Lalu And His Gulaabi Keyboard

A friend of mine called me up saying, "Hey look, there is this fun thing going on in office and they want me to write a story on Lalu and his pink keyboard."

I said, "Ok, cool! So what do you want me to do?"

“Write a story for me please,” he begged.

Since I had nothing better to do,  I said yes.

The catch was that the story had to be around 100 words.

Here is the story that I sent him albeit a little more than 100 words.

Lalu Prasad picked himself from the pavement and cursed the insurance agent who had refused to cover his pink keyboard.
“Too dangerous this is saar,” he had told.
“Entire Bihar has gone blonde and this is the only pink keyboard available. We can do UFO Abduction Insurance but not this saar,” the agent had said.
A dejected Lalu fondly recalled the moment he had bought the keyboard.
 "And this one is specifically meant for blondes," the salesman had said with a subtle smile.
"This pink keyboard has keys with dumber...err I mean smarter key names."
"WOW! I absolutely love it and will have one of these," Lalu had said with an air of self-confidence.
Lalu had gone blonde as it was the "in" thing to do in Bihar those days and was taking pride in buying stuff to suit his new personality.
As Lalu left for his home, he could see a thousand blonde Biharis’ fighting and killing over his beloved pink keyboard.

Copyright (c) Pigtale 2005-2010. Images copyright respective holders.

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Stalking Proposal

This short piece was written by me way back in 2005. Somehow I stumbled upon it now. So here it is!

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Author Henry David Thoreau once said, “Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.”

There are certain situations where desperation more often than not takes the better of us. I believe that this is inherent to everybody at one point or the other in his or her life. What drives a man to jump off a skyscraper? What drives a woman to bobbitise a man? What drives a child to scream to get the parent’s attention? What drove Abhay to make all the wrong choices in life? Some would say “Hopelessness”, others would scream “Forlornness”. But ask Abhay and he would say with a grim smile, “It was sheer desperation”.

• Age: 31
• Place: Kolkata
• Marital Status: Single (not by choice)
• Mental Status: DESPERATE

That’s all one would require to draw a mental picture of Abhay. Handsome, tall and full of energy, Abhay was the cynosure of all eyes wherever he went. He never had any dearth of females who followed him; females, men would kill and die for. Abhay was the topic of envious gossip of every male in his office and the secret focal point of fantasy for all females. Then, Abhay should have been the luckiest guy in Kolkata, right? Wrong!! According to Abhay, he was the unluckiest person to have been born this side of the Arabian Sea.

Abhay’s problem? He always fell in the company of wrong women. Women who wanted only one thing from him…his virginity (or so thought Abhay). And all the women were successful…no not in making Abhay lose his virginity but something more precious; his mental peace. Let us rewrite Abhay’s profile and this time with some specifics.

• Age: 31
• Place: Kolkata
• Marital Status: Single (not by choice) & Virgin
• Mental Status: STILL DESPERATE

He was always rubbed the wrong way (literally) by each and every girl he met. Abhay’s traumatic tryst with such women had made him even more desperate to search for the right woman. Such desperation assumed manic proportions and so started his journey. But little did he know that his desperation was driving him to the road to perdition. Satan was waiting with open arms.

Since the physical world had failed Abhay, he decided to go virtual and posted his profile on a matrimonial site. Desperation drove him to become a paid member giving him all the paraphernalia for self-destruction. Being a paid member gave him the facility of posting his email address and phone number on the site for public scrutiny. 4 hours out of the total 8 that Abhay clocked at office were used up for searching the right girl. His colleagues would suddenly watch Abhay yelp with delight when he found a girl with the right credentials. Since he used to occupy the corner most cubicle humanly possible to build, no one could see as to what Abhay saw on his computer monitor. His boss too was happy. Such a hardworking fellow who takes pleasure in his work. If only he knew, that Abhay was billing the client for his search for the perfect girl, he’d flip out.

Then Abhay was faced with a strange situation; one that he had no clue or expertise to handle. He liked a lot of profiles on the site; profiles that drove his hyperactive brain to start imagining leading a peaceful and thrilling life with the lady. He made contact with all of them in the hope that it’s better to be in the company of a million right ladies than in the company of 1 wrong one. I dare not ask Abhay for the definition of right or wrong. But this was the least of problems for Abhay. Not a single girl responded to his request…some even blatantly rejected him. Now that’s a big problem, don’t you think? I’m sorry but we’ll have to rewrite the profile of Abhay (which has changed of course)!

