Guilty milord

At the end of Raja's strenuous work-day, a visit to his favorite pub with his favorite friends seemed like the perfectly correct thing to do. A call to his wife Rani to the effect that he was going to be late at work and suddenly he was in the middle of a laughing party of his friends and beer mugs were twinkling everywhere.

Rani called and he motioned his friends to silence, put his beer mug down and took the call. 'Yes, I am on my way home. Stuck in a traffic jam at Brigade road. I will be there in half an hour.'

He disconnected the phone and started to smile at his friends when he noticed their expressions. They were looking with sick horror at something behind his back. Raja turned around slowly and saw a six foot, 130 kilo, saari-clad woman who looked like his mother-in-law inflated with a bicycle pump.

'So this is the traffic jam at Brigade road', thundered the giant. 'I have told Rani hundreds of times not to trust you.'

'But I...', began Raja and the giant shouted. 'Not another word, this has gone on for far too long.' And she held his collar in an iron grip and lifted him up as if he weighed nothing.

Raja looked back helplessly and discovered his friends had vanished from the scene and curiously, the pub, one piece at a time, was turning into a courtroom.

The last to appear in the courtroom was a frowning faced lady judge. With severely tied back hair she looked like an extra dangerous version of Raja's old school principal.

'Mr Raja', she screeched, 'the big fat lawyer here has accused you of the following:
a. Never listening to anything your wise and wonderful wife has to say and always telling her lies
b. Knowing ZERO or NOTHING at all about bringing up your two beautiful children
c. Not knowing even the a,b,c of running a house
d. Never washing any dishes
e. Never making any tea for your wife
Many other charges against you have been dropped because this court does not have the time to go into your numerous faults. What do you have to say for yourself?'

'I...', began Raja and the lady judge screeched, 'Enough said! We have given you a fair hearing and your answers make it clear that you are guilty. Take him away and lock him up!'

Raja now noticed the guard who came forward and pushed him with the sharp end of his spear and he woke up to find his wife's elbow on his chest. She radiated beauty and peace in the half light. There was another hour of sleep left before she would begin playing her forehead-creased-nagger role and he would play his callous-lying-escape-artist role.

I will start washing dishes and making tea, promised Raja to himself as he gently moved the elbow away and went back to a dreamless deep sleep.

Straaaight hogi!

Manjunatha and Ramesha are sitting by the side of the road waiting for the bus. The road forks into two in front and on all sides the ragi fields sway ripe in the bright afternoon. There are no other people to be seen anywhere and the peace of rural Karnataka is thick around them. They are sitting silent as if inside them they have nothing left to say. Manjunatha is slowly chewing on a blade of grass.

The fast moving dot on the road grows bigger and materializes into a car that brakes screeching to a halt. 

The dust raised by the car settles slowly and silently over them. A young man with dark glasses swiftly steps out and walks closer trying to save his polished shoes from the dust.

'Bangalore ka rasta kaun sa hai?', he asks pointing towards the two roads ahead.

'Is this the way to Bangalore?', he asks in English pointing to the left turn when Manjunatha and Ramesha stare blankly at him.

'Bangalore?', he says again pointing to the road that goes straight.

Manjunatha and Ramesha cannot see where he is looking behind his dark glasses. He seems to be addressing a spot exactly halfway between them.

'Onde straight! Straaaight hogi!', says Manjunatha and within seconds, screeching, the car accelerates and speeds away, leaving more dust in its wake.

'You have traveled all over India and speak good Hindi don't you?', asks Ramesha, 'Why did you not reply to him?'.
 
Manjunatha smiles slowly and says nothing.

'Why didn't you ask him to take us to Bangalore? Our bus won't be here for another half an hour.'
 
Manjunatha continues to smile and says nothing.

'And why did you tell him to go straight? That way is at least 20 kilometers longer and very crowded near the city.'

'Did you see how fast he came and went even when he didn't know the way?', asks Manjunatha as he goes back to chewing his blade of grass. They wait silently for their slow bus. 

Two gentlemen

The elegant looking gentleman with the white skin and the dark suit collided messily with the elegant looking gentleman with the dark skin and the white dhoti-kurta as they tried to reach the middle of the Shatabdi train compartment. They picked up the random pieces of luggage off the floor.
 

'Sorry', said the white skin in the English accent that he reserved for the natives.
 

'Soary', said the dark skin in his Malayali-English accent that he preferred over his educated Indian-English accent.

