talking about could have changed the world. This idea of mine could have brought me numerous accolades, could have brought me even the Nobel Prize.
But oh memory, oh wretched memory! Why can’t I remember what that great idea was? The idea that could make me, my family, my friends and my nation, proud!
How happy was I when I thought about the idea, it was a state of supreme bliss, but for the life of me now I don’t remember what it was, no, not even remotely. I am trying to link all my thoughts to reach that one great idea; and how I wish that idea could just flicker once again.
Had I a notepad to write the idea down, had I thought about writing it down on my cell phone, now all the world’s media would have stood outside my door for an interview with me. All the journalists might have fought with each other to record my statement, my great idea, and I would have said, swelling my chest with pride, “no comments, that’s classified,” as some great inventors and leaders do.
But, and mind you, now I am speaking with great disappointment, the idea is gone, oh, it’s gone. I am crying… I am crying so much so that with by my tears I have filled the pond that had no water due to the lack of rainfall, and in it, oh dear readers, I shall drown. Oh, don’t stop me; let me go away from here, away from this world! My idea is gone, absolutely gone!
Copyright © 2014 RAMU DAS
Dear Mr Nobody,
It feels good to know that you are having the time of your life. How I know, you might wonder. Well, the last letter you wrote to your son landed in my hand. Perhaps you have forgotten that we live together in the same house. He is not home, goodness knows where he’s gone; like father like son. And, ah, you write to your son in such a manner as if he is not a son but an old friend of yours. Shameless, utterly shameless you are.
It is a fact well-known that you do nothing apart from complaining all the time. I do remember how you used to complain about each and everything when we were studying together in the college. Everyone was fed up with you. Your very existence seemed an agony. But presently what a great change has come upon you. How well you speak of others (I mean of that lady of quality you mentioned). Sarcasm is your cup of tea, not mine. I will, therefore, speak to you in as plain a way as possible.
Tell me, did you kiss her? Did she kiss you? I mean, really if she wants to kiss you or something, let her do it. And let her do it in your neck. I can only wish, when she kisses your neck, she takes the form of a crocodile.
You say you will be staying in London as long as you please. I hope and pray to God that you will never be displeased come what may. Well, I have nothing more to say.
Copyright © 2014 RAMU DAS
My dear son,
I have reached London. Oh, what a beautiful city it is, and even the strangers are friendly and helpful here. Just a while ago I lost my way, I wanted to go to McDonald’s to have a Pizza, but McDonald’s was nowhere in sight; I was going in a different direction altogether. Then I saw a lady passing by – a beautiful lady she was, white and all, you know, but not as beautiful as your mother, mind you – and I asked her as to where McDonald was. She said it was half-a-mile away. “Half-a-mile away!” I exclaimed.
I told her that I was new to the city, I said it just for the sake of saying, nevertheless the lady started showing me the direction to McDonald’s and giving me information about every nook and corner of London, but I could not get a word of what she was saying. No, no, it was not the way she spoke that confounded me. She spoke all right. This people of London do manage to speak English; what truly confounded me were the names of different places that she blurted out. It was too much to absorb.
Then, you know what happened next, my dear son, the lady herself led me to McDonald’s, and what’s more, she sat beside me, and paid my bill too, though she ate nothing at all. Such a soul in this century! She must be a lady of quality I believe. But, of course, your mother is the best.
Yes, true it is that I am supposed to come back home in the next 10 days, but this lady of quality says that I can stay here as long as I please, and she means I can stay in her house without paying a penny. So, I am extremely glad to inform you, my son, that I’m staying here as long as I please, and if at all I shall be displeased by anything or by anyone, I shall be home in a jiffy.
Now that you are grown up, I am sure you can explain the matter over to your mother, and do tell her not to panic; I am only staying here as long as I please.
Your loving father,
Note: Mr Nobody will get a reply from his wife, and not from his son, in the next post. Stay tuned.
