MAYA -WHAT......EEEEEE : Elephantine Rumble

The well known fairytale of greed, finds a suffocating empathy in the terrified sway of many an unfair tail in the city of Nawabs. The prodigal mahout of a million marble elephant statues gazes at the lifeless Jumbo regiment in absolute awe. 

In rehearsed tyrannic motion, she steps forward and announces to the mammoth line up,brushing under the marble parade, in one divisive sweep, the voluminous charge of corruption.

''.. one small step for myself ,One giant mess in the treasury..  '' she remarked, in an inconsistent state, of consistent jeopardy and so you shall listen, in a consistent state of inconsistent jeopardy.

Between her professed sermon and our committed silence, one marble elephant managed to whisper to another of his kind.

" Did you know, an ancient language of this land, describes the word MAYA as an illusion. ''

''Our mahout leaves no stone unturned....'' the other retorted. ''She lives up to her name in letter, spirit, expectation and integrity''  he added with an assuring smile.

CARLOS TEVEZ : A caricature

After all that rant with the political class, tried my hand at a sportsman,Carlos Alberto Tévez, the Argentinean football wonder who also courts controversy with club football. 

ASIF ZARDARI : The Pakistani Grand 'Prick'

In this volatile  fraction of the Asian continent, culture dictates that if your neighbors wife sports cow bells for ear rings, your endevour will be to tether puberty attaining calves  from the tattered earlobes of your beloved spouse. Thus, when the Indian Grand Prix was flagged off at the Buddh International circuit, the resonance was felt in the anal linings of the Pakistan national assembly.The nation was not to be let down by Pit Stop impotency.

To foster this national sentiment,a state emergency was declared.  The military called on the parliament to perform a multi- jester clown act while they did the democratic thinking. A quick fix solution emerged in true military style. Pakistan would field its own version of the coveted Formula one...... For-Mule-A One.

As the name suggests, a race of its kind, to grade mules: the official state carrier of the Kalashnikov trotting ISI branded terror monger or... the jihadi posse in the gun powdered local tongue .

The proposition was simple,The military would conduct the race.An international audience with fat purses would be invited to witness. Mules of national importance would run a predetermined track carrying a dead weight. Alongside aid seeking bowls will jut out for the audience to fill. The mule that collects the maximum foreign aid would be declared the undisputed  victor. For any reason, if there be a tie, the head of the jihadi regiment will flip a coin to seat the winner. 

The stakes that awaited the winner were what a mule of flamboyant national character would die for... a decimal share of the aid collected with 'come-passion',the pomp and glory of a military parade where the celebrity animal will cart the dreaded headless head of the military, followed by a full blown gun salute,which the international media would report as a terror attack successfully thwarted by the grandstanding Army. 

When word of the race trickled into the follicle sporting ears of the  Prime Mule (PM), ASIF ZARDARI , he was all smiles.He was a natural winner,'mule - ism' just ran effortlessly in his half equine half ass blood.

 

No race can begin without a comment on the track. The For-Mule-A track, the authorities assured would not bother the audience with the sweet smell of burning rubber. Instead, mule dropping fragrance will rise to the rubber devoid occasion to remind anyone and everyone of their humble roots. The race would commence from a pit stop in the hermit hiding district of Abbottabad and twine itself through the IED filled draws of the Khyber before exiting into the labyrinth peaks and dips of Waziristan which is home to the easiest language in the world ..a gun pointed to your head.

Zardari was unusually excited about the dead weight to be carted..it was a dust Bin, laden with blue prints of destruction. His mind oscillated between winning the race and the price of the weight.But as one would know, a mule has to do what a mule has to do....thus, he hoists the weight over and begins to majestically trot around the brass and starch of the midas touching uniformed junta . With a little covert friends in the military, he trips, pushes and ebbs his opponents over the edge.For cheering a dull and uninterested audience who opted for eye candy, there was of course, the political glamour quotient...a foreign minister in baiting !! 

With the cargo that the mule of never ending pride carried, receiving aid to fill the large bowl was never a problem.Thus, the long and short of it,the winner it came around was the indisputable For -Mule-one....Asif Zardari. 

With the grandeur of the ceremony complete, it was his scroll of honour that tickled the choked literary sense and the infinite libido of a failed state.It read: 

This scroll of honour is bestowed on  

FOR-MULE-ONE 

Asif Zardari 

who on this date has been declared the 

Pakistan Grand Prick.

In true dictatorial style, someone down the chain of a jar headed command,had obviously not been able to distinguish between a Prix and a Prick. But the slip of words, just celebrated the inescapable truth.

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.

   

   

KAPIL SIBAL : A Spin Doctor's yarn

  In far away netherworld,in the kingdom of the clawed palm, the time tested principles of good education have been delicately strewn to the winds, lest it should fall with an avoidable thud and attract unwanted attention. 

  A tale spinning barrister, the self professed omniscient adversary of the good, claims magical powers unlimited.He could devour a ministry and still look starved else in simpler terms, sell water to a fish.

   He has just returned from a bleating jaunt where he amazed the horrified citizen with unadulterated travesty on how measly pocket change like Rs 1.76 lakh Crore could just vaporize and the exchequer was all smiles..... bearing no loss at all, whatsoever.His suave brilliance sent the comptroller and auditor general spiraling down a commode with all those years of a painstakingly earned reputation in the challenging arena of auditing.That was his cunning specialty, pulling golden rabbits and red herrings out together.  

In his devious court,me a jester,can only ogle and itch my crown on the Confucius state of a proposed education budget to implement the Right to Education (RTE) : Rs 1.72 lakh Crore.Now that is indeed some more loose change to vapourise.

STEVE JOBS : Serving an Apple well bitten

Steven Paul "Steve" Jobs

24 Feb 1955  – 05 Oct 2011

RAHUL GANDHI : The princely bug & his cronies

A princely bug from Delhi

came across as silly

A country he wanted to lead

put itself to bleed

With cronies screaming a praise

the common man was in a haze

Choice was not an option

'Doomed' was a befitting caption

Looking back in time

cronies flaunted him prime

his talk on ending corruption

threw them out of motion

when asked about 'his grace'

they put in a paleface

cronies to the rescue

reasoning went askew

they said

''words of his

were meant in bliss''

but

having given us a cue

now the horror grew

silence was a choice

but set the prince off poise.

cronies, 

like a train of slandering bugs

continued the shameless chug

OOPS ...A feeble fling, in attempting to pen a limerick to support the sketch.