Story of A Strange Car

           

Awesome Story of a Strange Car

         

              

             Way back in 1968, I remember having seen a Walt Disney film, called 'The Love Bug'; it was about an almost human Volkswagen Beetle, named 'Herbie'. This small racing car has a mind of its own and it displays both human qualities like wisdom, love and compassion as well as human weaknesses like greed, hatred, jealousy and uncontrollable anger!  This personification of inanimate objects, called "anthromorphism" is not something new; it is a well established device used from ancient times in our children's stories like Aesop's Fables, Jataka Tales and Panchatantra, which used animal characters such as the wiley fox, the proud lion etc to teach small children basic working principles of living in our day-to-day life. The early cartoon films also had talking, rather thinking animals such as Donald Duck, Mickey Mouse, Tom and Jerry etc., who generally behaved like grown-up adults and sometimes even philosophised like learned men of yore ! 

           Then there was another Hollywood film in the eightees, which was about a black Mercedes car that goes berserk with thoughts of 'revenge' and like a diabolical villain, found in most films those days, it launches itself into a mad spree of murder and mayhem culminating finally in all round chaos and destruction. I don't remember the name of the film, though. But, it forms the source of inspiration for my short fantacy : "Confessions of a Derelict Car" which follows. 

            Actually, some guys probably spend so much more time and money on their cars than on the wife that, I suspect, the machine starts to think it is somebody !

         Whoever said that driving a car is a drab, mundane activity should read all the jokes in  "Humour in Driving"  and he will find that it can still elicit a few laughs. But, for some reasons, the gentlemen seem to prefer blondes -- I mean the lady drivers --- at the butt end of  their 'driving jokes'. When a lady gets behind the wheel, she invariably drives either her car into a jam or her poor unsuspecting man into matrimony as happens in my next short story, "Pallu gets a Driving License" !

          Last but not the least, please don't miss the subtle sense of humour of our friend, Dr. C. Manohar in his latest funny, little 'byte' called "Gammat Rao stands for Election" 

Happy Reading !

  

Vasant Hattanagdi

P.S. : A NEW LOOK for TENSHOPS'  BLOG
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Dynamic Views make it easier to read your favorite blog. Better yet, you can now read old posts written long ago that you may have missed so far. 

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Humour in Driving

 Humour in Driving

Judge: ‘But if you saw the woman driving towards you, why didn’t you give her half the road?’

Male Driver: ‘I was going to, Your Honour, as soon as I could find out which half she wanted.

*******************

A lady driver was passing through a built-up area at about 60 mph when she noticed a motorcycle cop on her tail. She accelerated to to 80 mph but he stuck doggedly to her tail. She really put her foot down and pushed the car up to 90 mph, drawing rapidly away from the policeman. Suddenly she spotted a filling station ahead and slammed on the brakes. she stopped on the forecourt and ran into the womens toilets. 5 mins later she came out to see the police officer still waiting for her. With a polite smile she said, ‘I bet you thought I wouldn’t make it in time!’

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Policeman: "When I saw you coming round that bend I thought, 'Forty-five at least '."
Woman driver: " I know. Well, my friends always tell me I look older in this saree!"

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Wife: “There’s trouble with the car. It has water in the carburettor.”
Husband: “Water in the carburettor? That’s plain daft.”
Wife: “I’m telling you the car has water in the carburettor.”
Husband: “Don’t be silly, You don’t even know what a carburettor is. Where’s the car?”
Wife: “In our neighbor's swimming pool.”

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A wife was making a breakfast of fried eggs for her husband when he burst into the kitchen.

"Careful."he cried, "CAREFUL! Put in some more butter! Oh my goodness! you're cooking too many at once. TOO MANY! Turn them! TURN THEM NOW! We need more butter. Oh my word! WHERE are we going to get MORE BUTTER? they're going to STICK! Careful ... CAREFUL! I said be CAREFUL! You NEVER listen to me when you're cooking! Never! Turn them! Hurry up! Are you CRAZY? Have you LOST your mind? Don't forget to salt them. You know you always forget to salt them. Use the salt. USE THE SALT! THE SALT!"

The wife stared at him in amazement, "What in the world is wrong with you? You think I don't know how to fry a couple of eggs?"