They smiled at each other in a cultured gentlemanly way and found their seats. They smiled again when they discovered that they were sitting in seats directly facing each other across the center of the compartment. The train began to move and in the settling down and the looking out of the big windows at the station passing by, they forgot about each other and were soon lost in their own thoughts.
 

The white-skin's thoughts went something like this:
'One more victory for western civilization. The standing ovation after my speech felt good. I don't know how much longer it will take these darkies to work with real technology. Maybe its the hot climate that makes them lazy! But these darkies...'
 

He looked up at the dhoti-kurta-turban clad Indian opposite and noted the chandan teeka on his forehead.
 

The dark-skin's thoughts went something like this:
'One more victory for eastern civilization. Cutting the ribbon with all the TV cameras around felt good. Some of the kids who sang had real talent. It is good that there are some like me to uphold our parampara. Otherwise every body on this train will be dressed like this white man...'
 

He looked up at the suited-booted figure opposite and noted the uncomfortable looking necktie.
 

'Barbarian', thought the white engineering professor, 'with his face-paint and his strange headdress'. And he smiled at the idea.
 

'Uncivilized, uncultured vulture', thought the dark classical musician, 'with his black pieces of flapping cloth'. And he smiled at the idea.
 

Catching each other smiling the two gentlemen smiled another warm, open, friendly smile at each other.

Knnar

Baasses Telgram said:

CRUPTION IN KNNUR STOP WELL DIGGNG MONY HADPOED BY PLTICIANS STOP INVESTGT IMMDTLY STOP DONT STOP STOP

So, today I fly first time to South India, to Knnur in Krela for a spacial sttory about cruption. Oh, saary I have naat intraduced! Hallo! Mysalf Stwinder Singh. I am rporter for Chndigad Times. Krela is gaads own country and I look faarwad to trip. I will meet a rporter from the Knnur Times there. His name has many vowles and many 'ZH' in it and I am crrusponding with him as KP. The real name is vary diffcult to prnounce. 

KP meets me and takes me to Knnur town. He is vary thin with beard, jeans, khadi kurta, jhola and in Pnjaab the pliice woudd prbably arrest him as soon as they see him. Aalso his inglish is vary funny. This is sampel.

KP: Gud mourning Singhji.
Mysalf: Good maarning KPji.

KP: I hope you haad a playcent flite.

Mysalf: Yasji. Thank youji.

KP: Lettus go to the municippalitty oafice aant get some nollage about your khase.

Do you know how the val-digging scam wrks? In Narth India this is wat happns. The gorment has mney far dvelepment and the local pltician says there is no watr and gives prposal far making val. He takes 5 lakhs far this praaject and spands it aan shmmi kbabs and tnduri chicken. After some years pltician says the val watr has msquitos and is kasing mlaria and takes anothr 5 lakhs from gorment to fill up val. He again spands the mney on shmmi kbabs and tnduri chicken. When the gorment  comes for inspaction and meyyurment the pltician tells great story about watr and mlaria but there is nothing to see except size of plticians tummy full af shmmi kbabs and tnduri chicken.

In Krela the val is called a Knnar. And the place is Knnur. And I am getting Knnfused.

Mysalf: KPji what is there to see in the Knnur?

KP: It is a hill station in Karnadaga. You kaan go there by bus. But I thote you waanded to see ole the kinnars in Kannur. Why are you waanding to go to Coonoor?

Mysalf: KPji let us find out how mny new vals you have OK? My had is chakring!

There are only five new vals in Knnur and KP and mysalf visit aal. The vals have the mixture of plastic packets and watr but aal five are there.

I phone up baass!

Mysalf: Baass! Itthe Knnur ich tho sab theek hega. No cruption!

Baass: Oi Stwinder thu kitthe hai?

Mysalf: Baass Knnur in Krela.

Baass: Oi Stwinder thu paagal tho nahi ho gaya? I sad KANPUR in Uttr Prdesh not KANNUR in Krela. Get back immdiately.

It was januvin spalling mstake by telgram pippal. KP draps me to airport and I catch flight to Knpur. Saary for bad joke but I had pleyyarable time with KP in Krela and you know- Aal is wells that ands wells! 

(L to R: Stwinder, Knnar, KP. Captured by Dinkar)

(Note: If you are a Punjabi or a Malayali who didn't like the tone, please read the apology at the end of 'Taaph', a Bengali-English story on this site)