Archive for the ‘Humour’ Category


By drinking what I mean hereunder is the consumption of alcohol…Pure and simple!‭ ‬And some of my friends‭ ‬ are past masters at this game,‭ ‬honing it into a fine art‭!

In the olden days I had seen people in my home town thronging in the evenings to the thatched sheds with the sign board‭ “‬Toddy‭” ‬prominently displayed at the entrance,‭ and dotting ‬along the length and breath of this country of mine.‭ ‬At one end of the spectrum,‭ ‬there were old timers‭ ‬in the‭ ‬assemblage who are seasoned drinkers and‭ ‬thought‭ ‬nothing of being‭ ‬spotted in a toddy shop line-up.‭ ( ‬Those days the so-called‭ “‬decent guys‭” ‬didn’t go to a toddy shop for a sip of the elixir‭ ‬because it was considered to be‭ ‬infra-dig‭! ). ‬Then there were‭ ‘‬greenhorns‭’ ‬both young and old,‭ ‬who got goaded into making a visit by their friends for a bit of fun.‭ ‬These guys ‭ ‬tried to erase themselves from the face of the earth by covering their heads in a‭ ‬native towel but with poor results.

These toddy shops used to dish out both toddy‭ ‬and‭ ‘‬arrack‭’ ‬,‭ ‬the latter being a clear liquid‭ ‬,‭ ‬smelling like the bottom of a unwashed baby‭ ! ‬But it‭ ‬sported a kick like that of a‭ ‬mule in a foul mood!‭ ‬Usually the congregation ended up in a brawl‭ – ‬some got bounced‭ ‬out and some got bashed up.‭ ‬By midnight peace would return and the guests would walk out with their wallets still not dented too much.‭ ‬In today’s financial terms‭ ‬their night’s expenses would be less than the droppings of a constipated ant!

Those were the days…But it is a different story here now a days….

Today Toddy shops still exist‭ ‬but our youth have developed their own preferences.‭ ‬Bars are a favourite haunt‭ ‬,‭ ‬especially for those with well stuffed purses.‭ ‬But the real heros are the‭ “ ‬Oh‭! ‬For the open spaces ‭!” ‬guys who have elevated the act of drinking to mind blowing levels of perfection‭ ! They have even discovered ways to avoid overworking their kidneys when on a heavy drinking bout!

kidney bypass syndrom


Close to where I live there is a band of‭ “‬booze art lovers‭’ ‬who are the da Vinci’s of group tipping.‭ ‬Going on tour is a passion with them because they get an opportunity for‭ ‬downing the ale,‭ ‬without the cussed‭ ‬neighbours breathing down their necks , making life unbearable‭ and robbing ‬ them of a chance for a peaceful pow-wow with the bottle‭ !

This group‭ ‬ look upon‭ “‬Drink‭” ‬as their own sibling.‭ ‬One of them whom I know carries it in his car always‭ ‬,‭ ‬often relegating his‭ ‬10‭ ‬year old son and   wifie to the back seat‭ ‬so that he can install the bottle and other related paraphernalia on the front seat‭ ‬and hug it while driving‭!

Recently one group here went on a tour of the Western ghats for a spot of drinking extravaganza.‭ ‬The‭ ‬20‭ ‬seater van arrived in the‭ ‬colony right on Indian time‭ ‬,‭ ‬that is‭ ‬60‭ ‬minutes late‭ ‬:‭) ‬,‭ ‬because the driver too was an ardent fan of the inebriating brew‭! After a flurry of activity near the van door, i‬n went first the casks of beer,‭ ‬bottles of whisky,‭ ‬Rum,‭ ‬and Brandy,‭ ‬ all with extreme care, and then the wives and the kids in that order , the latter gettin not so much care..‭ ‬All the bottles were‭ ‬carried inside delicately by loving hands and stached away in the inner folds of the‭ ‬20‭ ‬seater,‭ ‬after some‭ ‬5‭ ‬seats were‭ ‘‬unseated‭ ‘ ‬and thrown out‭ ( ‬space crunch y’know‭!)‬.