The husband calmly replied, "I wanted to show you what it feels like when I'm driving car."

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A Driving License for Pallu

A Driving License for Pallu

Vasant  Hattangadi

     Soon as I entered the house, I could sense something ominous in the air. Both my wife and daughter, Pallavi looked so sullen and crestfallen. “Come on, Pallu” I asked impatiently “Don’t tell me you’ve banged Santro into tree again!” “Oh, no! Santro’s fine, Papa” explained Pallu, sweetly “ Just, we friends had gone for a ride and believe me, I got it back all in one piece. It’s just that ---Well, I’ve parked the car on the lawns!” 

      “NO! Not Lawns!!” I yelled in anguish. You see, the said lawns were just behind our building, some three feet below the road level, with nothing but a couple of uneven steps for approach. I rushed out to the balcony to have a look and indeed, found our new car standing there majestically in the middle of the sprawling lawns! God alone knows how Pallu had managed to get it there in the first place! “How will you get it out now, Papa?” asked Pallu, innocently. “I don’t know, Dear” I replied “Maybe we’ll have to get a crane or, perhaps, Mr. Salmaan Khan. He must have experience in such matters.” 

      Salmaan Khan was instructor-cum-proprietor of Khan’s Motor Driving School in Chembur, which our over-enthusiastic daughter had joined about a year back, while we were still planning to buy the car. For a nominal fee of only two thousand rupees, Mr.Khan had promised to get her a driver’s license in just twenty easy lessons. It was decided that Pallu would leave for office a bit early every morning and Mr.Khan would pick her up in his car and drop her at the Station in time to catch the 9:15 train, giving her driving lessons along the way.

        On the very first day, though Mr.Khan turned up on the dot, Pallu was not ready as expected. So, the first lesson was cut short with only a cursory introduction to the dashboard, steering wheel, gears etc. The second lesson was not much different from the first and the routine continued all through the course. The trainee didn’t mind, because she was receiving the royal treatment of being dropped by car every morning and the trainer seemed happy at the prospect of a profitable, prolonged course! It was the latter part that bothered me.

        For her first driving test, Pallu was asked to drive through the local market.  As they passed Manjiri’s showrooms, Pallu cast a secret, sideways glance at the young, handsome RTO examiner by her side, but, happened to catch instead a glimpse of an enchanting, lovely Benaras saree in the showroom window. Then, suddenly, in a genuine frenzy of uncontrollable rapture, she burst out into a loud, shrill shriek: “Oh! How cute!!”  Not knowing what really had hit him, the poor officer shouted in panic, “Brakes! Clutch!! The Brakes!!!”. Pallu, terrified at this unexpected turn of events, bent down obediently to clutch the brakes tight in both her hands! The traffic policeman at the junction saw a ‘driverless’ car fast approaching him and so, abandoning his post, he jumped from the wooden pedestal and ran for his life to the safety of his cubicle !! By now, the young officer had recovered enough to jam his dual-control brakes while smartly steering the car to avert a collision with a tree. The car, however, continued its dangerous journey across the road divider and the second lane to climb on to the pavement on the other side. To a great relief of Mr. Salman Khan sitting on the back seat, it finally came to a screechy halt just two feet short of a street urchin sleeping quietly, oblivious of all the commotion around him!

       Needless to add, Pallu failed the driving test miserably and also, the following three tests. After each test, Mr. Khan would patiently coach her up for another week and painstakingly prepare her for the next test. However, Pallu managed somehow to flunk each time: either she failed to start the car up a steep slope or would bang it into a lamppost while reversing. Once, she drove straight into a one-way street from the wrong end! When I admonished her for crossing the speed limit during a test, she replied, “What rubbish, Papa! How could I possibly go sixty miles an hour, when the entire test lasted only twenty minutes and we didn’t even go beyond Ghatkopar? ”

       Finally, I asked Mr.Khan to tell me frankly as to why my smart daughter wasn’t getting through so consistently after all his training. “Well, Kya boloon, Saab?” said Mr.Khan stroking his french beard. “The basic problem is your daughter’s so good looking, Na?” “What!” I burst out, suddenly suspicious of the fellow’s intentions. But, Mr. Khan continued in his usual cool manner, “Kya karen Saab, Ishq ho gaya, Na?  Mujhe nahin -- woh Saale RTO ko!  This way, he gets chance to meet her every week, Na?”