Copyright © 2014 RAMU DAS
The thing is… no, it is not just one thing; truly, not just a thing. Well, there are certain things; you know what I’m talking about. No, you don’t. Gosh! How you surprise me. Okay, should I spell it out? Yes. Then allow me, oh please do, to say a few words – words that may not so much as displease you – after all, you don’t know what the things are, do you? You Don’t. Of course you don’t, why else will you stare at my words with so blank an expression.
The most important thing, above all other things, is that she (Miss Somebody) is pretty. And, oh, someone once told me that all pretty girls are bound to have someone in their lives. I’m not sure how desperate girls are to have a man, but surely most men, but not all men, want nothing but pretty girls as their girlfriends and wives. I’m fine with anyone – pretty or not – who has a good heart. Once, there was one such girl, who happened to be pretty as well as a good-hearted women, but it occurred to me that she preferred someone unlike me, and so did I find out later… heck, let it be. That was past and past is past.
I’m concerned about the present. Miss Somebody works in the same organization as I do for the past two months, but I with all my eccentricity and reclusive nature didn’t so much as socialize with her or know what her name was. But, I used to look at her from the corner of my eyes, and whenever I did that I found her looking at me.
A friend of friend is a friend of hers. Now, after the exchange of a few words with that friend of friend, that friend of friend is my friend as well. The friend of my friend, as we became friends, told me what her name was. I started doing a little research about her. I tried to find as much information about her from as many sources as were available; never did I do any such thing throughout my college life when the point was about my studies, had I done so I might have as well been a topper in the College if not in the University or something like that, you know.
Her relationship status on FB said she was single, but that didn’t tell me if she was ready to mingle. So, I clicked on her photos and read all her status updates and the comments that followed. I ignored the comments that girls made, however, I meticulously read the all the comments made by men to get a hint that she was close to someone… that, I thought, some or the other man maybe bold enough to write something private in public. But, no, I could not find any such comments. I was pleased. Other social media didn’t reveal so much about her.
What if she is married, I wondered. I saw she wore a necklace on her neck, but luckily that wasn’t a Mangal Sūtra. When I looked at her more closely than before, I saw her eyes were golden, she had a mole on the left side of her forehead, she had a tattoo on her wrist, and she wore a ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. “Is she engaged?”My heart started beating faster at this very thought. “No, no, no!” I assured myself, “That can’t be, that can’t be.”
If I wanted I could have asked the girl if she had a boyfriend or something, but I brushed aside that idea because if I did that she would have got the impression that I was interested in her. What an awkward situation it would be if she’d told me that she had a boyfriend, and asked me the reason for asking the question. I know she would be flattered if I asked her that; she might also think that she is too beautiful and think highly of her own appearance. I didn’t want her to be puffed up with vanity of any kind.
Once again I asked the friend of friend, who is now my friend, if the girl in question was engaged or has a boyfriend or something. “And, may I ask,” Said he, “why do you raise such a question?”
“Curiosity,” said I, and he grinned, the grin that makes you think you are a liar, “the devil called curiosity got the better of me.”
“Oh, I see.” said the friend of friend, still grinning, “She must be lucky to be the only object of your curiosity in so big a company as ours.”
Such teasing! I thought. I liked the damned fellow less and less. “A simple question I asked and, my friend, a simple answer I would prefer, that will suffice,” I remarked.
“What a coincidence it is,” said the friend of friend, whom I started liking less and less, “that she bothers me about you, and now you’re asking me questions about her.”
“She bothers you about me?” that was news for me; I was surprised to hear that.
“Yes, yes, bothering, bothering and bothering! I have no intention of playing the mediator between you two.” What an emotional outburst, will he start crying now, I thought, “I’m making it clear, absolutely clear, that you should take care of your own stuff before anything begins from the beginning.”
What a fatherly advice he can give, I thought. “I understand,” I said and tried to console the fellow for I started liking him once again.
