The tales of Jeroo - Downpour

(For Space, who is the bestest, and who is very partial to the name)
 
There would be no peace tonight, she thought, with this latest army of clouds and their pounding assault on her city.  

They had stretched from horizon to horizon for days, a swelling mass of slowly-built-up weight aching to return to their ancient refuge in the world underneath. They brooded at the latest defences men had laid down, sighing at the foolishness of these ever-expanding unnatural fortifications, wondering yet again why humans insisted on defying and denying them. They hulked and sulked, sending forth brief forays, before finally realising there would be no parley, and had unleashed a relentless wall of liquid fury.

Trillions of stormtroopers blindly hurled themselves down, probing probing probing for the weaknesses that they knew had to exist, gleefully wriggling into the minute cracks they created, pouring in after each other to wreak as much havoc as they could in their short time they had, and leaving behind dramatically visible markers. 

Markers that mocked those who thought they could defy the world they lived in. Markers that dared the engineers to try and deny them again, while trying to explain there was no need to. Markers that they hoped would encourage an amicable truce, and the negotiation of mutually beneficial access treaties.

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

Jeroo Dalal lay in the dark, distractedly listening to the battle without, wondering how much longer it would be before she went crazy. 

Four days of constant, heavy July rains had almost shut the city down. Almost everybody had been forced indoors by now, the initial delight at forced truancy having slowly given way to unease, and now, genuine distress.   She had begun to cross-index the rising water levels with the volume of noises from her neighbours - the bickering, the snapping at frustrated children, the growing accusations against the kirana guy of hoarding.  Such silly people.  Didn't they watch the news? Supplies were running low all over, it was difficult for even trucks to get through.  The only ones who dared to venture out now were the extremely hardy, the completely foolish, and those whose jobs or circumstances did not allow them to consider things like weather conditions.  

She occasionally spotted one of them, ever-so-carefully wading through waist-high water thick with the debris of uncivic behaviour, prodding at the ground with their make-shift sticks to avoid the open drains that lurked in patient anticipation.  She thought they looked like adventurers exploring an exotic land, braving their lives to identify safe trails for others to follow, moving ever onwards to discover the unknown. Just muckier.

Of course, they probably felt nothing of the sort, and were just cursing the monsoon, the inefficient municipal authority, and all the lucky sods who had the luxury of lounging at home eating fried snacks and hot chai and watching TV and ….

Hold on. 

Chai.

Too early, surely? Or was it too late...

Oh well, she wasn't going to get any sleep tonight.  Might as well brew herself a cup (and eat up that last pao) and see if anybody was out exploring.  She could dig out her old binoculars and pretend she was out in the rainforests on a rescue expedition, ready to shore up some sagging souls with a boost of tannin and fermented flour.  Maybe she would even sing some old campfire songs to give them a little bit of pep.

Yes, Jeroo Dalal thought, it was time to get up.

Questions

"Oh. Well, let's see....Little babies float about on purple bricks, and then giant frisbees come in and announce that they are breaking the rules and will be put away in a room with some no-handled mugs, only they're interrupted by a bottle of ginger beer that jumps up and down and up down and up and down and sprays froth all over them so that the babies escape, and then the frisbees send some wild sunflowers after them that keep reflecting sunlight into the path of the babies so that it's too shiny to see where they're going, and then they come to a river of liquid emerald and the bricks refuse to go on because everybody knows that purple and green don't match, so the babies hop off and take out their lollipops and lick them till they're really sticky and then throw them at the sunflowers to tangle them up, and then -"

"No. I meant, tell us about your career dreams."

"........."

"Mmmmm....cheese toast".

"Ugh!"

"....??!"

"Humans were not meant to eat cheese".

"Huh?"

"No seriously. Cheese is an alien organism which should be not ingested by us".

"Stop right there. If you're going to start on some vegan crap rant about how it's made from milk which is the fluid of another animal and would I then also drink blood - I swear I'll sock you one".