• Age: 31
• Place: Kolkata
• Marital Status: Single (not by choice) & Virgin
• Mental Status: EXTREMELY DESPERATE

Given the extremely frustrating situation, it’s quite easy to predict what Abhay did next. Yes! He waited for the very first lady to either respond to his request or contact him in the first place. The former never happened (a profile that says “I’m single n ready to mingle with trouser pockets that jingle!!”, can make even diehard gays stay away). So even we were very surprised when we saw Abhay’s eyes light up with 2 lac lumens (or is it candela) intensity. At last a lady worth her salt had the gall to contact Abhay. Oh! I forgot to tell you as to how the contact was made. She went to the matrimonial site and found Abhay’s profile, which she liked very much…no, no, don’t make a mistake…it was Abhay’s designation in his company that she liked. She had a motive and Abhay was the means; a perfect match don’t you think!

Ah! There again I still haven’t told you as to how she made contact. She first sent an innocuous looking SMS: “Hi! Ru looking 4 Brahmin! Im Kayasta Plz go thru my profile n if it’s like bi u (sic) then ok else we can b frnds n plz dnt go 2 my photo section. My friends say I look better in real dis is debasree 4rm Kolkata.”

So Abhay thought, that here was a lady who was the least demanding and was even ready to start a friendship if the marriage didn’t go through. Lucky me, he thought. And then he did something that will haunt him for the rest of his life. No! He didn’t lose his “you-know-what” straightaway but did something else. He SMSed back to Debasree. He was all mushy when he wrote: “Hi thr! Can I hve ur profile id? We can surely be frnds” Pretty mushy and romantic start, don’t you think!?

The lady sent her profile ID and Abhay instantly went to work and quickly clicked on the photo section and was pleasantly surprised. Here stood a lady with a body to die for and a face to kill for. This is my Helen. He called up the lady and was greeted by a pleasant voice on the other side.

“Hi Abhay! I have been waiting for your call”, she answered, her voice laced with honey. And so started the conversation of a lifetime for Abhay. Even now he shudders and gets nightmares. After about 45 minutes, Abhay was seen tearing his hair in utter disdain by his office mates. They didn’t dare ask him the reason lest he bit them. Leave the mongrel to his fate. During the course of his conversation, Abhay came to know that the lady had come to Kolkata from Pune, where she used to study. She had come to Kolkata at the behest of a guy she had contacted from the same matrimonial site and who was only interested in taking the girl to his home. No! Not to meet his mother, but … But she stayed back in Kolkata and started looking for a job and what better way to look for a job than to contact the job giver through the matrimonial site and seduce him. Since Abhay had never been rude to a lady, he agreed to forward her resume to the HR, but all this while he was looking up as if cursing his luck and asking for justice. The facilities people of the office thought that the AC vent just above Abhay was clogged and so they increased the airflow. Now both the lady’s blabber and the cold air were killing Abhay.

The call ended with a sighing Abhay and a muffled scream; muffled because he was trying to scream and bite his biceps all at the same time. Desperation is great leveler. Within 5 minutes, Abhay received an email from the lady with the resume attached. And he promptly uploaded it to the intranet site of the company for processing. He returned home that night with a heavy heart and bruised biceps (he was biting them, remember!) He couldn’t sleep that night. No, it wasn’t the thoughts that were tormenting him but the constant missed calls and corny SMSes from “Helen”. Abhay was having trouble reading and comprehending corny SMSes like: “Sending u 1000000000 smiles…take 1 for now n keep d 999999999 under ur pillow- pick out one every time u think of me coz I want u smile. Good night luv! Debasree.” Abhay’s real trauma had just begun. The next day, Abhay got 15 missed calls from her and was seen howling at the AC vent above him a la werewolf. This has been continuing for the past one week.

And so ended Abhay’s search for the right lady. As I write this piece, Abhay is busy posting his profile on a job site and calling up the mobile phone company to get his number changed. He took this desperate step after the HR executive called up to say that Debasree’s resume had been put on fast track and in all likelihood would be recruited fast. Poor Abhay!! So now we have just one more thing to do; rewrite Abhay’s profile AGAIN.

• Age: 31
• Place: Kolkata
• Marital Status: Single (not by choice) & Virgin
• Mental Status: Paranoid

Ah! Before we packup…it’s important to mention that Abhay is seen screaming like hell now. He has just received a forwarded mail of a very notorious bar girl dancer…and guess who she resembles? While you spare a thought for Abhay, I’ll just go and tell him to do one last thing…remove his profile from the matrimonial site…forever.

Copyright (c) Pigtale 2005-2010. Images copyright respective holders.

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One for Haiti

My little contribution for the people of Haiti. Its a difficult time for them. If you enjoy the story, then please visit Crossed Genes and donate generously.

Story: The Last Chapter of My Autobiography: The Obituary

I wake up every morning at nine and grab for the morning paper. Then I look at the obituary page. If my name is not on it, I get up. -- Benjamin Franklin

I am at the bottom of the pyramid or so they say, but what do I care. I am the King of my own universe. I move around at my own free will. Eat the best food available. Keep the company of best in this business. Personally, I am superior to anyone I see around; the fleas, ticks, bedbugs, Palmetto bugs, Carpet beetles, water bugs, silverfish, crickets, scorpions, millipedes, centipedes, cockroaches. I’m the buck-toothed Termite; the ubiquitous Termite; the diligent Termite; the conscientious Termite; THE KING!

