Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Boodha Lament

A cigarette burns, deep and slow
In the night its embers glow
Smooth fumes aggregate
And my body – they enervate
But little does the cigarette know
That its life is about to go
Burnt and thrashed to the ground
Squished mercilessly without a sound
Dying embers cry away
Turning to a morbid gray.

The skies begin to weep again
Cold waters flood the drains
Now it lies in a puddle – vanquished
A life worthwhile, now dismissed.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Wound up drive

Good old Boodha is a mild mannered guy – the kind of guy who goes for a morning walk every day, waters his neighbor’s plants when they are away and mends all the torn public library books whenever he issues them; but there are just some days when irritation trickles down his peaceful little world and hits him much like ice cream hits you through the cracked enamel of your teeth. Well it so happened, that Boodha was on one of his peaceful little strolls today morning when a passing school uniform clad motorcyclist sloshed a puddle full of mud water on his face. Soaking wet and angry at himself for not being able to come up with an insult in time, he looked up accusingly at the sky as if to ask god, ‘Why me?’ when he saw Dhoni staring down at him from a poster which read – ‘Youngistaan meri jaan’; bitter at the incident, Boodha then went on to draw a parallel between youngistaan and a rather crude anatomical part in the same fashion (which the author refuses to publish in order to maintain the sanctity of this blog).
Now you would think that this would be the appropriate end to any incident involving fluids being hurled or any person being publicly humiliated through a cruel twist of fate, but that would be so because you my dear reader, are unacquainted with the ways of Boodha. Well, he in this instance went on to theorize upon the Indian motorist and infuriate the editors of many a popular newspapers, who repeatedly ignored his countless letters to educate the masses about proper driving habits - parts of which are given below.

" The Indian motorist is a curiously deceptive creature, in the morning he drives cautiously slightly eager to join in the foray, in the afternoon he is lethargic to the point of being comatose but come evening and he drives like a bull in the heat. Carrying a rather peculiar expression which reminds you of someone trying to hold through a vicious bout of loose motions, he rampages about the road threatening to run over any small fry. Increasing frustration results in frequent utterances of dialogues such as ‘Abe , tere baap ka road hai kya?’ or ‘Ghonchu! Dekh ke chal!’, but it is when he is struck in the most severe of traffic congestions that he unleashes a magically devious but grossly underrated technology – the horn.
The horn (hornus irritatus) , horun or bhopu is by far the most significant Indian contribution to the world of motoring. The Indian driver relies on his horun to remove any obstacles from his path - laari waalas, ‘oh so cute’ school children, other motorists, BEST buses, open potholes, railway crossings, empty parking lots and as once had been famously claimed, even the Republic Day Parade.
Well, if you have obtained your driving license sitting at home,let me say that the test is not so difficult – the first round entails a written test (thank god!) but the second round consists of a field test where you point out your vehicle’s bhopu to the instructor and play it to the tune of at least 5 different Bollywood songs from ‘Pyar kiya to darna kya’ to ‘Dhoom!’ – pick a slightly difficult composition and you might get a Commercial Vehicles license as well!..."
"...The average Indian has a penchant for all things bidesi – imported maal, export quality goods etc etc; apparently anything that is made in India for Indians isn’t even fit for pigs. It seems that the Indian motorist carries off this fondness to the streets (literally!) by driving on the right side of the road – full firangi ishtyle. As that lone motorist zooms against heavy oncoming traffic – hand on horn, one can only guess that by following this foreign credo and with Bhopu Mata’s blessings he hopes to turn the plump nagging missus behind him into a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader... "

Boodha continues onwards for another hundred pages with rampant enthusiasm, justifying his claims with differential equations on traffic patterns, regression analysis of real time data and so on but that study cannot be taken up lightly especially on an empty stomach. Thus, Boodha takes his leave in the lure of a fuller belly and a couple of sweet burps later on.


Wednesday, June 10, 2009

A Note to the Reader

Dear Reader

The Screaming Boodha is not related to his holiness Gautam Buddh in any way, in fact this blog shall be host to the geriatric whims and senile idiosyncrasies of a mildly nauseative character. Boodha (as the author prefers to be called) may refer to himself in the third person, first person or sometimes when in sublime bliss - as inanimate objects. Also take note my dear reader, that Boodha has a tendency to offend, ridicule, poke fun at the weak and stupid and express gratitude through copious amounts of flatulence. Also, when confronted with gross error in judgement or obvious mistranslations of facts; Boodha shall proceed to insult your mother, your father or any other family member you happen to hold dear and defend his point to a rather shameless grave. And when Boodha no longer feels so full of himself he shall stop writing and take a nap.