       I decided to make some discrete inquiries and find out myself. To my great relief and delight, the young officer in question turned out to be a veritable Bhanap --- one Rahul Vombatkere from Thane! I knew instantly what I had to do. I called on his mother and the rest is history, as they say. Pallu got her driver’s license all right and also the young RTO in the bargain!  Now, they have a car of their own; the poor man sits at the wheel while she does the driving --- from the backseat!! 

 ( Published in Kanara Saraswat , Feb 2005 )

Confessions of a Derelict Car

Confessions  of  a  Derelict  Car

 Vasant   Hattangadi 

        My name’s Padmini --- Premier Padmini.  There have been quite a few men in my eventful life, but none so charming as this prince Naresh, who doted on me no ends for two full years before he fell for some super sophisticated cutie called Chevrolet. Later on, it was only after Mr. Jasswala came into my life that it became so hectic. He even took me once to the Himalayan Car Rally, in which I picked up a consolation prize. For the last eight years, however, I have led a comparatively peaceful life with an old, retired gentleman who adored me so much and looked after me so well while our relationship lasted. Some two months back, however, we had to suddenly and rather reluctantly part company as the poor fellow suffered a stroke and was himself in dire need of care.

        Since then, life with my present new masters, Muralee and Britto has become one big hell for me. The two nasty characters have made me do all sorts of detestable things such as carrying explosives, guns and other contraband material in my boot. Terrorizing people seems to be their only religion. They have been planting bombs in parks, supermarkets and even in suburban trains taking away so many innocent lives. They have massacred a whole lot of innocent women and children and in all these dastardly acts, I have been made the hapless, reluctant accomplice.

       Today, in their most diabolical plot hitherto, I was assigned the role of a suicide bomber!  This morning, I saw Britto strap a small, metallic box on my underbelly. I saw them both working on the box for quite a while, connecting some red and blue wires and finally, inserting what looked like a detonator and a pair of torch cells. My worst suspicions were confirmed when I saw Muralee carefully set the time by a thumbwheel switch before closing the lid. We then drove down to the Regal Theatre and parked at the entrance to its underground car park.

      A police constable showed up sometime later and banged his batten on my bonnet, inquiring loudly as to which idiot had left the car parked there just below the “No Parking” sign. I tried my best to attract his attention by making some wild gestures, but, all in vain. “Pandu Dada! Look Here.” I called out. The constable turned and looked all around, but though he had a queer feeling that someone in distress was calling, he failed to spot me.  “Aarre Bhai, Look here! I am here just behind you. There’s a BOMB in my boot!”  But, either the fellow couldn’t hear me or didn’t follow what I said. He surveyed all around once more, shrugged his shoulders and went his way. They had probably set the bomb to go off at 9:00 p.m., just when the second show gets over and a huge deluge of people pours out of the theatre.  It was going to be one big disaster, I thought, if the damn thing went off then. Oh, there was going to be a certain holocaust in which hundreds of innocent people would perish, unless ------. Unless, of course, I could somehow just do something to prevent it!

     God! If only I could move on my own steam!!  He must have heard my silent prayer. For, suddenly as if by miracle, I felt something strange -- some life stirring inside me! It was as if some unknown force had suddenly taken charge, started the ignition and stepped on the gas pedal. Ggrrrr! Gggrrr!! I winced once, whimpered a little and then, like some sleeping giant awakening, whirred into action. Before I knew what was happening, I had already started moving out, slowly but definitely. Then, with a sudden gusto and my horn blaring out, I lunged forward and whizzed past the wide-eyed, awe-struck policeman straight into the traffic.  

     I went once full circle around the traffic island before turning into M.G. Road.  I knew now what exactly I had to do. It was probably just what God intended for me to do that he had bestowed upon me these miraculous powers of automation.  I looked up at the Museum Clock. It was quarter to nine -- just about fifteen minutes left in which to reach Chhor Bazaar and give those, damned scoundrels a taste of their own medicine! I increased my speed and in a jiffy hit 70 kilometers per hour, an unheard of speed for me during all those past ten years. The constable and his officer had, by now, recovered enough from their initial shock to report to the Control Room that an abandoned car had suddenly gone berserk! They started chasing me in their jeep with the sirens wailing at full blast.