It was around‭ ‬7‭ ‬o’clock in the morning and the morning sun was ascending‭ ‘‬unsteadly‭’ ‬-‭ ‬or so it seemed to the team leader who was still trying to figure out what went wrong during last night’s binge‭! The ground apperared to have acquired a mind of its own and still showed an annoying tendency to gyrate ! Balancing under the circumstances was difficult unless one downed yet another peg. ..and he did just that!
The driver,‭ ‬back from‭ ‬a soujourn at the lamp post to download the contents of his bladder crawled into his seat and honked twice,‭ ‬and then some‭ ‬,‭ ‬perhaps to assure himself that he had got into the right van ! He was quite familiar with the honks of his van which he could single out from a kilometer away, like the mother penquin who could recognise it’s baby’s cry from the cackle of a thousand others’ ‭!

‭The revellers trooped in one by one, kids and baggage in tow, looking left and right to ensure that they are not too conspicuous … By 9 am all were in and relaxing…

‭“Shall we start?”

‭Asked an impatient reveller.

‭“ Shall we start what? The van or on the bottle?”
‭Quipped anoter impatient one.

‭“ Why not both ?”
‭ Suggested a more practical impatient guy and this was welcomed with much enthusiasm.
‭It was followed by two ‘pops’ , one made by the driver gunning his engine and the other by the decapping of the beer bottle…

‭The procession was on its way…

‭Half way to the destination during the ensuing revelry someone suddenly noticed the absence of the team leader! Frantic consultaions about his possible whereabouts were underway . Under the seats, on the the seats and over the seats in the luggage racks , no stone was unturned but all searches came up with nautch! In the end a non-plussed group decided to push on , and leader be damned!

‭Back home in the colony a desolate half-drunk was seen ambling around without aim , mourning under his liquir-smelling breath

“The B******s ditched me !”

‭Until next time…!



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Foreign jaunts are usually meant for ministers politicians and money bags…For most of the rest of us ‘ordinaries’ what is destined are only jaunts in dreams…

I had one recently, just after retiring for the night…

I dreamed that I had taken a trip to a foreign country…

When the aircraft landed on the tarmac with a thud the earth shook a bit , may be because the pilot bugger was a trainee or a retired pile driver 😦 These folks use us dream travelers for “target practice” !

The ‘thud’ may have been a small one for the country, but a much bigger one for its neighbour! Apparently the plane’s ‘thud wave’ traveled like a “terrestrial Tsunami” , getting amplified as it dashed single-minded towards the neighbouring country and grew into a god-awful Earthquake with a magnitude of 7.4 on the Ritcher scale when it hit its target!

That is my theory , of course! It is yet to be proved! However, as a matter of fact there indeed was an earthquake or rather two in the neighbouring country around that time which gives some degree of credence to my theory…, if you discount the fact that the earthquakes hit a few days after my ‘arrival!

( We bloggers are a privileged lot with some leeway given for improvisations and are allowed to practice a bit of fact-twisting, now and then y’know! )

Days later, while being driven from home to a friend’s place I came across an interesting ‘pastime’ of some of the locals . This involved burning what looked like black round rings from a distance, which later turned out to be car tyres! As if to lend a helping hand to the choking smoke that accompanied these rituals the local peace keepers lobbed a few well-aimed tear gas shells into the inferno ! These were warmly welcomed by the burning tyres with open arms and the two had a swell time doing a tango together! I enjoyed those fireworks , albeit with a bit of my heart in my mouth!

Subsequently , I had my own share of many of such incidents while being driven through the neighbourhood ! Observing these incidents , it occurred to me that perhaps the business of selling tyres for feeding such fireworks could be a more lucrative proposition around here , better than selling the cars themselves. And who knows, at some point in time as the past-time gains popularity the up-beat dealers might even remove all the new tyres from the vehicles as and when they are delivered from the factory . They can then sell them to the incendiary experts at a good price , after throwing away all remaining waste material such as the engine, body, wheel rims interior furnishings et al….