Copyright © 2013 RAMU DAS
Dear Lady CR,
Ah! Don’t worry; I’m not writing to complain again (like I did in the past). You know, I’ve much better things to do apart from complaining all the time. Believe you me, ah ha, I’m writing this letter because I want to express my appreciation for all the things you have done for me. Only for me, he-he-he! There is not much time left for us together in the college, and I don’t want to delay writing this further. It is now or never.
How kind you are Milady. No matter what people call you to your face or behind your face. What do they call you, anyway? ‘Fat?’ And do they describe you with some other words like: enormous, massive, large, mammoth, etc? Well, they might be right but I don’t agree with them fully. The thing is they overlook the huge heart you have beneath your exterior. And that is, indeed, a matter of grave concern. But wait, does the word ‘fat’ really apply to you. I mean, you know, fat is bad. We don’t say ‘fat as a tiger’, we say ‘fat as a pig’. Now, pig is an ugly creature. Milady, you are not ugly. I would say you are powerful, well yes, powerful like the elephant.
When someone says you are weighty, I would not say they are wrong. Apparently, yes, you are. However, the word ‘fat’ is really not for you. I have observed – Did I say I’m a good observer? – how deftly you move your fingers. And you do carry your mass gracefully just like Lady Gaga (She has a funny name though. GAGA), and what with the mental quickness, and the agility of your body; you can sing and dance better than most other girls your age, jog some mile every morning.
When you have so many unfat qualities, it is wrong to say you are fat. They are all goddamned fools who call you fat. Believe you me, keh keh keh!
Anyway, I’m so thankful to you! My happiness knows no bound even as I type this letter, and that’s only because of you. I think my first letter – which I wrote a few months back – had a profound effect on you. I’m extremely pleased with your kind words, and the personal service you have provided me. You have also informed me about all the happenings in the college, about the companies coming to the college for placement.
But, my bad luck. I was not keeping well at that time. And when I was a little better I did come to the college to sit for the placement. But there, to my dismay, the Fernandez girl spoiled it all. Neither was she selected nor was I. Kiddies always do such nonsense things. Anyway, I can forgive her, she is a kid after all, and she is a good girl, her papa’s child. Though to the world she might be full of attitude and all that, but she is just fine with me.
Who really disheartened me is the Krishnan girl, that old queen, you know. Oh, what I thought of her! Oh how I liked her! But, dear Lady CR, that old queen is good at beguiling all men’s heart with her smooth talk. But, actually, she is a cold-hearted woman. She cursed me, and lo, I had a boil on my bum, and I suffered from numerous illnesses: cold chest, runny nose, high temperature, jaundice, and whatnot.
You see, dear Lady CR, I have become so skinny; lost more than eight kilos of my flesh, and that’s all because of that old queen. Yet, she is so full of attitude, didn’t even ask me how I was. Peace be upon her. I wouldn’t wish her a boil on her bum, that’s very painful; I can’t see her in pain. But I do wish her boyfriend a big boil on his bum. I don’t know if she has an imaginary boyfriend or a real one. Ha… ha…ha!
Now, you must be wondering why I have not mentioned anything about your counterpart. I have this philosophy: things of lesser importance should be done at the end.
What was the word I used to describe him the last time I wrote an open letter to you, dear Lady CR? You see, I have a really poor memory when it comes to lesser important things. I think it was a slang word or something like that. Anyway, that’s not important; however, the word seemed to have offended your counterpart very much. A few months back he saw me in the college. I smiled he did not smile back. Instead, he gritted his teeth, shuddered his shoulder unnecessarily (just to imply how strong he was, I guessed), curled his fingers in his palm, made them into a fist as if to punch me hard in the face and quench his anger. But no, I was wrong. I learnt later that he does such acts when he has to go to the loo. When I asked why he does that, no one could explain the reason, not even his closest friends. Strange activity!