       I entered the Kala Ghoda Circle, where a Youth Festival of Music was in progress. A group of funnily clad young men on a makeshift bandstand were in the midst of a Jazz number, which they suddenly stopped playing to gape at me in awed silence. I roared through the crowd as frightened people ran helter-skelter to make way for me even as I tried to steer clear of them. In the melee, however, I did manage to topple a fruit vendor’s apple cart. I speeded through Hutatma Chowk, where a group of anti-government activists was on its umpteenth hunger strike and the very next moment, I was cheerfully waiving at the Old Lady of Bori Bunder.  The teeming crowds of commuters pouring out of the Station, stood motionless in their tracks with their mouths wide open as they saw a ‘driver-less’ motor car whiz past with the Police in hot pursuit.  I looked at the clock. God, Just Twelve minutes more!

      Police Inspector Inamdar was at his wit’s end trying to explain to his superiors at the Control Room that he was chasing a speeding car which, apparently had no one at the wheel but was yet moving through the crowded streets as if driven by an expert motorist.  He did not know how, but most probably it was some remote-controlled, enemy vehicle or probably one from the outer space. No, he could not surmise what its mission could be but it was heading towards Mohemadd Ali Road. Yes, he was trying his best to intercept it but could not cope up with its speed, which was now touching almost a hundred.

       I crossed Mahatma Phule market. Now, a second police jeep had joined the chase. I escaped into a side lane and turned right twice to emerge on the main road again near Sheik Memon Street, which I entered now. I knew the hideout. It was somewhere around here in an old, dilapidated building.  Just five more minutes left.  I had to speed up now before it was too late. I turned into the Nankataiwalla lane and spotted the building at the end of the road. Yes, that’s the one---Rezia Manzil. I changed into first gear and roared as I struggled on to the pavement and rammed through the gates. I knew their den was somewhere in the basement and there was a way to it on the backside. When I reached the basement, I saw Anwar at the farthest end shout into his transmitter, “Haan, Janab. Mission’s Fateh”.  Just then, he looked up and his face turned pale white like an apparition as he saw me coming ahead in full throttle and plough into his desk.  He panicked, got up and ran stumbling along the way towards the other end of the room, where his other two friends, Muralee and Britto were celebrating their “success” over a bottle of Vodka with the boss, Shaukat Mansoori!  Just then Britto looked up and saw me approach them at top speed; glancing at his watch he screamed, “My God!” Ah Ha, NOW you remember GOD! Bastards, you didn’t remember Him when you slaughtered them --- those poor, little kids in the park, did you?

      All of them started running for their life towards the exit. I reversed a little bit, turned right and charged forward again to intercept them head on. Just two more minutes left! I had all four of them cornered now, precisely where I wanted them, their eyes pleading for mercy as I dashed towards them in full fury.  They started running towards the corner room, where they had dumped all their ammunition and explosives.  I shoved them in swiftly, like a bulldozer ----- Vrrroomm! Vrrroomm! VRROOMM!

        Next day, across the front page in all the newspapers were the headlines:

 “DERELICT  CAR  RUNS  AMUCK  :  SMASHES  TERRORIST  DEN.”

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Gammat Rao and Elections

  

