KEJRIWAL & the changing game of water polo

Orchestrated by the Congress,the Delhi chief ministerial chair,for many monotonous corruption seasoned years, has been thrumming the dismal antiquated (aunty-quit-ed) chant, 'Sheila....Sheila ki jawani '. This time however,the pension bound tune never struck the right chord. The cacophony was so unpopular, that the electoral belly of Delhi was pleading for tympanic mercy. The conscious mortals of the mutilated capital pleaded for change of tune and composer. The assembly elections of 2013,ushered in prospective winds of change. The new gust pushed in a much needed cleaning apparatus to sweep,scrub and swab in crevices and cavities where it was onerous to dislodge hardened filth preserved by years of miss-governance. 

So, it all boils down to how the common man  or woman benefits ? Take Sheila auntie for instance.Now a part of the ordinary capital flock living off a paltry party pension. She sits ministering how to optimally put to use the 20,000 litres of free water provided by the novice AAP government .There of course are these odd moments when   she hoped against all hope that the people of Delhi will charitably remember her governments water generosity during the rains, when the downpour left the aam aadmi wading in waist deep puddles of efficiency. It allowed them the unique luxury of a hedonistic bath in preserved street salt and grime...many times over. Surely, that benevolence surpassed Arvind Kejriwal's post poll aqua generosity, which in comparison was a pittance. 'So what is all this ado about nothing ?', she bellows adjusting her telescopic eye wear.

Surely,the electorate turned out to be insensitive, blind to her humility and munificence.She had facilitated more free water to a person than what any other chief minister could think of bathing an obese elephant herd in. The spirit of gratitude was dead, she concluded.

Resigning to fate,the bewildered Sheila auntie,already in a state of post electoral disarray,turns to music for therapy. Chirping like a nightingale with a sore throat,her personal top of the chart track is the 1970's hit Smoke on the water. 

While the septuagenarian head bangs, Delhi'ites meanwhile, are taken in by their new found sporting fascinaton - water polo. The AAP government on its part,has even decided to declare water polo as the official state sport (with floating subsidies ofcourse). All this, in the thick of a freezing North Indian winter.

JAYALALITHA : Mummy's Ire

There is this lady from Madras

whose head was covered in grass

When napping in the rice field

she stumbled on a prized shield

which she now claims is a farce

A farce it is not, announced a foe

he moved earth with his soiled toe

Down and under, the mummy swore

through heart and liver she charged and tore

letting it know, she was ready to mow

A change in time, moved the tide

terror, stuck the nation wide

while the country stood to thwart it hard

mummy chose to play a different card

She huffed and puffed

And had the rest muffed

down on their knees

and the effort in piece

she walked out stuffed

'BOO-FOR'S & soldiers of fortune'

In military thinking, the might of a gun depends on the quantum and ferocity of firepower it can bring to bear on opposing forces. However, when the 'know all' bureaucracy and 'wealth sucking' politicians enter the domain of military shopping ,for an ant hill,you pay the price of a gold mine.

Going by history, we have a time tested yardstick for choosing our arsenal . Long ago, a very talented gunsmith from a far away land ,caught the drift of a trade wind in the ocean and set sail to sell combat wares to our all and mighty. On embarking on our shores, to his dismay, he found fellow gun smiths from banana republics far and wide, selling sanitary pipes capable of launching a single pseudo pregnant bull frog across the neighbours maternity chamber as mainstay artillery. 

Aghast at the buyers propensity, he chose to allow his wares to stand out in merit. BOOM went the gun. The military stood impressed, the competition stood perplexed, the conniving cocktail of bureaucracy and polity found grass growing under their well greased feet. The gunsmith felt, he had clinched the deal on the worth of his barell.

A small framed bureaucrat, well traveled at the expense of competition,  stood up, brought together his hands in applause and remarked ''brilliant.....very promising, but we are a peace loving nation, arsenal of this magnitude will commence the end of the world from our own daisy and orchid bearing back yard, what we seek is a muzzle that can launch stool pigeons from one end of a ping pong table to the other. So...very good, but unfortunately does not serve our purpose ''  With this announcement, it was now the turn of the military to be perplexed,competition to be impressed and the bureaucracy-polity duo to mow unwanted grass from beneath their well anchored feet.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is also part of the dismal  tale of how we as a state indulge in the worthy art of state sponsored shopping.

 

FAROOQ ABDULLAH's piggy bank woes

Recently, a socially mannered and well meaning piggy bank, the largest in its stock, lost its way from its rather humble sty in the Jammu & Kashmir Cricket Association run piggery and wandered into the ministerial abodes of the associations chairman. Predictably, like most of his stock, his innards were emptied of every last dime and the vacuum bellied pig, unceremoniously shown the door.

Tired,hungry and exhausted, the mass of swine and twine commenced retracing his naive and misled steps back to his feeding ground when en route, he was ambushed by the fourth estate.A hasty interview,familiar in tone but tangent in content followed...

Piggy Bank, Piggy Bank, where have you been ?

I've been to the chairman, to be wiped out clean.

Piggy Bank, Piggy Bank, what did you do there ?

