CHIDAMBARAM : Of homely affairs & a spooky spectrum

T'was another scam burnt morning.Cows roared,elephants mewed and polar bears hip gyrated to the womanized anthem 'she - la ki jawani' . In the midst of such common occurrences, Uncommon Singh of the  prime ministerial sin-isterial   couch-  the ephemeral custodian of all  things petty in the house of commons, stuttered down the indecisive path of puppet polity. The corner of his hyper myopic - telescope enhanced vision saw white.....white at half mast on a lifeless flagpole. A million sparks of wonder played merry hell into his brilliance choked head.... 

'' A white flag at half mast..fluttering over the office of my home minister ??? '' he pondered.  

'' A white flag suggests surrender, who in the name of authentic Italian pizza is the home minister surrendering to ??? The Naxals ? Tax payers ? Rakhee Sawant ?... who ??'' his excited lungs bellowed.

     

This desperate shriek of panic laced curiosity was heard by the Rust-gula masticating Prey-nab Mukherjee, who lost no time in launching himself into the thick of uncalled chivalry. '' That,what you see is not a flag, but a freshly starched dhoti from the home ministerial wardrobe, soaking both wind and sun for crisp innocence'' he begged to clarify.   
      
'' Oh... is that all, but... why half mast ?'' remarked the unsure leader of the dissipating pack,questioning the breach of pompous protocol.

''Unfortunately, the honourable minister is in mourning and the ministry has taken a unilateral call to publicly reflect this official emotion symbolically - by letting the chieftains garment flutter at half mast ''remarked the prey shepherding fox.

The prime sinister nose dived further into querying ''what in the blazes is he wearing now, if his wrap around adorns the skies, scaring the airborne fauna '' 
 

''Ha..that is a good question,in fact a brilliant question...next question please'' pleaded the unroyal Bengal preying mantle, skirting environmental concerns in gay abandon. 

''For the sake of national interest, I demand to know, what conceals those vulnerable  Chettinad leg pieces now ? 

'' I did fly New York first class on an auctioned emergency ticket to bring to your esteemed notice, how unruly the unwaxed Chettinad legs looked.....it is bad publicity for the celebrated palm that washes the less illustrious hind.''

''What hides those tarnished legs now ??'' demanded a visibly angry Uncommon Singh.

"Well.... he is using a new brand of auctioned undergarments that covers the invisible spectrum, thankfully, its not the next best thing to being naked. Have you tried it.... its called 3 & 2.. G string ??", inquired an overtly curious Mr Mukherjee.

''No'' he snarled,adjusting the folds of his Milan shipped second skin that he had sworn undivided loyalty to.

The arrival of the guilt devoid Mr. Chidambaram, arrested any further verbal ponder into each others innards. His 2 & 3 G stringed corset was generously revealed by a replacement wrap around, folded way above his hairy scary thighs and tucked above the pouting bellybutton of his part bulbous belly. 

'' Gentlemen, welcome to my parlor '', he announced in seldom cherished grandeur. Sensing the doubting duo sizing up his provocative appearance, he sought to clarify..'' Ah this garb, is the latest in political haute couture.The G strings bestow the 'communicative' look. What say, we could issue a party whip on a common dress code ? ''

''I am sure you meant the undress code'' uttered the seldom uttering U Singh. '' I hear you, you mean well..'' he continued, ''you have my full confidence'' he concluded, affixing the official raison d'etre. 

Mr Prey-nub, stopped cold in his conniving track and prevented further unfolding of his  prime sinister design,hyperventilated and let out a high resounding vowel bowel shooting screech ''..aaa--eee--iiii---ooo---uuuu''. Country men, it is this in-digestive howl you mistake as a battle cry within the con-(in)gress. Now,with reality at the back of our soft heads, the curtains rise,the show has just begun. Hope you enjoy these cheap theatrics sold high, as much as the lead party has enjoyed putting it together for us, the revered domiciles.

AMITABH BACHCHAN & THE BIG BANG KIDNEY THEORY

    The unnerving Delhi's thriving  Belly, err....kidney was stirred (not shaken) by the bellowing voice that uttered    

"Rishte mein hum tumhare..cartoon lagte hai..(BURP !!)" 

The unpublicised arrival of the lead Bachchan stock did not go unnoticed.The capitals oozing renal hopes were raised...!!

The Big man stood to clarify, that he was here to implore the kidneys. Other organs shuddered their palpating tissue formations, to step aside and give way to the now brimming bean shaped functionaries.With the next declaration,all misplaced renal optimism was quelled, he said....''only the ailing one''. 

A Jai ho crooning 'devil in prada' (pun intentional), was quick to tweak the bass tone to read ''only.... the feigning one !!!'',  shunting out the genuinely ailing and bringing to fore,a fleeing jailbird by the name, Amar Singh.Thus, it was decided, for all sundry and sultry to know, the aging luminary will meet the feigning diversionary.