Another day, I saw him in the corridor. I thought I should approach and talk to him and bury all kind of grudges, if any, he had against me. His strange activity once again baffled me: he started dancing, rocking and rolling just like Prabhu Deva. Perhaps he had seen the movie “Any body can dance” and could not contain himself, I thought. Oh no, that was not the reason. He saw some pretty girls passing by, and, thus, was showing off his dancing skills. The girls seemed really impressed. Now, after knowing how talented he is, I’m his friend, or perhaps he would consider me his big fan.
“Hi,” I greeted him with a smiling face. I admit that was just a pretentious smile. Ni-ha-ha-ha!
“Don’t talk to me,” he grumbled. The past incident was bothering him. I had to make things light.
“It’s ok man. Take it easy. I’m your big fan.” He seemed very pleased with the last remark. He started smiling. However, the past incident once again bothered him and his smile faded away. I decided to flatter him a little more if that was the only solution. “Oh man, you are really talented. You score such good marks in the exams, and, I believe, even Terence Lewis cannot compete with you in dancing.” By this time his smile came back to his face, and I added one more sentence: “How do you do these wonderful things?”
“I don’t share my secrets, do you understand?” He replied, boastfully.
“I see. Dance man dance. You are made for it.” I thought he needed some encouragement.
He looked at me as though I were an alien, and asked, very grimly, “Did you say ‘dance monkey dance?’”
“Oh no, I can never say such a thing to a great person like you.” I answered promptly, lest the great person should be angry.
“But you did write a letter where you used a malicious word for me.” I knew he would come to this.
“Oh my! That was just for fun,” I assured.
“No funny business with me, do you understand?” He bellowed.
“Yes, sir, I get you.” I was being as humble as I could be.
“No. That won’t do,” he said somewhat abruptly and added, “I want a lollipop.”
There we go! He was acting just like that Menon girl and that Fernandez girl whom I consider newborn babies. “Alright, here you are,” I said and threw a lollipop at him. He caught it just like Yuvraj Singh, the great fielder of Indian cricket team.
“Now I want a lozenge!” He demanded.
“There you go,” I gave him a lozenge. His catch was better than the first.
“Now a Pizza,” he said. Pizzas don’t come cheap, so I hesitated a little. His demand started becoming aggressive, “I will tell my father,” he said, “and my father will inform his friend who is in the police, and you would be screwed for writing that letter publicly.”
I had no other choice but to empty my purse and order a pizza for the great person.
Dear Lady CR, I think you must have grown tired by reading this letter of mine. So let me stop here, and this, I promise, is my last letter to you, unless situation demands. Tee! hee! hee!
I remain, ever yours,
Copyright © 2013 RAMU DAS
Interviewer: I’ve heard a lot about you; you know so many people say this and that. But, it would be nice if you tell me something about yourself.
Mr Nobody: Oh yes, I will. I’m the pain who troubles people at every hour. I’m the lover who has never been loved. I’m the humorist who makes people laugh, or at least make them smile. I’m the joy of life. I’m the air people breathe… ha ha ha!
Interviewer: [That wasn’t funny at all]. Alright, that would be enough.
Mr Nobody: Don’t interrupt me, please. I have more to say. I’m the giver who has never received anything in return. I’m the fragrant perfume which people crave to sniff. I’m the jewel abandoned by people. I’m an old man, a phantom… ha ha ha!
Interviewer: [That wasn’t funny either. Why this damn soul doesn’t come to the point?]. Mr Nobody, I think…
Mr Nobody: I’m the satirist who doesn’t wish to be forgiven. I’m the writer whose writing people read yet they never acknowledge reading it. I’m the gentleman fooled by romance. I’m the poet who brings people delight. I’m the funny little mischief-maker whom people want to sue. I’m a tramp… and … alright, let me not say more. The list can go on, but most importantly, to tell you the truth, I’m Mr Nobody! Ha ha ha!
Interviewer: [Damn silly creature, laughs for no reason]. I heard that recently an Organization came to your college to offer job, but sadly you could not get the job, is there any reason?