Gammat Rao            stands  for Elections     by  Dr. C. Manohar  

                Elections are announced and I am excited to participate as a candidate from  my Gammat Party. My party is not big, but these days it is the small parties that control the government.  I called a meeting of our party and told them how important it is for us, though not necessarily for the nation, to participate in this election and get elected. First thing is to find a cause which would catch the immediate attention of the media and the people. My party members being very sharp, immediately came up with several suggestions.such as Corruption, FDI etc.,. But these were ruled out finally as these had already been taken up by other parties. We should pick up some original topics, I thought. One of the bright suggestions that was made was for the naming of a road as Gammat Rao lane. I liked the suggestion very much since this would leave a permanent land mark in history in my name. I immediately agreed  to this wonderful suggestion before there was any scope for further discussions in this matter to which my party members nodded their agreement, obviously. Next, we discussed the modus of operation. I suggested that we meet next morning on the road, invite the media and photographers, after giving them to a tea party on the previous day and install at the entrance of the road my statue with my name embossed on it in golden letters. Every one appreciated the idea but for the timing. Then, finally after much discussion, it was agreed unanimously that the time for the 'opening ceremony'  be shifted to the evening because the road is normally used in the mornings for "other" purposes. It was agreed as an important point. Then a draft was drawn of the announcement to be made in the newspapers not forgetting the most important appeal for donations – in cash only. In return, we would be providing internal security to all the donors – at least till the elections. Then, several committees were appointed allocating various responsibilities to each of them. I also insisted that a good sculptor be selected for making my statue, that is, he should be one who knows how to make statues which should look natural and realistic.

           One day prior to the important day we had arranged a dinner party  for the media at a five star hotel requesting them to give a good coverage for my election campaign. Before the drinks were served, we made sure that they had assured us to abide by the promises they had made to us.
         Next day, I arrived at the venue in the evening by a special, chauffeur-driven 'mercedes' car, while my party members kept shouting their election slogans. I was surprised to see the opposition party members there squatting on the road side – they had obviously changed the timing of their normal morning duties to the evening shift that day!. I immediately hurried to the place where my statue was kept all polished and ready being covered up in a silk shawl. With the sculptor standing by my side, I removed the shawl from the statue as all my party members burst into a sudden applause. It was indeed a beautiful statue strongly resembling me but one thing that puzzled me was that my right hand was clutching my nose!. The artist explained to me later that he had been asked to make it as realistic as possible!!

Diwali Greetings

                 Wishing Season's Greetings to all                     

                         Readers of  Tenshops' Blog                            

 ----  Vasant  and  Kumud Hattangadi     

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The Fitness Fad

Friends, 
          In my younger days, most of  us had one common obsession and that was Calisthenics. I remember how as a college student I would often get hold of old issues of some popular American magazines like "Physical Culture", "Body Beautiful", "Muscle Power" etc and spend hours looking enviously at photographs of  body builders like Eugene Sandow, Charles Atlas and Bernarr Fadden proudly showing off their muscular torsoes, which I would secretly long for. Alas, but, it always remained only a dream. For, though I did put myself through several different regimes of physical exercise from simple sit-ups to weight lifting, I basically remained a 'thin man' ---- until, of course,  post marriage I did manage to put on some weight !
       As a teenager, I was a weakling suffering constantly from frequent colds and catarrh. It was a friend of my father's client, Shri Maruti Pahilwan, a professional wrestler, who initiated me first into regular physical exercise. I had to wake up early in the morning at 5:00 a.m and go to his personal gym to perform some 400 sit-ups and 200 pull-ups everyday, while the great Pahilwan himself would enjoy his slumber merrily in a cot nearby. If I tried to cut short my workout, or even snatch a small break for myself, he would shout an angry reprimand from underneath the covers! He had several appliances in his gym like barbells and dumbbells, but he wouldn't even let me touch them, lest "those things stunt your natural growth". Later, after I had stopped going to him, I would use a pair of  my own, improvised, home-made barbells to indulge in some 'weight lifting' exercises, but to not much avail. However, eventually, though I did not exactly turn out to be a he-man or a "Sandow", my general health improved considerably and by the time I was twenty, I had completely got over my frequent colds and attacks of acute asthama that I suffered from in my school days. Even today, I regularly do some mild form of free-hand exercises and Pranayam etc.    
       Presented here below is an old, published article of mine, "My Jogging Escapade" that I had written way back in 2003 or so. It is about an unforgettable experience I had on the very first of my jogging days. It is followed by another article, "The Woman Who Never Was" which is based on the actual experience in Paris of a celebrity, who has made a brief mention of it in his autobiography ( I have read its Marathi translation). Like always, I have amplified and dramatized the story a little bit to suit my fancy!
       Bye! WISH YOU ALL A VERY HAPPY DIWALI THIS YEAR!!