It’s been long since I put my thoughts onto paper. People (by people, I mean, my fellow termites) have always been telling me to tell my stories to others. This is the perfect time, the perfect weather and the perfect home to make a start. I stay in a beautiful house; no I am not talking of the house we make out of clay and wood pulp, but a real house; one where humans stay. I am so very sentimentally attached to this house. I was born and brought up here in the kitchen and this house is my playground. All the tricks of the trade and life have been taught to me here at this very house. This is MY home. I barely remember my parents but have very vivid and nostalgic memories of my childhood. The war cries, when we attacked a new piece of furniture or the joyous occasion of stealing a piece of celery (my personal favorite) are all embedded in my mind like a precious treasure, unseen and untold, except for the words my mouth spills from my heart at this very moment.

This house is not what it used to be…new. So what if the faucet leaks, so what if the roof leaks a little, this is still my home. I have seen it from the day the first tenant came in. The family had a charming little girl. I used to watch her every move from a distance. She used to play in the corner with her dolls and dress them up with her nimble fingers, whispering something into their ears…something reassuring perhaps, since the dolls stayed calm. I watched her day and night, I went to sleep after she did and woke up to see her lazily crawl out of the bed. My entire world revolved around her. Then one day, the inevitable happened. She left with her family…so suddenly. I woke up to see the furniture being moved out of the house and the charming girl leaving. She didn’t even turn back to say goodbye. Maybe because I was at the bottom of the pyramid. Life was never the same again without her. I tried taking my mind off her by chewing on every piece of available wood…mindlessly. But even my sharp mandibles couldn’t eat into her memories, destroying them. In fact, trying to eat into her memories was destroying me; I was getting eaten from inside. But time is a great healer. It healed the wounds created by the separation but not the self-inflicted wounds. They never heal, perhaps.

Many tenants came and went with myriad furniture. I went on with my life eating into wood and making anthills and collecting food. Life fell into a groove or almost was till something happened this morning. The house had been empty from last week after the previous tenant moved out. I woke up and was standing in the corner of the living room, when I heard it…the “laugh”. It woke every cell of my body. Sometimes a memory is attached to a song, a whiff of scent, a laugh…and whenever we come across that stimulant, the memory jumps out of the deepest recesses of the mind. This laugh was something that was related to my very reason of existence. The charming girl had returned. Call it fate, luck or providence, but here she was…in flesh…only she was not the charming girl anymore but had become a charming lady.

I watched her enter the house. The house had become home once again. She was the only one missing. It is amazing to think as to how the face changes, the physique changes and the expressions change with age but the eyes never. I tried looking into her eyes and found it exactly the same as they were years ago. I was like her knight in shining armor and she my queen. There she was standing near me and here was I, sword somehow in my hand, heavy razor precipitously balanced as I was rising a little in the stirrups. HER KNIGHT!

I didn’t realize that my brother and sister termites were all standing near me, all beholding the enigma; the charming lady, who disappears and returns so very bewilderingly. Then she noticed me. At last! It was her eyes that took away my breath. Then she opened her mouth. Her first words for me! It wasn’t a word, rather it was a blood-curdling scream that she let out into the calm surrounding. Looking from her expression, she was fuming. Here I was, full of adoration for her and she was screaming at me?! The arrogance of humans never ceases to amaze me. And I've long since given up trying to understand their complete obliviousness for the feelings of pests (I hate that word) like me.

Then she did the unthinkable. She came back with an aerosol can…full of pesticide…FOR ME! It was worse than a betrayal; it was like seeing death in the face of the one person on earth that could move me both to tears and to laughter. A person I cared and longed for. She opened the cap of the can and directed it at me…and fired. The raw hurt that flashed, then settled on my face echoed deep within me, but the anger still had me and burned more fiercely than even the pain due to the pesticide.

I had erred, and now I was paying the price, throat crushed to a bloody spurting mess. I grappled at it, choking and gurgling, as the charming lady did her death-dance. My vision is swimming. I can’t tell whether it is from blood that has been splashed on my face, or from tears of betrayal. Both are equally likely.

My vision wavering with the effort, but my voice hasn’t suffered the slightest tremble. The face of the charming girl floats on my iris, throwing different hues of hope into the surrounding…it is so all encompassing. Maybe I’ll meet her someday and when I do I’ll take her, up north, to Heaven. Take her aside where no one else will hear and tell her of what happened today. Tell her of what happened, and not what I wished to have happened. I’ll try not to make a fool of myself or of her, because she will know if I lie. I’ll ask her only one question. Why?

Copyright (c) Pigtale 2005-2010. Images copyright respective holders.

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