Mr Nobody: Any reason, you ask? There are many reasons. The corporate recruiters… ha ha ha! They were some buffoons! Ha ha ha… We are pampered and polished for three years in the college, and finally when our skin starts showing some appeal, some glow, you know, that may arouse feelings; the recruiters come and comment on our skin. If you have the skin they like, you are in. If you don’t possess the right skin, you are out. But mostly, it depends on the extent to which you are ready to show our skin, and I mean the good skin.
Interviewer: Oh, so you mean to say you don’t have the right skin?
Mr Nobody: [Damn it!] Did I say I don’t have the right skin?
Interviewer: No. But I thought…
Mr Nobody: You thought… ha! You know, it’s not easy to get a job. For if you really wish to get one, you have to shout and scream your lungs out (when you actually are supposed to discuss things like some good folks do), and stare at some incomprehensible questions on the question paper during the aptitude test and ponder until someone says: “Time’s up!” And within a friction of a second, you tick on the answers, uttering something like: “Inki pinky ponky…” or if you are in India you would say, “Jay mata di”.
To be continued…
Copyright © 2013 RAMU DAS
The bureaucrats can betray us; can do anything with their prowess and by administering their powers wrongfully. Of course there are few exceptions. But what most of them do is only for their own benefit. Seldom can one catch them doing something unethical and illegal. Even if they get caught, they can easily get away with their misdoing, they have all the means as you, dear readers, may know. After all, aren’t the lawmakers the lawbreakers, and vice versa? I mean, they show the way: the wrong way, the selfish way.
But, I cannot help being happy now. This short story will elaborate the reason for my happiness… read it.
You see, I went to the MTNL office to pay my internet bill for the previous month. I asked the women on the billing counter to give me my bill. She was playing chess (or something) in her computer and didn’t pay me attention. Perhaps she thought I wouldn’t mind sitting there till she was done with her game. But I did mind, and I made my displeasure known. She left the game, and after muttering something under her breath and glancing at me disapprovingly, started looking for my bill in the computer.
“What’s you number?” she asked, meaning she wanted my telephone number by which she could get my information and printout my bill. I didn’t remember what my number was. However, I saved it in my cell phone, and so I took my cell phone out from my pocket and gave her the number. The woman was slightly deaf, for I had to repeat the same numbers thrice and I had to speak with all my strength.
She typed the numbers on the keyboard, and looked at the screen. I guess she was not only slightly deaf, but also slightly blind. Although the screen of the computer was really very big (twenty inches, I suppose), but she had to move her head as close to the monitor as it was possible. It seemed, as though, she would get inside it.
“You are,” She said looking gravely at me, “Ramu Das?”
“Right,” I confirmed. Then she said that there were no bills pending. I thought she was joking. As far as I could remember, I didn’t pay the bill, and nobody would pay the bill on my behalf. I’m always on my own.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Hundred and ten percent, take my word for it!” she answered impatiently.
“Good heavens! How is that possible? Please check the database one more time,” I suggested. But by that time the women was already busy with her game. She raised her brow and gave me weird look, I was petrified. Why? Why isn’t she behaving in the right manner? Perhaps she has not known about the new philosophy that ‘customers are the kings and queens’. Doesn’t she care about her business? I thought.
“Ma’am, you need to be a little more diligent in your duty,” I blurted out. When she heard what I said she smiled by opening her mouth as far as it stretched. I saw she was absolutely toothless – a sign of old age. She, then, suggested that I should go to the left corner counter and speak with the gentleman reclining on his chair. “Out there,” she pointed out, “he might be able to help you.”
What, I didn’t need any help. In fact, I was the one trying to help them out, because as it seemed they made a mistake in their entries, and therefore, could not generate my bill. I felt it was my moral duty to speak the truth, so I did. I spoke with the gentleman. He said the same thing as the women.
I was happy, I considered myself lucky, moreover, I was in great need of money at the time, I had to take care of those needs, and the MTNL people proved to be a saving grace. Oh, it happens very rarely. I didn’t try to fool them by any means. But what should I say about their stupidity?