I was also entertained by some other forms of breath taking displays of fireworks which always came after the ‘tyre sequence’, much the same way little babies follow a marriage ! I did some research on this and came up with some awesome findings… I found out that these entertainments are provided by the use of a special device which is produced using a patented and a jealously guarded technology credited to a smart-ass guy called Molotov. These devices go under the trade name of ‘Molotov Cocktails’. Having said that, if you happen to go into any beverage shop in the market looking for these devices you are bound to get disappointed… and that is NOT because the local laws frown upon drinking in public! …!

I did some further research and delved deep into the origin of this WDM ( weapon for mass destruction ) and came up with some interesting findings…..

Comrade Vyacheslav Mikhailovich Molotov was a Soviet politician and diplomat, an Old Bolshevik guy . He was a leading figure in the Soviet government from the 1920s, when he rose to power as a protégé of Joseph Stalin , to 1957. As with all these sudden rises of ‘proteges ‘, the poor chap was suddenly booted out from the Presidium (Politburo) of the Central Committee by Comrade Nikita (‘patch-on-the-head’) Khrushchev !

What now follows is pure conjecture…”putting two-and-two -together” kind of thing, y’know;)

Reasoning shrewdly ( and that is yet another of my special talents ) I realised that after getting the elephantine boot from Comrade Khrushchev’s well-shod foot in the small of the back , our wretched Comrade must have got thoroughly demoralised and ‘dispirited’ ! And what did he do?

Well he went and brewed up a spirit-lifting strong drink …and Vodka be blowed! But unfortunately , maybe by miscalculation, the man used a wrong kind of ingredient, called ‘petrol’ in the making of his recipe ! Now liquids like petrol ( as every terrorist child knows ), show a strong tendency to blow up in one’s face when ignited in closed spaces …

The end game? Our friend Comrade Molotov had his come-uppance and got himself “martyred” .

Well folks, thus was born the now famous’ Molotov Cocktail! ( I have sent this theory off for patent approval, response awaited:( !)

Why all this blah-blah now, you may ask and you well may! On the above mentioned occasion I had a grand stand view of two of these wonder portions winging their way over my head into the unknown almost brushing my car’s bonnet and my offended ego! I was not privy to what they did in the end! However, I heard a loud bang- rather two- and from the look of things, the quiet neighbourhood must have got its beautiful ass singed!

It was then , that I was rudely shaken and brought back to reality by some one shouting..

I say , dammit, you just fell off the bed, man ! ”

And when I opened my eyes I saw there never could have been a truer statement of facts! I was sitting on the floor, with my better-half staring down at me , her eyes full of concern!

Well, so much for my “dream jaunts”…:(

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When you see a  ‘high-so’ lassie sail  into a beauty parlour wagging  her sexy hips , ostensibly for a ‘face-fix’,  the first thought that crosses your mind is:
Why do they all go there to get mutilated a face that could have launched a thousand ships?
In fact this is a mystery that bugs me every time I glance through a women’s magazine carrying a Beauty Parlour Ad…

Tune into any  Women’s Programme on the Telly. Invariably you come across a beautician pumelling with derision an otherwise normal face of a hapless volunteer strapped to a punishment chair!
The poor victim  is imobilised in a semi-horizontal position on the reclining chair and is left to vegetate while  the beautician  explains to the camera the A-B-C of the mayhem being committed, blow by blow! The camera then zooms in on the mummified face and its ‘cocoonish’ resemblance!
In the end the face  loses whatever shape God Almighty had intended it to have , all in the name a ‘facial treatment”!

If  all those  transformed Beauties who  emerge from the parlour after undergoing the ritual do not manage to sink a thousand ships,  it is only because the ships’ captains must have caught sight of the avalanche of apparitions  in time to take some diversionary actions  !

Not to be outdone and declared as fosilised ‘have-beens’, the middle-aged housewifes also flock into the ‘Parlours’ for similar face jobs so that when they return home they can make the poor bread-winner feel older than his 70 –odd years!  Also, after  one look at the Parlour Bill the poor sod would collapse like loosened trowsers around a drunk’s legs !

Then there is the B.M.P offerings of the Beauty Parlours…… ( Read  ‘Bridal Metamorphosis Package’ ). Before proceeding  to the ‘nuptial’, the bride is escorted  to a parlour that  specialises in ‘bridal mayhem’ . It is strongly suspected that this is done  to ensure that after one look at the offered specimen,  the prospective groom decides to settle for a meek existence ever after !

