A King's Tail???

Emperors, Rajas and Kings; this has been the history of India. All have their own storeys, some ordinary tales and some epics, some just and some greedy. Very few are remembered till today for their gallantry and strength, a few for their uncanny and intolerable conduct. One, I found, had a very interesting story. Fancy this:

Raja Deep Acharya was very widely known for his candour and valour. He had a charismatic personality which also helped in avoiding many invasions and kept his kingdom safe and peaceful. The Acharya dynasty had been ruling over the province of Khushaalnagri for a long time. They were Hindus by blood and never slaughtered or forced any other religion to convert. There was no separation in the society based on caste whatsoever.

Raja Deep, who had everything a king could ever wish for, was always depressed. His moustaches would not stay up. He had always dreamt of having moustaches as high as a roaring lion. But to his misfortune, they would just stay down like a lazy hippo. This made him look sheepish. All sorts of attempts were made. Oil along with two of the best hair-stylists was especially sent by a very dear friend of his from Arab. They put in all that they had but the moustaches remained adamant. Two dwarves from the Lilliput Island offered to do the job for a small price of hundred gold coins each. Even their specialisation failed. The moustaches just rolled down laughing at the little men’s skills.

That night when Raja Deep was in his hall looking at state matters his eyes fell on his father’s and forefather’s portraits who were standing tall showing off their moustaches as glorious as their crowns. He felt disgusted with himself and decided to end it once and for all. He grabbed his sword, which could cut an armoured knight along with his horse in a single stroke, and with a great skill slashed off his moustaches.

The next morning when he was mourning over his sad loss he saw his two black greyhounds, just when the voice of Namaaz from the nearby Masjid hit his ears, an idea struck him. That day in his court people were astonished to see his black moustaches pointing upwards like the pillars flanking Taj Mahal. What no one realised was that both his dogs had lost their tails.

After all it is said’ “Kutte ki poonch hamesha tedhi hi rehti hai” (A dog’s tail always stays bent).

Do Not Edit

Today, the 14^th day of June, 2007, was turning out to be one of the most boring days of my life. I got up early in the morning with an urge to go to the office. The work, a STAAD model, was pending from the previous day. I was very enthusiastic to finish it as it gives me (or should I say everyone) a great pleasure in obtaining good results from works which take more than a day. But on reaching the office, I find out that none of the systems loaded with STAAD Pro (a structural design software) was free. So I was asked to wait.

I felt frustrated in a sad way because when my roommate, who is down with fever, said that he is not going to his office, I too felt like “bunking”. But the thought of finishing the work grabbed me. It was as though my itch was pushing me to the office. Nevertheless, I found a cosy room (which was empty by the way), sat on a comfortable chair and put my head down on the table. It was only after half and hour that I realised that I had been sleeping. I woke up in a jiffy and rushed towards the bathroom. Only after sparging my face with water did I come to my senses. I came back to my chair and started wondering what to do. The computer assigned to me was not functioning properly. Its keyboard lay dead. I was feeling very lonely and bored. I wanted to run away.

While I was baffling with these thoughts in my mind, the office boy, Prasad, who brings lunch for everyone in the office, came and asked me what I wanted to eat. I felt very glad watching his cute little face with (what seemed like then) a million dollar smile. I did not miss this opportunity and started chatting with him. We discussed about all sorts of dishes available in Bangalore. Later he told me that someone from the office had got a raise in the salary and that the lucky person was going to give a treat in the evening. The thought of a party in the office gave me a reason to stay back. God bless Prasad for giving me the news and Jurong Consultancy for sponsoring the treats era during my internship period.

I was very happy now, but no one to share my feelings with. Prasad had left to get lunch. Since my computer was not working, I took a piece of paper and started scribbling. Now I don’t know when I am typing this small incident to be posted it will be edited or not. I hope not. I guess the title now makes sense to you.

Dimag ki batti jala de...

It’s a bright day and Mr. Jayaram Kishan is very excited about the concert of Pundit Shiv Kumar Prasad, a far-famed classical Indian music singer.

He wears his most expensive kurta crafted by hand with rich decorations in Kashmir and matching shoes which he bought during his visit to Kolkata. These he had reserved for special occasions and high class parties. Being a renowned writer in Hindi, he has immense interest in the classical music. Even his snobbish behaviour does not stop people respecting him for his honourable works.

As he enters the hall holding his entry ticket in the hand after passing through several electronic barriers put up by the security (thanks to various bomb blasts sponsored by Terrorists Co.) he sees that the programme has already started. Just as he is searching for his seat, a young man enters wearing squeaky shoes. The man, who is the only one wearing a blue striped t-shirt and a matching jeans, appears not to be interested in the concert.

The sound of his shoes is so vexing that the maestro feels disdained and leaves. The audience in turn starts cussing the innocent perpetrator. Mr. Kishan, in a bemused state, is enjoying the situation as much he is sorry for missing the show.

The young man, Shyamal Mathur, a computer engineer, was forced by his wife to watch the show. He is cornered from all sides when Namrata also joins forces with the assailants. He only wishes that he had not agreed with her and had instead stayed home and surfed on the internet, maybe even written a blog.

Now let’s look at the entire situation from a different angle. Shyamal acts foxily and matches his footsteps with those of Mr. Kishan’s. The blame is laid on the perplexed soul. Mr. Kishan only wonders why he is marked by the Satan. Why is the day he has been waiting for a long time being ruined in this fashion? Why is the day he wanted utmost peace (considering the fact that he wanted to attend the classical music show) chosen to bring chaos in his life? It took only a fraction of second and he did not get any time to run out of it. The public loses all its respect for the virtuoso writer and refers to him as “Kurta”.

Shyamal, on the other hand, is enjoying each and every moment of this muddle he has created for the poor author. He is on a different heaven altogether. He has achieved something big, something important, his honour.

Namrata, who is feeling very proud of her husband who has acted so knavishly, seems to be very happy and satisfied. The lady realises that she has married the right man, the man who is suited to survive in the modern world, a world where the rules of survival of the fittest apply. The man is a cunning cat, a mischief maestro, an honourable hero.

I guess that is enough batti for your mind. Watch out for more!