I think these MTNL people should get some vigorous training from the high level bureaucrats and politicians, especially from the officials of UPA (Under-Privileged Alcoholics’) government. Of course, in the mean time, they will also learn some Italian cuisine. And y-y- yes… some Italian political tactics as well. Ha! That goes without saying.
Copyright © 2012 RAMU DAS
NB: This letter is supposedly written in a drunken state of mind
O personality of sinful actions!
I’m sorry that I need to write this letter to you, but I really need to do it. As I write to you I’m drinking to my heart’s content in a bar; with my left hand I’m holding a bottle of wine, –my only company at the moment– and with my right hand I’m scribbling and doodling on a piece of paper all the high thoughts which are clouded with sadness over my mind. Believe me; believe everything I write, people here complain that I’m excessively drunk, and that, time has come for me to leave the bar… you see, it’s just 3 o’clock in the morning, and they want me to leave, morons! They are not people, as I see them, they are potatoes… no! They are lizards, no, no they are dragons. Ha ha ha! I’m drunk! I’m drunk! Drunk, drunk… drunnnkkk! achoo! Am I drunk?
I ordered the waitress to pour me the 100th glass of wine a while ago, now she comes, she looks dashing in her attire, three quarter’s full is her face, she is not a potato, she is an angel, and her ruby-red lips tempts me to have a word or two with her. She gives me a wink and is pouring down the wine hesitantly. But why is she hesitating to serve her customer? Perhaps she doesn’t want me to get over drunk; [doesn’t she know I’m over drunk already?] Why is she being caring, does she like me? I know, she’d like me now but at last she’d turn as knavish as you were. So let me better concentrate on the letter –the words are flying though, or so I see– and not get trapped this time, for I’m already too weak in the heart. Let me pour my blue blue heart out by writing when the lovely waitress pours down the red red wine on my glass. Truth comes out from the heart when a person is drunk, also speaks of love and hate, but truth and only truth a person speaks when chemically imbalanced he is made.
Hold on, let me take a sip, and my mind’s chain let me unzip.
Ah, yuck! It’s as bitter as you were! Your bitter love and thoughts are running through my heart and spine and brain and… aha… ah… achoo!
What I intend now to say is… is… is… I loved you truly; I liked your smile, your laugh, and your beautiful black glistening eyes, I liked the curl of your hair, I liked the touch of your soft skin, I liked your sexy voice, and I liked your smell, too… I liked everything about you … But you broke my heart, You… You… You… broke my heart! You broke the heart of the greatest literary figure of 21st century, you shall never be forgiven for that, mind you!
Now, a potato comes to me and puts in his hands on the pocket of my Levis jeans, takes out my purse and a wad of thousand rupee notes from it, I say nothing, instead, I give him the rest of the money –coins– I’ve on the other pockets of my pant and shirt.
Am I drunk?
I feel like vomiting and the world seems upside down, I try to move but every time I try, I fall down, and I’m falling down now. A gorgeous young woman is helping me to stand straight by slipping her arms around my hips; I keep staring at her and finally say: ‘chick, I like your boobs, they bounce well.’ As I said that, instead of getting a ‘thank you’ from her, I hear an echoing sound as though someone has slapped someone hard on the face, but who has slapped whom? Now a lizard approaches me, a speaking lizard it is, and utters something like: ‘Don’t beat this man, he is drunk.’ As he speaks he points his finger at me, ah, he’s referring to me, and the wicked woman just slapped me! She is a bitch! But I couldn’t feel any pain; perhaps the wine has made me stronger. Now, I want to see if any damage has occurred to my precious face by the slap of that disgusting woman. Looking at mirror I see: one me, two me, three me, four me, five me, oh! What the fuss is all about? What is happening? I am drunk, drunk, drunk, I am… brmmmmmmppp!
