Inglease ................

My first principal was an Australian.....He was a funny chap whom we lovingly called Uncle Sir.Now Uncle Sir was in love with the Queen's language and would go all the way to make us understand that a gerund and a giraffe were not exactly cousins !!!This was in those days when my mom went to drop me to school holding me with her right hand with no more respect than she did the Bazaar ki thaili in the other......I remember R.B stores ..the bakery shop where there was an uncle who used to give me free biscuits to munch ....Its fun munching free biscuits you know .Wonder why Manoj Bajpai said "Kya main kutta hoon kya" in the movie Road when Ms.Mali offered him a few ? Uncouth chap he was !

Haan so we were on the verge of discussing my Australian principal when another very interesting character comes to mind .This guy was from my second school ..No they didnt kick me out of the first ...my Bapuji got transferred and quite a few of my possible and prospective romantic comtemplations met an untimely death......I took it in a very manly way and did not shed a single tear..Within 27 days I had scratched a hideous S in my left hand with the compass expressing my enduring love for a female whose name i cannot fully recollect today. That Ms. S never gave me a penny's worth of attention were all bad rumours spread by jealous classmates.......This character's name,whom I wish to mention here, was Mr.Hajra and he was supposed to be our Physical education teacher ...By the way he never gave the education we wanted though and it was left to those magazines of the genre "They who must not be named" to be our guardians during those tender ages of 13 or 14. Now this guy carried a huge Danda with him (of the Udham Singh species but a little shorter )and especially targetted the soft bottoms of innocent children like us.His lack of respect for our bottoms however earned him no fame and soon there were cat calls behind his back with a minute grammatical modification of his name which disoriented his very sexual direction or lack of them.I learnt the first lessons of morphing in my school toilet walls.
Now there was a daily inspection in our school to see if everyone had dug their noses clean , to check if the number of lice in our hairs had not increased the school defined quota of 18 per male student head and 224 per female strand and quite a few other things one of which also included the particulars of the tie .
Now in the sweltering heat of the summers my tie on that particular day was just a little more attracted to gravity than as had been defined by late Mr Newton.
So Mr.Hajra blocks the school gate with his Udham and asks me " You boy !! Why tie not tie ?" and gave my bottom a shot which had brought out the choiciest of expletives from the poor thing...I read the following day that my Australian principal in Shillong had had a mild stroke at around the same time of this incident.

I traversed a few more years which brought me and my father to our first visit to Gujarat to get me admitted to an engineering college or thats what they had told me in the college brochure ....(Psst....its still says so...Ha ha ha )
The long journey had us ravished and craving for anything that barely resembled food to the Bengali tongue.Little did we realise that where we went in to pacify our stomachs was actually an illegal den where they smuggled the rarest of South Indian reptiles and sold them to KK (thats what every smuggler is named isnt it ?)
But I was very smart and told my Pops that we shouldn't indulge in such activities promptly showing him the menu which read in bold "SOUTH INDIAN SNAKES"
The goon looking guy with the moustache who sat for all transactions at the entrance said in Hindi...Are sir Snacks nahi maloom kya ..Naashta...South Indian Naashta !!! and gave us a comtemptous smile .......Son and father looked at each other ruing their lack of knowledge.My Australian principal who was critically ill after the afore mentioned incident of my school left us for his heavenly abode soon after.

Today here in England ,I feel the same as a Togo Island native would if he were asked to coordinate a conference of the Vogons of the Hitchhiker's fame.
I simply can't understand what they call English.It is more heavily accented than my Granny's pickles were with all that mustard oil. After four months here i have understood that " Venjacumhey " actually is a question which enquires about the time when i reached a particular place where the person asking this has already been present for some time prior to my being there.
Grammar that i never learnt from Mr Wren and Mr.Martin doesnt seem to have an existence here.

But at the end of the day you can just sit back and pat yourself saying "Awrite mate We savaieefd anotha day here.
May the soul of my Uncle Sir rest in peace for he was a nice person and never targetted the soft bottoms of 12 year olds.

Vilayat se..........