Vasant  Hattangadi

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Internet Humour

             A Quotable Quote :                                                                              

        “ We  are  responsible  for  what  we  do, unless  we  are  political     

               Celebrities in India "                                                                                                                                                                               

•  Michael Johnson, the Olympic gold medal runner, was on his way to a club with some friends. At the gate, the watchman said: "Sorry, Sir, you can't go in — denim's not allowed." Michael was quite annoyed at this and retorted: "Don't you know who I am? I'm Michael Johnson." "Oh! Then, it won't take you long to run home and change,Sir?" replied the watchman.
•  Deciding to take up jogging, the man was astounded by the wide selection of jogging shoes available at the local sports shoe store. While trying on a basic pair of jogging shoe, he noticed a minor feature and asked the clerk: "What is this little thing here on the side?" And the clerk: "Oh, that's a pocket to carry some spare change so you can call your wife to come and pick you up when you've jogged too far."
• One man's hobby was running and he spent all his weekends running in the country side. One Sunday, early in the morning, he went for a run as usual. It was still dark, cold and raining, so he decided to return back to his house. He came in, went to his bedroom, undressed and laid near his wife. "Weather is very bad today, honey" he said to her. "Yes, I know" she replied "but that idiot husband of mine still went out running"
• Sakpal Singh:  I have stopped going to Gym
  Iqbal  Singh :  Why ? You joined just two months back.
  Sakpal Singh:  Yes and in two months, I haven’t lost even one pound.
  Iqbal  Singh :  How come?
  Sakpal Singh:  First they make you pay Rs.2000/- when you join. Then, on top of it

                               you are also expected to show up every morning !  
  
  
  ***************
   A man had been driving all night. He decided to stop on the way and park somewhere quiet so he could get an hour or two of sleep. As luck would have it, the quiet place he chose happened to be on one of the city's major jogging routes. No sooner had he settled back to snooze when there was a knock on his window. He looked out and saw a jogger running in place. "Yes?" "Excuse me, Sir," the jogger said, "What is the time, now?" The man looked at the car clock and answered, "8:15." The jogger said thanks and left. The man settled back again, and was just dozing off when there was another knock on the window and another jogger. "Excuse me, Sir, What's the time?" "8:25!" The jogger said thanks and left. Now the man could see other joggers passing by and he knew it was only a matter of time before another one disturbed him. To avoid the problem, he got out a pen and paper and put a sign in his window saying "Please, I don't know what's the time!" Once again he settled back to sleep. 
  He was just dozing off when there was another knock on the window. "Yes, What do you want?" "Sir, It's 8:45 now ! "
  **************
  You know it is time to take up jogging when...
  o    You try to do a few pushups and discover that certain body parts refuse to leave the floor.
  o    Your children look through your wedding album and want to know who mom's first husband was.
  o    You come to the conclusion that, if God really wanted you to touch your toes each morning, He would have put them somewhere around your knees.
  o    You analyze your body honestly and decide what you should develop first is a sense of humor.
  o   You step on a talking scale and it says, "Come back when you are alone"
  
  
  ***************
  Janter Singh  : I am going to New Zealand, next week
  Manter Singh: Why, What's up?
  Janter Singh  : Well, I want to practice for the next cross-country race and it always 
                              helps to start with a small country.
  
  
  **************
  One advantage of jogging, they say, is that each mile of jogging adds one minute to your longevity. Thus, at the age of 85, you will be able to stay an additional five months in the Nursing Home at Rs 10,000/- a month! 
  
  
  
  
  
  __________________________________

My Jogging Escapade

Gymnastics or the cult of bodybuilding is an institution like marriage: those who are in, having already burnt their fingers once, try to lure those who are out. It was thus a fitness-crazy friend of mine who introduced me to  jogging as the best and simplest form of exercise. I was already a physical culture faddist and had by then tried all types of exercises from aerobics to 'Soorya Namaskar's and had used almost every health appliance in the market, from Bullworker to Stepper, without adding as much as an extra inch to my biceps to show off. So, going in for jogging in right earnestness, one day, I bought for myself a brand new pair of white 'Reeboks', to which I applied a brilliant white coat of 'Blanche'. For my 'jogging' uniform, I found an old pair of Bermuda shorts, a sleeveless vest and a pair of socks. Lastly, before going to bed that night, I carefully set the alarm clock to ring at exactly five, next morning.