Tell you what. [What?] Since the time you left me, I’ve realized that I’m a good-looking man with whom many girls want to spend time. You see, love is really blind for it blinded me and I could see no one but you and only you. But, now my eyes are wide open, and I’ve awakened from the deep slumber of your bitter love. And what is this I see? I see everything as I wished they were. Believe me, even Angelina Jolie is saying she’s tired of Brad Pitt, and she’s more than willing to let her children call me their dad. She says she’d help sign me a deal with Warner Bros! That means I’ll be the next Superman of Hollywood.
But, to hell with that life! I don’t want to be with Angelina Jolie or any other girls. I’m a man of integrity, you know. I cannot act like the bollywood’s hitman Emraan Hashmi who asks for sugar from every less seductive girl, and tries to dip his beak in every other girl.
How are you? How is your new love? Caught a big fish this time, eh? Hope you’ve told him that you would love him till the end of your life just like you told me once. This perhaps you’ve said to gazillion of other guys foolish enough to have fallen for you. Tell me; tell me, what magic spell did you whisper this time? Hope your new love is from a wealthy family, unlike me. I’m sure he can take you to expensive theatre and buy popcorn for you every now and then; he can give you treats at McDonalds on a daily basis, buy ice-cream for you as and when you demand. Wish I was in a position to take care of all your whims and fancies. I apologize.
Did you give him all those nicknames by which you used to call me: My baby, my bacha, my janu, my shonu, my darling, my golu, etcetera, and etcetera?
Do warn your new love not to glance at any other girls passing by; let him behave as saintly as possible. He should receive the same treatment as I did. Now, I have known being possessive is your birthright and known that ‘possessiveness’ is a word solely reserved for you; don’t worry, I’ll never interfere in your matters as you’re not mine anymore, but for sure you can interfere with my life as much as you want, for I’m still slightly yours. I’ve learnt to let anger live and die within me without letting it outburst (thanks to the anger management book I’ve read recently), I can now swallow my anger for I’ve known the outcome of a decision one makes while one is angry is always devastating. However, don’t think that I want you back. No, no, I don’t.
A person can get used to anything. As they say, time heals everything. Only in the beginning it seems painful, but when a person starts drinking (just like me) it is not going to be painful for the rest of a person’s life. Wine keeps me rocking all of the time nowadays. I know, your memory won’t be erased entirely in such a short period of time, but the more I drink the more it helps. With more massive hangovers I’ll be able to abandon your thoughts from my mind
Hey Honey, how are you? How is your new love? Do you think I’m drunaaaaak?
So how are you ……? Who am I…?
BRETHREN, FRIENDS, COUNTRYMEN, AND FELLOW SUBJECTS NEVER EVER LOVE A BITCH!
Yours but not yours,
The King of the world
Copyright © 2012 RAMU DAS
Hello, So how are you today?
Well, I think your faintly stout body is finally glowing like never before, and I believe you can carry your surplus flesh as sensuously as some girls of your age can. Hope everything is up to the mark and going as per your plan and you are enjoying life to maximum extent possible!
Now, you may be fit and fine and enjoying life to the fullest, but I’m not by any means feeling good at all. The reason is you! Let me tell you how, but before that, tell me something: did I cause you any harm? Or did I belittle you somewhere, sometime? Anytime? Did I say something which you found to be utterly rude or indigestible? I’m not sure if I did any of these ever because you have never given me a clue to know. However, if I did, I did it inadvertently; to hurt you in any way is never my design.
Please tell me, why you do show so much partiality: you send text messages to some students informing them about the lectures and the timing of the college which keeps changing every now and then as if our college is on a rollercoaster; you tell all the other students about the sudden cancellation of some lectures, about the functions and about all other activities that take place in our college. But why don’t you ever inform me about any of these things? Why am I deprived of my rights of knowing something which is really important? Just like others I expect you to inform me about any changes that take place regarding our class, our college. Well, you do take care of others’ interest pretty well, you want to have a good place in their heart, but you never inform me, you never want to have good place in my heart. What do you think, others’ have a golden heart and I possess a charcoal black heart or something?