I straightened the other pigs who went against the chair.

With the interview done and the valley abuzz with the news of a scandal, the hollow willows of the valley commenced a new game, the blame game.

The centre stage actor, in his signature style, appears, floods his eyes with a  liberal flow of crocodile tears and utters the award winning cliche , that every politician learns when he enters the arena  ...'' this is a political conspiracy ''  

Well....take your pick...CONSPIRACY or CON-S-PIRACY ?

ME THE MALAYALI

DICTION,FASHION & PROPORTION

A. DICTION.

It is the innate ability of my Malayali ancestry, to rival the English language like an Englishman that compels the Ghost of Wordsworth to change colour from pale white to buffalo green. While the poor Brit spewed through his stiff upper lip, constipating generations of Union Jack oratories,  the Malayali chettan let loose from his stiffer lower lip, flooding phonetic lavatories. Thus, 'temple' to the sundry was heard  as 'temble','simply' as 'simbly', the feline 'cat' stretched its existence to 'caat' , the killer instinct in a 'donkey' was replaced by the sublime g-string sporting 'dongey' and certainly not the least,the runaway fraternal slang 'pop' has been elevated in diction, to the papal distinction of 'pope'. Thus,heard commonly in flavoured Kerala pop musical circles   'Madonna is singing and dancing to sexy pope music...papa don'd breach'. The Papacy, as we read is still reeling under Madonna and Malayalis in equal measure.

B. FASHION

Half my country cousins are. accused of being trade unionists. The other half is believed to run the Indian  porn industry. This explosive amalgamation of Karl Marx and Vatsayana is epitomized by the  lungi. Worn perpetually at half mast, the garment is hoisted or lowered  with ergonomic ease before a labour strike or after hastened copulation,whichever his day begins with. Either way, the lungi is the atomic Keralite's cultural flag that sways on a steady diet of testosterone. In native dressing ethics, an act of omission will displace 'Gods own nut'

C. PROPORTION

When mentioning nuts,  the Malayali  and the omnipresent coconut is a gleaming symbol of man-tree love.In the many positions revealed in the 'cocosutra' , the fruit and its bearer, a sky kissing palm tree, haunts the average Malayali from birth to death. The man vehemently displays the utility of the omnipresent coconut using liberal geometric progression. If cooking is undertaken with the produce of one tree a day,Hair will be greased with the produce of two trees a day.If both the above are true, toddy will be consumed with the produce of nine trees a day.If not true, please pull up your nuts and quantify 'true bloodiness' as equal to jero. 

In the grip of a Bengal Tigress : MUM's the word

A trigger happy lose canon is crawling,walking,running, trotting and galloping the sickle'd length and reddened breadth of volatile Bengal.The gun of enduring damage is towed from weak pillar to weaker posts by a toothless tigress of unpredictable demeanor. The ire of the weapon was aimed at anything, with a remotely opposing flavour. Gun and gun woman were wrecking mayhem in Rosgulla land.

While on their state wide onslaught, the tigress and her bone gnawing convoy were soon running out of firepower. 

The disconcerted rumble in the rank and file of the feline assault was momentarily anchored.A growing measure of anger was enveloping the lady in stripes. 

As the mercurial twists of temperament was on the rise, a naive brethren of the khaki community marched in.After the customary mechanical salute and cliched sway of the baton,in measured politeness, he questioned the ignoble intentions of the havoc trail.

The quick silvered character of the growling 'didi' pack was aghast. The goddess of fastidious esteem stepped forward bearing a toothless growl. In a sway she gripped the lawman by her claws and uttered ''In here....my way, no other way !!''  

With a change of guard in the state, the state of affairs is described as '....from the frying pan,into the fire'     

JAYANTHI NOT-RAJAN :one crashed over the Cuckoos Nest

  The field of jeopardous aviation has offered unfettered challenges to the deviously crafty and predictably ambitious.For baskets full of examples, just scoop in a stingy serving of the political breed and behold, you will have baskets full of tales. One such misery laden tale is that of our motor mouth spokesperson of the ruling tribe, Jayanti auntie.

  Long long ago, two days back, the lady of the anti Lotus pack broke the pristine chill of the winter evening by marching in, huffing and puffing,to the local broomstick vendors store.The shop keeper gasped for life giving air, his tongue still tied in disbelief at the entry of the 'spitfire celebrity'( Read Spit + Fire ejected in equal measure). The lady was a founding alumnus of the theatrical Hogwart of the East '10 Janpath'.    

'Present me the best of your stock' she growled,the acoustic field shattering window panes and ear drums in the same breath.The vendor quickly turned and disappeared, returning with a pile of handcrafted brooms under which he seemed well buried and hidden.Personally, he preferred more of the latter than the former.

'Madam may like if I explain....', he trembled behind the fear flavored sentence. In contrast,she nodded in virtuous dictatorial acceptance and demanded  'I would want to know what broom stocks, contemporaries and colleagues are flying on ??' 