Face pack, back pack , six pack… you name it and the ‘Beauty  Parlours’   all  have it waiting in the wings , so to say,  ready to sock the unsuspecting ‘client’   right in her solar plexus and initiate proceedings to divorce her Money from her Purse …

When a babe goes in here , sporting her God-given charms such as  her lovely locks of curly hair, it is ten to one that the Beautician takes one  penetrating  look and decides that straightening those curly locks is exactly what the doctor had ordered…
All for a measly sum that could buy you and me a nice meal in a 3-starer for a month!
Why straighten it at all ? Well… because , according to the Beautician, it is the ‘In’ thing and all the girls who are her customers have opted for it! That, not withstanding the fact that some of them already had straight hair to start with!
And I won’t be surprised if , in such cases, the Beautician had given  them some sound  advise to curl it…

‘The Dress sense ’, whatever that may mean,  is the next articulation tool for making a  fashion statement these days.
The propagators of this bizare concept are the Botiques who bring out mind boggling varieties of expensive monstrocities at regular intervals to woo their fashion hungry clientele who have wads and wads of cash…

Talking about dresses, in recent times the neck lines of the ‘modern partying gal’ have taken suicidal plunges into the nether-world , exposing   wide  expanse of her ‘Body Serengeti’, right up to her  ‘naval button’.
Her ‘Down Under’ apparel has also not been spared by the fashion onslaughts! In fact, one act of sheer savagery centres around the art of making of  a pair of ‘Designer Shorts’…

Take an otherwise superb, expensive  pair of jeans , cut it its legs off in a zig-zag fashion ( pun intended!) ,  the  more the zig, the better the zag ,    right up to  the pubic level, pull off  a few hundred yards of thread  so as to  make the edges look like as though the Great White of the Pacific ocean had had a go at it…  At the end of the exercise,   you have an “In-pair” of mini shorts  good enough to wear to any  party in town which is being  held in honour of the ‘clothes-less poor’ of  the city…

The designs of upper garments have also taken great strides . From  the  normal ones that were once supported  by a pair of sleeves , they have now  evolved into some tantalising  creations which  hang precariously by the thinnest of threads from the shoulders ! The ultimate nirvana of course are  the latest fads sported by TV presenters during Star Night bashes! These  are  daringly and dangerously ‘pegged’ on one’s own boobs! One deep exhale and they can  come crashing down,  giving untold viewing pleasure to the public!
And then there is the  jewellry…………

Some hangs from the ears like an old hag’s tits , reaching into the depths below…! Some others  flow over  the neck area like the recent Tsunami in Japan…Yet others   entwine  the upper arms, resembling an  anaconda intent on giving the short end of the stick to a careless capibara in the Amazon  swamps…

The next in the line are the Abu Ghraib-like torture appliances for women created  by some devilishly devious designers . Mind blowing varieties of ‘high altitude’ footwear which are a ‘must’ accessory  for  a high profile party-going gal…. How   the hell do these dames balance on those 6 -inch daggers defying the laws of gravity is always a matter of extreme wonder and perplexity to the average onlooker !

Finally to spice up the entire ensemble,  there are other wonder discoveries like the belly button studs, the bull’s nose rings , the ear crucifications…and many more  which all help to make the ‘modern lass’  look singularly Oh-My-Godish!
At the end of the day, the   victim  turns into a thing of ‘beauty  that is a nightmare for ever…

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Lots of kar2n camps for the kids have been, and are being organised by people such as the blokes at the  Kerala Cartoon Academy, which is defenitely a commendable thing…

However in my opinion there is one important aspect of kar2ning that I feel they should stress to the new generation of kar2nists… The ability to get noticed by the world at large instead  only in their homeland…

In that context let me build up a scenario….