At the designated moment, both were seated together, draped in designer 'flaunt'iere. They were indeed dressed to kill, the former in underwear and cloak, choking our nubile senses and the latter,like a surgery ready - resting nanny goat, petting our faltering conscience. Whatever.... they shook hands.

'' Why be concerned about my humble kidneys'' quizzed the bedridden Amar, thanking his luck that it was not piles or testicular malfunction that was feigned and subject to celeb scrutiny. 

The Big B, looked through the guilt steeped quip. His eyes yondering for a diversion, set itself on the cover picture of a Bib-asa Basoo. ''Care for a date'', he inquired with Amar, pulling out a box of the health promoting Arabian palm fruit (Phoenix dactylifera)

 
The heteronym hit a libido choked optimistic nerve, Amar Singh's prison fearing eyes lit up like a penile bonfire.The Kidney malfunction was passe, new genital concerns emerged. "y-yes, s-sure ! ..w-why not ? any time? anywhere......anyhow ?" he sounded assuring. 

The BB pushed forward his offering of the fruit,affirming allegiance to nothing more than a mere gastronomic experience.   Amar Singh reconciled to the middle eastern reality, and returned to his patient like mannerisms.

The next question, took the bed ridden politican quite by 'slur-price', ''Did you pay more for the votes or...the kidneys ? " 

The economics of corruption has never been a concern with the vote seeking community. ''Oh...Amitji '' he exclaimed, "my kidneys hurt'' he cried, scratching his cunning receding hair line. ''Actually, inflation has taken its uncharitable toll, urea prices are shooting up, so kidney beans are no less expensive... you know the holy connection between the two...'' 

The actor now pondered,who was better at 'the act' and was readying himself to clarify, when the patient lifted his comfort seasoned frame and remarked...." you have been a friend in all deeds, so why connect my frail kidneys to the unknown votes ? instead, it will serve coming generations of your silver spoons in the mouth grandchildren, should you connect frail votes to unknown kidneys ? '' with those words, the ever green master of the grey craft walked back to his reconciling pillow (designer wear of course,of the patriotic prada variety) 

The often baffled actor, was now drowning in an ocean of unreasoning, when a juvenile well wisher of the kidney trodden, pushed him aside and remarked rather rudely 

''move old man, our time now ''

ARUNDHATI ROY : A pail full of 'I's

     In misery lies pronounced opportunity. In opportunity, is conceived the circus of jingoistic social activism. In the cocktail garnish of the Indian social fiber,blooms the page three diaspora.Their wisdom,more often than not, constrained and challenged by the spirits that elevate them from disturbing realities that plagues society.A thrifty, self indulging general of this tribe is Arundathi Roy, who carts in her caravan, causes of 'dam'aged hues. 
                      

                                

    'A-RUN-DOTTY'  ROY  

( A quick sketch)

 The Roy express,is an opinion heavy,substance lacking gravy train that chugs on a populist rail track.With scant regard for the virtue of our geographical preserves or the lives shed to shield them, Ms 'know all',shrouded by nothing more than eloquence and prose,pronounces her new role as the self catapulting spokeswoman to causes bereft of sustainance. Her justification lies in weak fault lines,claiming to echo '...what millions of people in Kashmir have been saying everyday for years.' Her sense of arithmetic count seems to fathom fantasy filled fallacies .Which side of the border did she count the millions, I often ponder ? When caught on slippery ground with acid laced anti national sentiment, she plays the sympathy card squealing,“Pity the nation that needs to jail those who ask for justice while communal killers, mass murderers, corporate scamsters, looters, rapists, and those who prey on the poorest of the poor, roam free.” An umbrella of crippled excuses

    Chug on,Ms Roy,whats next on your a-la-carte...sainthood for terrorists? Perhaps not....you will demand your share of the halo. After all,  in the new socio economic order, everything has a price,including a free ride on your benevolence filled gravy train.

The writing is a reproduction from my first blog in a state of self professed comatose  http://mindpad-scribble.blogspot.com/2010/12/run-dotty-roy.html

GUJ 'RAT' : Muse from the underground

The unfolding circus about an undecided government and its possible PM (Prey Mate) did tickle my imagination to put forth GUJ 'RAT' : Muse from the underground.

While the egg headed octogenarian and the efficiency spewing 'Moody' , wring the tug, it comes in as a new twist to see if the diet laced Sadbhawana scores over the wind breaking  Wrath Yatra. As they say, the worlds largest 'Demo-crazy' fluttering its hue smouldering plume

BUSH - FIRE : The Past and the Spurious !!

