<title>September 2009

Revenge of the Shakespeare Hater

25 September 2009

A strange thing happened the other day at a restaurant I was eating out at. Munching at the delicacies laid out, I had kinda ignored the French-fries that came along with the other stuff. A boy-man came up, stood beside me and made a funny argha-ahem noise. When I looked up, he cocked his head at the other end of my table and moved his thumb in a look-there kinda obscene gesture. In turn, I raised both my eyebrows, stopped munching, questioning him with a you-talking-to-me look. (God! Had I done something weird again?) My eyes quickly darted around. Nah, all seemed well. The BM(boy-man) tilted his head and stared at the food. Now, I’ve always prided myself on understanding sign language but this wasn’t anything close. So, I asked BM what the matter was. He looked ruefully at my table, “you gonna eat all that?” Strange q. It took a minute to understand he expected a civilized reply from me. I yes-I-ammm..ed. He said, “well, you have an appetite, huh!” What a moron! Before I could um-hun, he said, “I don’t think you’re gonna be able to eat the FF, too. You’re gonna throw them away and I hate people wasting food when the rest of the population starves.” He made a grab for my precious FF and said, “there, lemme take care of that.” NOT SO FAST, MISTER! Gimme my food back! “hey hey hey!” goes the nincompoop, “what’s a little pack of fries to you?” Unbelievable. He also looked at me as if I was taking HIS food away from him. “Take it back for all I care!” said he. The kids at McD were watching me, the parents looked accusingly at me, too. Saying, “What’s wrong with you, man?” he walked away, leaving me with a torn pack of fries in my hand.

Before I could walk down to the counter and talk to the manager, my 15 year old nephew marched in and led me away. Yeah, 'twas a prank played by a pack of juvenile dolts. This was punishment, you see, for making him memorise entire passages out of Shakespeare’s plays for his exam.

I have forgiven him and his pals.

Of course, not a day goes by when i don't do a little ‘heh-heh-heh jig’ and rub my hands together in sheer, malicious pleasure, for special effects. If only the kiddo knew what’s in store for him around his next exam.

An Ex Chief Minister & Me

11 September 2009

What do you suppose happens to former Chief Ministers of State who are no longer in the good graces of the government?

I’ll tell you. I have one living on the floor below mine.

Now this X was a CM of a large state in India. During her hey day, she minted money, got apartments as gifts every year, had a minstrelsy singing paeans in her honour, a huge gaggle of dour-looking security personnel…the works. I think I must add, all this was in Delhi, which was NOT where she ruled. Our parking lot was hogged by her various cars, the police protection truck(not van) was perpetually parked in the middle of the lane with the cops sitting on chairs, playing cards, passing comments and lewd looks each time a woman/girl passed by. All in all, they had a gala time. My door bell would constantly ring, sometimes at 11 PM, by those who assumed her flat extended up to the last floor, and, if they’d climbed an extra floor by mistake, they may as well ring the bell at the lone flat there and seek entry. Walking down the stairs (there’s no lift, you see) was a task, maneuvering past those hefty, smelly, guards. X was very particular about people leaving their shoes outside the house; so if you went bumbling down the steps coz you’d stepped over a dozen huge shoes in trying to get past, well, it was your headache.

A huge sense of relief came over all the neighbours when a Mr. Nice guy gifted her with a hi-fi flat in another place. Well, this was not meant to be. X was soon ousted from her position (she’d made some rather rebellious and unforgivable comments against the party seniors). Hell! She came back to live in our vicinity again. The scene hasn’t changed much, really, except for the missing police truck.

Sometimes, I pass her by as she walks with a black dog she has recently acquired (an astrologer told her to feed a black dog for good luck). Her 6 guards in navy blue safari suits walk at a distance behind her, giving each other looks as they shift the weight of their heavy rifles from one shoulder to another. Even the common tailor in a little garage shop nearby wonders why the ex-CM of ABC state is living like a queen in New Delhi. She is a nobody, has achieved absolutely nothing. Why should the common man have to pay for her expensive tastes? Why should her security personnel carry her lapdog around for her? Why should she be even provided with security? Nobody in the world wants to harm her- she’s so shunned & unwanted! Why should everyone stop their cars to let hers pass? What makes this 60 year old renovate her house every 6 months at the cost of public money?

As for me, I refuse to acknowledge her presence. If I chance upon her on the stairs, I look down at my toes and admire them till the stout woman with oily hair, clad in a petticoat and a kurta is safely out of my sight.

I don’t know what I can do at a social level; but at a personal one, I ensure she knows she cannot impact me in any way. No matter what she does to catch my attention(yes, this is what she has stooped to now to get a sense of control), I will not fan her ego with any kind of acknowledgment!