'That would be my pleasure madam' the vendor exclaimed,familiar with the rodent race emulation in their circles.Only recently, he was witness to a very high level debate on a topic of national interest 'My used toilet paper is cleaner than yours..HOW ??. Breaking into an uncertain smile, unsure of what sweeping fate awaits the sale of a flying broomstick he set his pitch. 

  'This is ZERO, the hush and no feed variety, actually a rage these days with both, our silence loving PM and a fasting CM endorsing its efficacy.'  He then gambled his chance of placing his attention seeking footprint into the inner circles grapevine '...if you pardon my audacity, a secret perhaps known to you. For our beloved PM, we delivered a custom made remote controlled model to ensure he treads silently.. on course.Your masters are happy customers '  

  
  The customer hissed at the mention of the well nourished public secret,'show me something else',she bellowed,not wanting the slightest smear of controversy to upset her dynasty serving apple cart.

'Sure my lady' remarked the anxiety soaked vendor and pulled out a flat stock with subtle bristles.'This one will definitely be of interest  to you, it boasts of V.T.O.L capability..'  

 
'..And pray, what may V.T.O.L be, is it an antitheses or  pun .. Very Tiring & Obvious Liability perhaps ? ' she quizzed in angry anticipation of any sarcasm, but the empathy was uncomfortably mirrored .

'Oh no.. no !',he exclaimed, ' it is a leap in 'sweep stick' technology, VTOL is an acronym for Vertical Take Off and Landing.It saves you the take off thrust to be generated by the tiring run.' From a convincing personal comfort zone, he switched gears and dolled out  a generous oodle of scientific anal-ogies. ' All you are required to do is, exhale, pull your thoracic diaphragm in - upwards and let go all generated pressure called Breaking Take Off Wind (BTOW).   BTOW expelled through the rear amplification nozzle, creates a magnified vector thrust propulsion that levitates both broom and body.' Convinced that science had created a facade in the mind of the seldom right but never wrong breed, he decided to lap up the pitch with a personal touch   'Again madam, i must say this, we delivered two products to Yeddy and Kalmadi serving time and running their new found homes in various hospitals. Now they dont have to be on the run you see, they simply can take off from their respective hospital beds and visit the 'in law' when the heat is on.'

She managed a discounted grin seasoned with patented sarcasm.

Realising, that a lot more had to move, topple or fly  to win more than just a customer, he extended the sky darting product line. 'We also undertake custom  brooms.Trust me madam...' making the glitter in his eyes economically obvious, 'It is a sure hit and bound to  sweep you off your humble feet'

'It would serve well if it could sweep others off their ambitious feat',rebuked the  temporary Goddess of jilted poise, adding a snare as a purring suffix.She was quick to bounce back into the process of active political consumerism. ' Custom made.....I dig that,I ..like the sound of what you sing, what can you do ?' she diligently questioned.

'Any high flying wish of yours is my command', baritoned the tentatively pigeon chested and permanently poultry bellied gentleman. 

'Can I get something with floral bristles..' enquired the increasingly scheming grandstander. ' A little more opposing both in colour, feel and...' as the sentence trailed,the exuberant salesman jumped to the well garnished occasion and pointed out to the far corner, where gleaming in new found glory, lay THE broomstick of desire. Seller and buyer moved in poetic tandem, the latter mesmerized, unfolding what wonders the broomstick could sway to wipe out all forms and flavours of ignoble competition. The latter, certain that he had nailed the sale, but with guarded uncertainity.... about the chosen model, meeting the soaring expectations of the buyer. 

The prospective buyer continued the ordinate ogle, which was interrupted by an undeserved aberration ' But... madam, this is a test model....' interpreted by awestruck tympanic functioning as 'fest'. Dutifully, the hearing dysfunction did the trick and the deal was sealed.' Will buy....ensure a politicians discount' declared the leader of the m'asses'. 

'I will fly right now and self piloted it will be', the buyer announced, lest the thunder be stolen by an unknown.The seller protested in muted abandon.  ' .. it is dark and conditions are not favorable for night flying ..' The doubted status was not well taken by the new owner who fumed in aghast  'Dont you know.. world over, politicians are fly by night operators. ?'  Feigning ignorance about the high flying potential of his customer, he consented.

With the verbal rant over,pre flight probes revealed a mammoth bug ,A broom engineer opined in school choir tenor 'Considering the lotus airfoil...the thrust to weight ratio may effect the lift parameters,besides the pilots non aerodynamic constitution would hamper...'

That highly valued professional discourse in aviation physics suffered instant castration at the hands of impatient excitement and seasoned arrogance.The flying cleaner of infinite wonder  was grabbed by the new owner already inflating sullen lungs.She took control and let go for thrust vectoring to take over.WHOOSH.... she was airborne with nerve wrecking shudder. The Lotus petals unfurled to provide aileron and flap camber while the sepals served well as an elevator.The stale bud doubled up as an unstable rudder.Suddenly, the airborne broomstick veered off course, performed an acrobatic scam roll and crashed into a towering tree of fate, atop which was the humble dwelling of pious cuckoo. The cuckoo was scared out of his silken nightcap, presented by the minister of environment and forests as compensation to relocate. She who now dangled from above in a state of shock and topple.