Mummified

Ugly fellow, but Mama's pet

Annual Tyranny

Every year, just as we are plagued by seasonal disease like dengue, encephalitis or bird/swine flu, there is the increasing menace of kanwarias every rainy season. Of course, this is restricted to the ‘hallowed’ cow-belt of North India.

This ritual of collecting water from the Ganges and anointing a शिवलिंग  used to be a personal article of faith – a paying of obeisance to the memory of one’s forefathers (strangely the ‘foremothers’ were ignored). It used to be simple affair even in the nineties – the equipment consisted of a simple bamboo stick, suspended from which on either end were two small pots of water from the Ganges. These have now evolved into weird elaborate structures that resemble the ताज़िआ  of Shias during मुहर्रम।

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Those devout persons of yore could be seen in isolation trudging quietly along the roads without any fuss and not interfering with the local populace.

The devout have been replaced by louts.

The whole process has now been institutionalized. Marauding gangs of saffron clad goons shout, yell and dance on the highways brandishing hockey-sticks or dandas obstructing traffic and threatening everyone who has the temerity to just carry on his or her business. They are a law unto themselves governed by a mob mentality with destructive propensities.

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Locals along the kanwaria route, armed with a misplaced sense of piety, bend over backwards to accommodate these ‘holy warriors’ by setting up camps and, in the process, encroaching on public space and roads. From these लंगर emanates an effluvium of rotting food, sweaty bodies infested with fungal infections, urine and excreta. Besides this mephitic miasma assaulting the olfactory senses, there is the additional auditory insult of loudspeakers belting out ear-splitting raucous parodies of Bollywood songs parading as भजन. Night and day this vulgar assault continues disrupting the lives of everyone.

Just as internet speeds are increasing, this kanwaria business has now been abridged to a gimmick called the dak kanwar. This religion at broadband speeds consists of a relay of runners accompanied by a township on wheels. The whole noisy and chaotic affair mercifully ends relatively quickly.

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 Whether Modi succeeds in setting up dedicated frrieght corridors, dedicated kanwaria corridors have come to stay.

"Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly

The Spider and the Fly

 “Will you walk into my parlour?” said the Spider to the Fly,
'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;
  The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
   And I've a many curious things to shew when you are there.”
“Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “to ask me is in vain,
 For who goes up your winding stair
     -can ne'er come down again.”
“I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
 Will you rest upon my little bed?” said the Spider to the Fly.
“There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin,
 And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!”
“Oh no, no,” said the little Fly,  “for I've often heard it said,
 They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!”
Said the cunning Spider to the Fly,  “Dear friend what can I do,
 To prove the warm affection I 've always felt for you?
  I have within my pantry, good store of all that's nice;
   I'm sure you're very welcome — will you please to take a slice?”
“Oh no, no,” said the little Fly,  “kind Sir, that cannot be,
 I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!”

“Sweet creature!” said the Spider,  “you're witty and you're wise,
 How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
  I've a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf,
   If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself.”
“I thank you, gentle sir,” she said,  “for what you 're pleased to say,
 And bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day.”

The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again:
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready, to dine upon the Fly.
Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
“Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing;
 Your robes are green and purple — there's a crest upon your head;
  Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead!”
Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew,
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue —
Thinking only of her crested head — poor foolish thing!
     At last,
Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,
Within his little parlour — but she ne'er came out again!

And now dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly flattering words, I pray you ne'er give heed:
Unto an evil counsellor, close heart and ear and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly.

~By Mart Howitt, 1829

Snake in the Grass

What a wast of water!

Whither Medical Science?

Times of India 13 July 2014

Saving lives used to entail the 'Kiss of Life' viz., mouth-to-mouth respiration. Is that going to be replaced by 'Flatulence of Life' - arsehole-to-nose artificial respiration? 

Will doctors coming on duty fortify their internal pharmacopeia with a spicy meal of राजमा  or उड़द flavoured with garlic and accompanied with a side-dish of onion and radish salad?

 

Can patients self-medicate by connecting a catheter from the anal orifice to their nostrils in case of a heart attack, just to keep their myocardial mitochondria from succumbing to oxygen deprivation and reveling in a malodorous milieu?

A demented patient will no longer be deemed to be demented if he is seen playing with his poo - he is merely getting his treatment from the 'source'!

Will pharmacist of the future be selected on the basis of their colonic capacity and dyspeptic proclivities rather than their knowledge of medicines?

Children will no longer be afraid of injections. Parents will warm their recalcitrant kids with the ominous warning "The doctor will fart in your face; just take the bitter medicine quietly". 

"बेटे चुपचाप दवाई खा लो नहीं तो डॉक्टर तेरे मुंह पर पाद मारेगा।"

I shudder while visualizing Dr Gregory House gleefully ordering his three minions to fart continuously on a patient with a rare tropical disease in order to keep him/her alive. I see him with a diabolical twinkle in the eye titrating the right blend of the combined effluvia of Drs Chase, Cameron and Foreman.

Methinks this effervescent scatological scenario will be fugacious in its popularity, the farts will eventually get encapsulated and will be available as 'Fart Pearls'.