Close confidant

Whenever Anees Jung wanted to pull my self-esteem down by a few rungs, she accused me of telling lies and contradicted me with a loud nevvah (never). The last time, she took me on about a true incident concerning the Dalai Lama. One of his disciples had brought a four-inches-long red string that I was asked to tie round my left wrist. It would assure me of a painless exit from life. Now I am in acute agony. I did not use the red string and put it in one of the drawers of my work table. I am determined not to use it. I know my end is to come very soon. I sense my end will come any day in the very near future. I told Anees Jung about it. She has shifted her residence from Delhi to Versova.

When I first told her about it, her response was a loud nevvah and an assurance that she knows the Dalai Lama very well. I tried to shake her self-confidence. “Perhaps you were in the same school in Lhasa.” She ignored my jibe and continued to belittle me. Now that I am in acute agony and know I will not last very long, I do not know if she still regards the Dalai Lama as a close confidant. And I will not be around when the news of my departure appears in the obituary columns of newspapers. And hopefully, on some television channels.

A unique victory

Dancing in every street of Mumbai,

Calcutta, Delhi

Bharat and India in a state of

unprecedented frenzy

Celebrating the determination, grit,

honesty

Of a simple man, replicating Gandhi

And epitomizing the frustration,

anger and hopes of the country

Mark for our democracy a unique

victory

Not that rogues will now cease to

hold sway

Not that corruption will

go away

And money and muscle

have no role play,

But it gives cynicism a

rude shock

And people may begin to

walk the talk,

Melting an ice-berg

long frozen

Thus giving hope to a

common citizen

That even a war against

corruption can be won —

A war which has just begun

And for which everything

is yet to be done.

But whatever the outcome

of the fight,

Anna has already become

a house of light.

(Contributed by Kuldip Salil, Delhi)

Wind in the willows

Banta was a rich man and had to attend big parties in connection with his business. His wife had been suffering from flatulence. The couple felt very awkward when she passed wind. People around felt as if a bomb had exploded. Banta spent a lot of money, consulted many doctors, but there was no permanent cure.

His friend, Santa, directed him to a cobbler near Karol Bagh who said, “Bantaji, I cannot cure it but can make the sound a little musical. Your problem will be solved and the charge will be Rs 2 only.” So the cobbler asked Banta to buy a small whistle. He tied the whistle in the sensitive portion round her waist. So whenever she farted, the whistle would blow. The gentry in the party felt as if some child has whistled.

Banta and his wife were very happy. But Banta’s wife went and asked the cobbler if the sound could be made a little melodious. The cobbler said, “With the Rs 2 you had given, only a whistle could be fitted, not a piano.”

(Courtesy: J.P. Vinayak, New Delhi)

Incomplete lesson

Vijay Mallya, the liquor baron, was once teaching his 17-year-old son how to approach a girl, how to ask her for a dance, what to say and what not to say, and how to persuade her for dinner. The boy went away and came back half an hour later and said, “Now teach me father how to get rid of her!”

(Contributed by Anirban Sen, Delhi)