The alarum went off promptly at the set time. I jumped out of the bed, had a quick wash and changed into my jogging attire. Taking care not to awaken others still enjoying their early morning slumber, I slipped outside, to find not a soul in the streets. The watchman was fast asleep; a stray dog looked at me quizzically and decided to ignore me. There was an eerie silence in the air, not even a cock crowing or a bird chirping. I felt a trifle scared initially, but started jogging, all the same, at a slow, even pace.  After I had jogged for about two to three kilometers, however, I felt tired and decided to call it a day — for the first day, it was certainly more than enough. When I had rested a bit on one of the benches in the Chembur municipal garden, I suddenly started sneezing; probably, I was going to catch a cold, I thought. The sound must have made a police constable sleeping on the next bench jump in his seat.  He gave me a rather cold, irritated look.  I returned a sheepish smile for an apology and quickly decided to move on.

I couldn't have blamed the policeman.  After all, I was feeling a bit sleepy myself, which was but natural having got up so early.  So, deciding to return home by a shorter route, I stealthily entered the compound of the police commissioner's bungalow nearby.  I cut across the sprawling lawns and slowly eased myself through the barbed wire fence at the other end.  After I had safely passed through without hurting myself, I straightened up, with a sigh of relief, only to find myself standing face-to-face with that ferocious looking, sleepy-eyed policeman from the municipal garden! Obviously, he had been following me on suspicion and now he appeared very much pleased with himself for having caught a burglar in the act of fleeing away from the scene of his crime, which in this case happened to be the Commissionersaab's abode!  What more could a poor police constable ever ask for!   He gave me a thorough look-over, from top to bottom, fixing his gaze finally on my Bermuda shorts.  I gave him a rather nervous smile and tried to explain that I was out only for an innocent, jogging exercise.  But, somehow, the policeman didn't seem to believe me.

" Aarre! Jogging at two-thirty in the middle of the night?  Go, tell it to some Lalloo", he said. I knew then that my alarm clock had let me down again!  The inspector at the police station wouldn't believe me, either.  I was detained for the rest of the night and released only at seven next morning, after getting a clearance from the police commissioner who, fortuitously, happened to be known to my brother-in-law!  On my way back home, I met several people from the office rushing towards the railway station to catch their train.  Some stared at me looking askance with raised eyebrows while some young lasses giggled at my unusual costume. I have never felt so embarrassed in my life.

At the entrance to our colony, Dr. Gulvady, who was just returning from his morning 'constitutional', joined me; his walk was so brisk that, to keep in step, I had to almost jog once again!  As I thus hurried home with the doctor in tow, a colleague, Mr. Somnathan passed by on his two-wheeler, waiving at us with a queer, perplexed look on his face. When I reached the office that morning, I had a call from Mr. Somnathan and several others, all making discrete inquiries about the health of my ailing father !

I kept up my jogging for several years. Now, at the age of seventy, I do some rudimentary exercises every morning, so far as my arthritis permits. For the rest of the day, however, I practice my most favorite posture in Yoga, called the Shavasana!  
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published Kanara Saraswat, LXXXIV,No.8,(Aug 2003),p29

The Woman who Never Was

     She was exquisitely beautiful. She had sharp features and an almost flawless complexion with lush golden locks flowing across her large, sparkling eyes. She had a bewitching smile that revealed a secret dimple on the left chin. There was a certain ethereal quality about her, which had the strange power to melt any male heart. Simply, she was a ravishing beauty!