      A Bush fire is at best, understood as a double entendre: one, an ember laden fury levied by nature and the other.... a buffooned wonder, well pickled in war generated oil . 

Baffled beyond despair ? Read on....

    While for time immemorial, students of the text are familiar with the Australian variety, an ire of nature, the all American Bush'f'ire, is a logic constipating phenomenon that has ignoble beginnings in,around and beyond the state of Texas.

Aptly titled, the 'F' word lays well pivoted between the buffoonery ridden name on one side and the befitting personality on the other.

    For the infectious past and the spurious concern, the caricatured goat eared wonder and his wisdom devoid utterances...... 

"They misunderestimated me."(Bentonville, Ark., 06 Nov 2000)

"I know how hard it is for you to put food on your family." (Greater Nashua, N.H., Chamber of Commerce, 27 Jan 2000)

"I am here to make an announcement that this Thursday, ticket counters and airplanes will fly out of Ronald Reagan Airport." (Washington, D.C., 03 Oct 2001)

"We spent a lot of time talking about Africa, as we should. Africa is a nation that suffers from incredible disease." (Gothenburg, Sweden, 14 June 2001)

''Families is where our nation finds hope, where wings take dream.'' (LaCrosse, Wis., 18 Oct. 2000)

"Tribal sovereignty means that; it's sovereign. I mean, you're a........you've been given sovereignty, and you're viewed as a sovereign entity. And therefore the relationship between the federal government and tribes is one between sovereign entities." (Washington, D.C., 06 Aug 2004)

"Yesterday, you made note of my ..... the lack of my talent when it came to dancing. But nevertheless, I want you to know I danced with joy. And no question Liberia has gone through very difficult times." (speaking with the President of Liberia, Washington, D.C., 22 Oct 2008)

"I didn't grow up in the ocean..........as a matter of fact..... near the ocean.....I grew up in the desert. Therefore, it was a pleasant contrast to see the ocean. And I particularly like it when I'm fishing."(Washington D.C., 26 Sept. 2008)

"I'm coming as the president of a friend, and I'm coming as a sportsman."(on his trip to the Olympics in Bejing, Washington, D.C., 30 July , 2008) 

"And they have no disregard for human life." (on the brutality of Afghan fighters. Washington, D.C., 15 July , 2008)

"And so, General, I want to thank you for your service. And I appreciate the fact that you really snatched defeat out of the jaws of those who are trying to defeat us in Iraq."(to Army Gen. Ray Odierno, Washington, D.C., 03 March, 2008)

 

MUAMMAR GADDAFI : The 'Rice' before the fall !!

    A week ago, while unpleasantly blog strolling, I stumbled on an exhilarated  piece written by Purba on her render, A-Musing. The post ceremoniously ruffled Arab -American unholy ties. The fleeing fidel and the retirement bound infidel stood connected in a manner propounded by the now celibate cupid.

      

    What provoked my doodle filled mind to put ink to paper and create the Bedouin whose never to fail eyes sparkled on the generous serving of Rice, was the reporting in the Global Post of the discovery of his fantasy treasure chest.The 69 year old has power filled taste.

 His last plot was traced to the lunar hills, where clad in nothing more than a loyalty pledging  star and stripe  diaper, he croons kinship laced ballads for the indomitable  '(s)leeza' .The transnational chorus is provided by an interesting array of Amazonian man looking women bouncers, voluptuous Scandinavian nurses and the British Special Forces (?????). With all this and more, Gaddafi has vowed to fight to the finish, but for the woman,he is certainly not (p)leading from the front.

 

     As the intention is to write less and make way for caricatures, here goes :  MUAMMAR GADDAFI : The 'Rice' before the fall !!!

DEVE GOWDA : The slumbering bat in a clamourous belfry

       In overt friendly circles, the citizenry refer to it as a 'Governmental Siesta', in the not so friendly ones, two hibernation promoting Prime Ministers, are accused of sleeping through governance. One, with his eyes wide open and the other,with his eyes wide shut.

        While the former wakes up to a sweet Italian rattling , the latter will drive Italy and a string of other snore resistant nations clamoring for Eustachian mercy. However, members of the opposition party during their respective regimes argue, 'Thank the residuum seeking God of Slumber,else the nation would be in incorrigible peril'.

       H D Deve Gowda saw his nap cherishing constitution, catapulted to the apex political (dis)appointment, thanks to a twist of baffling circumstances. When holding this high office of public slumber, he justified every moment of the inverted cling. Even, an inharmonious clamour from a boistrous belfry could not alter the course of an inevitable snore. 

    

             Though his vibrant twenties, spin a different tale,today, the scheming craftsman of the political art, rests in an uneasy quietus. After all,the 'son of the soil' should kick up grime to keep it unassumingly fertile.