England, the country which is so much a part of the Indian psyche.
It starts from the pages of that Indian History text book of class 6 amazing us with tales of Indian chivalry and bravado in fighting off the firangs.From Lala Lajpat Rai to Bhagat Singh,Gandhi to Bose,the Unknown to the Unheard....We fought for and gained our freedom or thats what we learnt in those history books.What happened thereafter is just anyones guess.... Anyway without anymore sounding like the 44 year old painter working as a High court clerk,I wish to pen down something about my days in this country of firangs where strangely they do not anymore shout 'Kutte' at us in an accent which makes Hindi sound like Crocodile fart,nor do not carry whips or wear those wooden hats ..... :-(

Daru aur unginat Budhdhe
This is a strange society though.Quite contrasting at times.The old roam around in Tobu cycle sized scooters which move at say 5 miles an hour while the young are bred on a mixture of concentrated Hydrochloric Acid and AntiIce.
The old are sedate.the young are Punk Shit !!The old are gentle ,The young are Football.The old man sits in the town centre with a paper in hand and some memories,whereas the number of times the young would say Fuck in a single sentence would make one imagine as if its been injected through hypnopædia in their systems.But I must say that one thing all generations revere and hold in the highest esteem is Beer.These English are fishes when it comes to drinking Beer.There is no beating them and surely Keshto Mukherjee must have had British lineage.

Ruk kyon Gaye ......Bajao
My ears are parched to hear the sound of horns in cars.It is assumed to be impolite to bray the horn here and should be considered equivalent to a 'Behen**** kya mera hi gaadi mila tha marne ko', if you are lucky enough to get a horn to your name.

Sahab ..kharcha paani
I recently visited a government office here for some National Insurance number..I met with hospitality and courteousness there and damn it, not a single person forwarded his greasy palm to me for the 5 pounder note.My reaction to it was quite similar to what Evander Holyfield's would have been, had Tyson said "May i bite them please?"

Food. The Lunch plate.....
A mound of mashed Potatoes brimming with the Nobel it got for dumbness.
Some green substances possibly some fern or moss and ...and nothing !!
Thats it ..Well did you expect more .This breed of people have an amazing lack of tastebuds and a bounty of obesity.
Tuntun too must have been British .......

Well its a funny place to be honest....

An Introduction to foolishness

This bloke that you see below is Yours truly .....The look but confirms the fat ass pseudo intellectualism that is so inherent within that fat head of mine .......Of course the Arjun Rampalish hairdo is no longer there. A bloke in Southall(aka Punjab of UK) murdered all those with the swirl of some machine which marauds poor hairs in such a manner that would have put German concentration camps to shame..This guy calls himself a barber and I even paid £5 to have this murder done .... What a shame ....Of course he had warned me enough as the person who came for a hair cut just prior to me saw his Empire of Hairs raised to dust in exactly 1 min and 22 secs and all that was left was a barren field as if bereft of the Indian monsoons ,parched ,dry yet expectant.

First look into this Bloggers Park .....We have a strike

The stage meanders from the days when I fought over lost marbles through the nights spent discussing the lunatic from Floyd's album.From the days when the only trigger i knew was the one that Rajnikanth or was it Mithunda who pulled the same to split a single bullet into two,killing both the fleeing villians instantenously.(Spelling thik hain na?) "Dhishoom" was all that was required to fire this slightly curved object.Today a trigger (not curved) is ruining my life for it just refuses to update some godforsaken table in some far corner of my personal computer which itself is a misnomer for this very personal thing of mine is repeatedly accessed and ravaged by 1400 other personal computers over the day.In civil terms they call it networking or some shit.
Now this trigger is behaving as an old obstinate mule with constipation, or as the Bai of my Mumbai flat on a rainy day would .They just wont work !

There was a time when the notion of this table for me was where a small and happy family (From the Pyar Hua Ikraar Hua ad shown over DD)used to sit to have a cozy dinner of daal roti and chawal.
Windows was an outlet in a room through which I dreamt of my future ,saw myself flying fighter planes bombarding enemy posts to precision,scoring 114 runs in 40 balls and then capturing 4 wickets in 2 overs and then the final catch which wins India the world cup. And today corruption has seeped into even the small crevices of my table where even the nastiest of termites would have bet quarter a pound to reach and would you imagine all my windows were paralysed .Doston ne kahan ke Hang ho gaya. Is this what they call development, hanging poor harmless windows.

So they wont work either !

A primary key was the one my Thamma (granny) used to keep knotted over her saree's pallu.It was a huge key by all streches of imagination,one old rusted piece of iron which I felt had no worthwhile purpose for it wouldnt open a lock in thirty three thousand forty nine years but if the poor thing was misplaced, then all hell broke loose.

Somewhere along the line the meanings changed.
This corruption of my table and my trigger in my very personal but available computer was all initiated by some such stupid key and thus Its a Total Strike today in this day of a software engineer squatting at his client location wondering just where did things go wrong !!!!!!

I also know how to add a link in this page YAHOOOOOOO !!!!!!
Rediff.com
...........................Or Rediff Whatever