"No no. Not that - although when you think about it like that...."

"What did I just say? You love my knuckles so much?"

"Ah. Sorry. No, what I meant was - it really is an alien organism".

"Riiiiight".

"Really. See, you called that a cheese toast, but it's actually a toasted cheese sandwich, right?"

"I guess so".

"Yeh. The truth is hidden from you that way. No, if you really want to realise the truth about cheese, watch it melt under a grill*".

"And what will that show me?"

"Go see for yourself....go!"

"Okay, okay.
.......
uggh!"

"I told you so".




* No really, watch it. The Blob returns!

Compromise

"Look, forget all the other differences that are going to cause problems. At the end of the day, it comes down to this - you like coffee, he likes tea. Trust us, it's just not going to work".

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

They settled for hot chocolate.

38 years later, they would get their giggles by sending snarky remember-how-you-said emails from a joint account.

Fun times

He hated leaving parties.

Not because he liked them so much. Although he did. But even if he was having a miserable time at some unplanned gig at some random person's house which had a table offering only soggy crisps and just three beverages of unexciting potency, he still hated leaving parties.

Because he always wondered if they were only waiting for him to leave so that they could start talking about him. No...gossiping. No no...bitching. Backbiting. Mocking. Sneering.

It didn't matter where the party was, or how many people he happened to know there. The moment it became more than close friends having dinner, and turned into a bunch of people hanging out and bringing other unknown folk, he couldn't help but feel that the minute he waved his last casual-cool goodbye and stepped outside, the laughter and the ohmygawwds and the headshaking would begin.

And so he began staying later and later. It became a battle of patience and nerves - him against those who he felt would be the first to initiate the giggles. He learnt to eat a little before the party, so that he wouldn't be forced to get out just because the last straggly carrot stick had been devoured. He began to read up on things - on art and sport and current affairs and architecture and music and books - because when it was just you and three others, it was hard to hide behind a pretty smile and endless discussions about who would win in a fight between Batman and Bruce Lee. He learnt to ignore the pointed yawns of his hosts, or the repeated comments about what a long day they had had (what did they mean by that anyway - it wasn't as if they lived in Narnia where time ran differently) - as long as there was one other guest, he refused to leave.

Inevitably, people realised this and began leaving early - or rather, earlier than they would have if he hadn't been at the party. It was either that or end up being stuck in a conversation about whether Dali's vision was weirder than Escher's and Gaudi's combined.

He realised this, but he didn't care. He wouldn't give them the chance to make fun of him behind his back. He would not be broken.

And then, one night, he wondered if they had begun to leave early only to meet elsewhere and make fun of him.

Intense Paranoia - Identification Method #43

Excerpts from the minutes of the meeting of the Committee for the Proection of Proection Proection and Proection, held on 19 Fe bber, 1978.

".....

Minister Edwds: And your lot are certain about this?

Professor Edwd: Quite certain.

Minister Edwds: And there's no possibility of any errors in calculations?

Professor Edwd: None whatsoever.

Minister Edwds: No ambiguity about the conclusions?

Professor Edwd: Not in the least.

Minister Edwds: And everybody's unanimous about this? Nobody has an alternative theory?

Professor Edwd: Sir, every single scientist working on this is agreed that this is inevitable.

Minister Edwds: But dammit, man, it's like something out of a science-fiction story!

Professor Edwd: Nevertheless, sir, this is going to happen.

Minister Edwds: I still don't see how.

Professor Edwd: Let me explain again. Given the explosion of population levels in Asian countries, by 2015, eight of the 15 .........................most populous countries in the world will be from Eastern and Southern Asia. Further, the entire vertical belt from .........................Iran to Japan will account for about 65% of the world's population. On the other hand, the Americas will only account .........................for about 10-15%.

Minister Edwds: With you so far.