Firstly, we in Kerala generally tend to look   inwards for kar2n
ideas . The perennial source for it are politicians and their ilk and their antics…It is fodder enough to keep us engaged for the next few generations….
But Kerala politics is of interest mostly to the home crowds and some of the pravasis ( read: malayalees residing abroad)…Also, as  the scenarios change what is laugh-worthy today becomes stale or meaningless tomorrow…Kind of getting dated- the hallmark of political kar2ns…

After having made fun of Murali’s NCP farts in the past , today all that is not relevant because the guy has switched sides…And so also in the case of Sindhu Joy’s recent ‘street crossing’ to Congress.. . Maybe we will remember such kar2ns for a few more weeks after they are created, but afterwards what ?

Further , the way we tend to make those political kar2ns, it is quite clear that , out of our currently estimated national population of about 113 crores people, only about  3.18 crore or so of ‘state thethered’ and NRI Keralites’ alone will be able to comprehend , let alone appreciate , them. This results in   Kerala’s kar2nists, many brilliant ones among them , getting burried alive in this sacred land of “Mr. Pararasuraman& Co.”

Finally, these political  kar2ns are sometimes heavily loaded with text, albeit out of necessity , and that too in Malayalam. A 30 % drawing will be suffused with 70% wind…Again this restricts their appreciation among the non-malayali readers.

Here, veering a little, I would like to take time out to divide kar2ns into 3 categories: These of course are my own categorisation and if someone does not agree…well, you can chuck it out through the  window:-)

I categorise them as follows :-
– “Mu2ns” , the muted ones without text,
– “Bubble2ns” ones with the entire Ramayana and Mahabharatha squeezed into the bubble like a 7 foot body in a 4 foot coffin, which make them look somewhat  like a baloon vendor during temple festivals, and thirdly,
– “Mew2ns” , which are kar2ns that only mew like Auntie’s kitten, …with very little text..

I would take some examples to illustrate my point…..,

One depicting a Mu2n,  like the  one below…..

( click to enlarge)

And the other a Mew2n,  like the one below.

( click to enlarge )

As for Bubble2ns… well…hrrrmph… just replace the text of any Mew2n with the latest reprint of the The Kamba Ramayana…and you will be just about right:-) 

“Bubble2ns” , in my reckoning, have limited global appeal and understanding, especially if the bubble is packaged  in Malayalam or any regional language,  as mostly are…. “Mu2ns” on the other hand, are a different story… People of all nationality around the globe will chucke at a “Mu2n” , be they Indians, Europians, Africans or Russians or ‘timbuktuans’ or for that matter,  anyone anywhere in the world. If you look at the many kar2n contests in  Europe and elsewhere  you will notice that they even insist on a “No Text’ dictum!

The “Mew2ns” , on the other hand,   are the refined versions of “Bubble2ns. The  lay stress on ‘say what you will, but make it short! ‘

Having said that, “Mu2ns” are tougher nuts to crack,  compared to “Bubble2ns” or “Mew2ns” . That is because the latter two can draw ( pun intended!) upon the support of Text to varying degrees to convey the humour of a situation being depicted through the sketchy drawings.
So, in order to enable our would-be , teeny weeny  kar2nist aspirants  to be noticed  and appreciated the world over as well as anywhere in India , we also need to encourage them to master  “Mu2ning” or at least “Mew2ning”, apart from  Bubble2ning.”

Now that I have  got you sufficiently confused , you may ask: what the hell are you driving at?

Well, for one thing, these  young ones  can be given ‘Themes’  like, water shortage, waste disposal, global warming etc.( to cite a few examples ) , and asked to do the challenging job of making Mutoons on them!

Well… We can atleast try!

Though the kids may have other ideas about it…:-)

( click to enlarge)

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People Under You..

I have come across many ‘oldies’ in my time who take a lot of pride in announcing to the world at large at regular intervals how important they once were in their previous ‘avtar’, (read: before retirement ) and how big their empire was ! ( read: people under them ). Possibly all this is because of a ‘pissing-like ’ urge to dazzle their fellow-beings, especially when they are no more the force that once they were. The urge is more intense in folks who now live in surroundings far removed from their previous habitat and where they are scarcely known.

It is a fact of life that unless one’s attributes are acquired through sheer talent and ability and not through the positions that one had held once, these attributes melt away like the dew in the morning sun , once you step out of office . In fact , once  out , you start showing a marked resemblance to a naked chicken with plucked feathers !