Do you know how much trouble I’ve to face because of the lack of information? Every day I have to catch an auto from the place where I live, then I get on board of a train from the railway station which is near my locality, and then, I reach the railway station nearest to our college and get down from the train and again from there I have to catch another auto to reach the college. You can well imagine how much time, money, and energy I spend every day. I feel completely exhausted. You have been chosen as the CR of the class, which means you have been given some rights, and as you may be aware that every right has a proportional duty, so please, I beg you to take care of your duty as much as you enjoy your rights!
Now, you may ask me, why don’t I raise the aforementioned questions to your counterpart (the man CR of the class) who is equally responsible as you are. Well, let me tell you, I don’t expect much from an asshole, so that’s the reason I don’t ask him.
Inform me if you will, if you think I deserve to know about the activities that takes place in our college. As much as you consider the college to be yours, so do I, and so does all the other students of our college. Don’t shy away from your duty but do send your valuable text messages, for doing that you’ll have my gratitude.
If I’ve said something wrong that you find offensive, please do forgive me. Forgiving someone is indeed a kind act, and you being so kind, don’t hesitate to forgive me, please!
Copyright © 2012 RAMU DAS
Shit, I can’t be here any longer. Oh, the foul-smelling things!
They moved forward by leaps and bounds and straight from the gutter entered my modest abode, which is near the pond; it was in fact a paradise for them. Just like the CIA, they collected and coördinated intelligence and counterintelligence activities. When I was sitting on my chair, staring at the computer screen wearing my boxer shorts and a banian, I noticed a member of the mosquito clan trying her best to rest her gruesome body on my athletically built body, she made much a fuss and moved and danced around my head producing strange sounds which I never heard before, something like: frmmmmmm…. Frmmmmm.
I tried to move away to a different direction of my room without harming her, but wherever I went, she accompanied me just like a parasite and sung many a jungly songs again and again. With the keenest interest, she inspected my body, actually, the tastiest part of my body, and when she found out which that part was, with a lot of eagerness she revealed her evil intention of sucking my red thick blood, and slowly she started thrusting her wicked sharp-edged knife on my body and after awhile, the nasty thing was inside me, it felt like the doctor’s injection. Ah, what a pain it caused!
When one had accomplished the evil task, the others took their course of action, it was a never-ending phenomenon, and one by one they satisfied their appetite, and there I was rubbing the portion where they attacked me to lessen the pain, just in vain though.
Meanwhile a murderous rage got the better of me and I wanted to see them dying, I wanted to rip apart their fluttering wings and if their dead body could have been of any use to the ants, I wanted to offer the mosquitoes’ body to the ants absolutely free of cost, if it was of no use even to the ants, then I wanted to burn the mozzies on the fire and fulfill my desire of taking the revenge, but I was fed up of tiring my hands by clapping them together, and never finding anything in between when I unfolded my hands.
All my attempts proved a big flop; I changed my strategy and implemented some easy way to kill them, I bought a mosquito coil by paying Rs 20 from the market, I Lighted it during the night and dozed off hoping to see their end by morning, but alas! The smoldering coil had no effect on the bloody mosquitoes, and with their vicious demeanor, they woke me up while I was asleep in the middle of the night, they started torturing me once again with their knife, I found some of the mosquitoes completely relaxed and sitting on the coil instead of moving away from it. Right then, I vowed never to buy a Chinese product in my life!
I was going wild and I was furious at my condition, their bulging belly made them unable to fly and every time they tried to fly, they fell down as their wings didn’t have the capacity to pull their overweight body which otherwise is very thin and lean. I could have killed them one by one, but no, I felt quite helpless, I was feeling very weak to do anything apart from sleeping once again.
That’s how I came to this hospital, the smell of all the medicines is unbearable; my father admitted me here as I was suffering from fever and headache, and learnt from the doctors that I’m suffering from malaria, while some of the patients beside are suffering from AIDS, Tuberculosis, pneumonia, cancer, and the names can go on.
Copyright © 2012 RAMU DAS