         It’s in the very nature of man to appreciate God’s all truly beautiful creations. But, wives somehow don’t seem to appreciate this simple fact of life that they won’t even grant him an innocent, vicarious pleasure of a mere “visual”! Ouch! I was rudely awakened from my reverie by a smart kick delivered under the table by my beloved wife. We were on a holiday in Bhubaneshwar and just relaxing in the hotel lounge when I was thus preoccupied and my wife kept pestering me about her shopping plans for the next day. “Just what do you see in her, Stupid? ” she chided me. “I've been talking to you for the last ten minutes and you just sit there eyeing that damsel like a hungry wolf!”  Whoever said that a thing of beauty is a joy forever must have been a bachelor!  I was spared further ordeal, as I had to attend to a phone call at the reception desk

         When I returned to the lounge after a while, I had a very pleasant surprise waiting for me. The beautiful girl in question had now landed at our table and was talking with my wife! Already, the two ladies were deeply engrossed in a tête-à-tête like two old, long lost friends and my wife was beaming with joy!! Miss Monica Das, it seemed, was a Tourist Guide and had offered to show us round Bhubaneshwar the next day. What’s more, she knew a place where one could shop around for Odissi sarees and filigreed silver jewelry!!!

        We left the hotel early next morning, along with Monica, to visit places of interest like Konark, Kalinga, Jaganath Puri etc. After the visits, we had a delicious lunch at Hotel Kalinga. In the afternoon, I felt so drowsy that I decided to return to the hotel alone, leaving the ladies at the Mall to enjoy their shopping spree.  In the evening, I remained in the hotel room waiting for them to return, when suddenly there was a light knock on the door. I opened the door to find Miss Monica standing there alone with all smiles, half a dozen shopping bags in her hands and no trace of my wife! To my raised eyebrows, she responded saying that my wife had gone straight to attend a Sarod recital by Amjad Ali Khan in the main hall and that she had opted out as she didn’t like “that classical stuff”, anyway. As she started describing their shopping adventures, I soon discovered that Monica was as vivacious as she was beautiful.

         Then, all of a sudden, without a word of warning, she leaped straight into my bed giving me a charming smile and barely missing me by half an inch! “I did right, didn’t I Uncle?” she asked pouting her sensuous lips and flapping her large, mascaraed eyelids.  Moving closer to me, while I went dizzy with the faint whiff of her exotic perfume, she flashed her endearing little smile again and then with a come-hither look in her eyes, she teased “Uncle, old Naughty Boy, what were you upto during lunch? Hmm, I saw you ogling at me like a hungry wolf !” Then, in a jiffy, without much further ado and before I could even say Lewinsky, she was all over me! God, this was not something I had bargained for!! I gulped nervously and wondered what Clinton would have done under such circumstances.

        Now, while I won’t deny having a roving eye for beauty, I am no Casanova or an infatuated philanderer for that matter. Perhaps, I have been a little indiscreet sometimes, but infidelity was the last thing on my mind. Believe it or not, like Lord Rama, I have been all along a veritable one-woman man. Now, I was not going to allow this silly girl to mar my clean record and reputation. Moreover, which sane husband in his sound mind will ever risk his wife walking in any time and catching him in such a compromising situation?  So, carefully liberating myself from her hold, I pushed her away and said “Errr! What are you doing, Baby? You are like a daughter to me!”  By now, I was panting for breath and sweating profusely like a bottle of chilled beer! I felt my blood pressure was going up; so, I popped a few tranquilizer pills into my mouth. Monica, now chastened and somewhat anxious, ran to the refrigerator and fetched me a glass of water and offered me a piece of toffee saying, “Take this, Uncle. It will make you feel much better”. But obviously the toffee had coffee or something in it, because, as soon as I took the first bite I was feeling terribly sleepy!

      “Eeeeek!” It was my wife’s shrill shriek that woke me up. When I opened my eyes, I found her squatting on the floor amidst empty suitcases and shopping bags! “We have been ROBBED!” my wife screamed, “Oh! All those beautiful sarees and jewelry I bought yesterday are GONE!! And all along, you STUPID, you have been sleeping like a log of wood.” Then, I did another most foolish thing: I asked her where Monica was and my wife’s wrath knew no bounds. We looked for Monica all over the place and even inquired with the Tourist Information office, but to no avail. They had no tourist guide by that name, Monica Das, ever registered with them. Next morning, we lodged a complaint with the local police, who told us that from all available clues, it appeared to be the handiwork of one Moneckda --- a notorious conman operating in the region, whose modus operandi it was to masquerade himself, more often than not, as a beautiful woman and rob the poor, unsuspecting travelers in hotels.

         Ah, what a relief! Monica was not a woman, after all !! Thank God for little mercies.