So much for the ‘retired’…

I also know of active ( read : working ) folks who project a bigger image of themselves than is good for them , to achieve some immediate ends when the situation demands it. One of my erstwhile colleagues is one such specimen that immediately comes to my mind!

Our offices were situated on the first floor of a building in the factory where I used to work. Despite being a well qualified guy, this man had no qualms about groveling before ‘Authority’ to get his things done . He also used to boast of the ‘large organisational set-up’ he was heading and people around him swooned,  saying “Ooooh! … aaaah …”

Once he had to meet the principal of an school while attempting to wangle a seat for his son. Unfortunately for him, the principal , a ‘Father Somebody’ , was a known opportunist. After hearing my friend’s official position and power, albeit fabricated,( though he didn’t know
it, ) the venerable Father was apparently impressed. Apart from that,  the Father had also realised that here was a golden opportunity for a bit of ‘quid pro quo’ bargaining. Our opportunist had badly wanted a job for his nephew at that point in time . So he didn’t forget to make  a passing mention of it while discussing the various contractual terms for the ‘special admission’ with my colleague

After coming back to the office the latter  asked me to attend any calls which might come from the ‘Father’ since he himself had no phone on his desk! He further wanted me to project myself as his secretary and refer to him as ‘ My Boss ‘ while taking that call.

Sure enough, the phone rang that afternoon…

It was our ‘Father’   alright, and he wanted to speak to my friend. I added dutifully that I will transfer the call to ‘My BOSS’.
The “My Boss” came running up to my desk and grabbed the phone , resembling a Doberman enticed with a bone . A normally taciturn man, he sounded very sweet and charming while talking to the caller. I smelt a rat, a very dead  one at that !

It all came out later after he ended the call.

Apparently while trying to impress the ‘Father’  he had let it be known that he was the Head of the our Organisation and reigned over a large work force . He even specified the number of people working under him…an impressive 298 people! My jaw dropped a good six inches and made a god-awful thud  on hearing that.

I blurted:

“Dammit, man, you are the smallest cog in this machinery! How the hell can you claim a thing like that!”

“ Well, well, well…you see , we are on the 2nd floor now …. and there are 298 people working on the 1st floor, don’t you see ?”

I did a double take on that and asked:

“ And did you get an admission for your son?”

‘Not yet, but I will…”

(click on the image  for a larger picture)

Sometime during the course of the next week our offices were shifted to the 4th floor – me , him and all- for reasons   known only to my GM. ( The  rumour has it that the  one of the company’s   luscious looking secretaries worked on the that floor 😉 )

After a couple of days the guy had again disappeared on an ‘undisclosed’ mission . When he returned that afternoon, however, he was grinning like a Cheshire Cat who had just got an school admission for his eldest kitten…

Having got curious,  I asked him how the hell did he manage to swing it . Without batting an eye  he quipped:

“I told the Father some half -truths…I told him that I had been ‘elevated’ …and vested with some wide ranging powers for recruitment of staff! I also added for good measure , that now I have 400 people working under me!”

I did some quick mental assessment of the staff strength in our building and sure enough , there were 102 people stationed on the 3rd floor, including four of our senior General Managers and this luscious Young  Thing ! Our man hadn’t erred on his arithmetic  !

I couldn’t help but ask him in horror   how he was planning to meet his commitment to the Father Dear about that job for his nephew. Pat came the reply:

“ Tell you what ! The next time that Father guy calls say I am on long leave !

And the next day the ‘strategist’ indeed applied for and took a long leave and vamoosed ! The poor Father never stood a chance !

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I have a suspicion  that the ‘ native ’  White Man in the Immigration Department of the U.S. of A  tends to look down upon anyone with a dark skin-tone,  even if it is only a wee bit darker than his own …

He looks down on ‘Blackies’…
He looks further down on ‘Brownies’…
And for all I know he might even be looking down on his own fellow county men if they happened to sport a deep sun burn from a long Caribbean holiday.

Looks like they all are programmed  to do that,  I mean , Look Down…

(Click on the Image for a larger picture )

( I wonder how they dare walk across  a busy U.S. street full of  fast moving traffic  with a head postured like that! )

Otherwise why the American Immigration guys did what they did to two of the visiting Indian diplomatic honchos in the recent past ?

In the wake of the 9/11 incident maybe their  spontaneous  suspicion of any thing that moves or crawls into their Great Country on two legs ( and perhaps even on 4 legs or 8 legs ! )  is understandable…
Up to a point, that is. No quarrels there…

But getting fiercely neurotic about it is carrying things too far…especially if that is colour biased…
They seem to be throwing to the winds the internationally recognised and binding Vienna Convention  on Diplomatic Relations,  not to mention flaunting their puffed-up arrogance , and it is nothing short of sheer nerve!

A few weeks ago it was reported in the Indian newspapers that a top envoy of India at the United Nations was forced to cool his heels in a Houston Airport in the U.S. of A, all because  he wore a strange looking head gear –strange for them, that is !

These Immigration blokes wanted him to remove it so that  they could  take a peek to see whether the poor guy was carrying any armoury within it ! But surely you can’t hide an AK 47  in a ‘turban’, Man !
Or,  maybe nobody told them that!

Apparently this Sardar was made of sterner stuff and more than a match for them. So, he got god-awful angry and refused to cave in. And when his face turned blood red with a deep flush on it  the Skin Colour Checkers’ decided that the guy was after all not a ‘Brownee’  !
So they let him in , in the end!

Coming close on its heels was another incident where a woman diplomat, in fact the Indian Ambassador to the United States, became the next victim at Jackson-Evers Airport in Mississippi . She was even frisked, ( hopefully not by a Male ! ), an occurance unheard of in the annals of Diplomacy !
The poor lady  had to face this  humiliation because the “sari” she wore became her bane. The Skin Colour Checkers thought she was up to no good by simply looking at her skin colour and quickly concluded that she sure was carrying a moderately sized Paton tank in her sari’s vast folds ! ( all of 5 yards, y’know! )

In both these cases all that the Indian Authorities  did was to make some loud and

squeaky noises through their rear end and leave things at that!

That maybe because we are possibly a bunch of gutless  guys…
Or  Maybe we are bunch of  guys with a weak spine which was made considerably pliable, especially in the backward direction, by the British during their plundering days…

Otherwise why did  we not do a ‘tit-for-tat’ act with some of the visiting dignitaries from that land of milk and honey? On the contrary, they  blocked an entire suite of hotels for the entourage of “Oh!Bama” and rolled out a blood-red carpet welcome for them….!

Maybe we get what we deserve…

Would these Immigration blokes have dared to mount  such a disgusting act against a man or woman come visiting from any of the muslim countries ?
Or would they have dared to do it to a French guy ?
Or would they have dared to do it their cousins from the distant Islands of  UK ?
I doubt very much!

As some wit said, ( or was it me?  I wonder !  ) …

You can’t choose your father…
You can’t choose your mother… or for that matter,
You can’t choose the colour of your skin either…

Cut a Whitie and he bleeds red…
Cut a Darkie and he bleeds red….
Cut a Brownee and he bleeds red too!

Unless the guy happens to be an Alien from the outer space, in which case the bloke bleeds anything other than red,  or so these Sci-Fi guys would have us believe….!

Underneath , we are all of the same stock of  Homo-sapiens…with the same strong sense of Dignity …( I don’t know about that Alien chappie, though  )

I hope these  immigration guys  would read this and do something about it ! 

In the meanwhile,  I would suggest the following solution to the intending ‘

colurful’ visitors to that Great Land of Skin Colour Checkers…

Try it, it is a sure shot !

(Click on the Image for a larger picture )

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My Octopus Act…

Hello Folks,

For 2011 I have done an Octopus Act with a new Theme for my blog,

that is more in line with my temperament…

The Octopus changes it colours to gell with the environment it is in,

in order to  escape from its predators…

And to put its preys’ minds at rest !

I don’t have any predators but I have preys…


You who visit my site!

So there!

Hope you folks like it!

I do!

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