Professor Edwd: Ok. Well, given that the Americas are almost directly at the other side of the globe from the Asian region, this will .........................create an imbalance. And because of this imbalance, the distribution of weight on the Earth's surface will ever so .........................slightly be in favour of one side of the globe.

Minister Edwds: But surely the extra landmass of the Americas, not to mention the Pacific Ocean, should balance the scales, so to .........................speak.

Professor Edwd: They do, and they have for all these millennia. But, and this is the crucial bit, this level of population imbalance has .........................never occurred before. In fact, the imbalance will be almost completely imperceptible, and its effect will be almost .........................negligible.

Minister Edwds: Well, then, what's the problem?

Professor Edwd: Almost negligible, sir. Over time, given no changes in the population growth levels, this slight imbalance will continue .........................to grow and eventually cause a very tiny shift in the Earth's rotation and revolution. Again, a very tiny shift, but it will .........................be there nevertheless.

Minister Edwds: And this will cause trouble?

Professor Edwd: Without a doubt. Weather patterns will alter, the effect of the Sun on some parts of the world will be radically .........................different, the magnetic poles may be affected, not to mention the tectonic plates. In short, life will be drastically .........................different.

Minister Edwds: And so you've come up with this solution.

Professor Edwd: Yes, sir. Unless, of course, you wish to pursue a policy of generating wide-spread conflict, natural disasters, and .........................economic meltdowns in the region, which would lead to the deaths of millions of people, and help adjust the balance.

Minister Edwds: Of course not! Don't be stupid, man, nobody wants that on their conscience.

Professor Edwd: Your predecessor didn't seem to mind.

Minister Edwds: My predecessory was a ....

Professor Edwd: An idiot.

Minister Edwds: Hrrumph...yes, quite.

Professor Edwd: Well, then, this is the only real alternative.

Minister Edwds: Can't we just share this data with the world, and try and convince these countries to stop popping out so many .........................children?

Professor Edwd: And risk being accused of trying to control their sovereignity by manipulating data? Risk being accused of attempting .........................to prevent them from 'realising their potential' by acting like a 'typically colonial overlord'? Worse, risk our findings .........................being accepted and then being told that they would be sending boatloads of people over to our side of the world to .........................help balance things out?

Minister Edwds: Yes.....I guess you're right. Alright then, explain what you have in mind.

Professor Edwd: It's simple, sir. Since we can't prevent the Asian countries from growing in population, and since the Americas won't .........................keep up in numbers, we have to simply increase the weight of the population on this side so that overall, the weights .........................match.

Minister Edwds: Fatten them up, you mean, so that one of us are equal to three of them

Professor Edwd: Exactly, sir.

Minister Edwds: And you plan to do this by opening these....what did you call them?

Professor Edwd: Fast food chains, sir.

Minister Edwds: Hahahaha...Won't people lose weight if they have to run to get such food?

Professor Edwd: Ha ha. Very droll, sir. No, it's called so because the food will be served quickly, and because people will be expected to .........................eat it quickly and leave the premises. No more sitting and eating meals at leisure, with lots of chatting. No, you go in, .........................you gulp your food down, and you run off. This will serve three purposes. First, by eating quickly, you're less likely to .........................chew your food properly and thus less likely to digest it properly. A larger percentage of food turns to fat as a result. .........................Two, by serving more people in less time, we get more people to eat. Three, if you're eating so quickly, you're less .........................likely to reflect on how unhealthy the food you're eating really is.

Minister Edwds: And just how unhealthy will the food be?

Professor Edwd: Very. Full of fat, dripping oil, packed with lard-inducing chemicals, a distinct lack of fibre, - the works.

Minister Edwds: And you're convinced people will want to eat such slop?

Professor Edwd: We are quite certain. Our studies show that they will be immensely successful if we merely paint these places in bright .........................colours, advertise them with peppy jingles and a funny slogan or two, give them some quirky names, and throw in a .........................side-order or two of fizzy drinks.

Minister Edwds: And this will all be legitimate?

Professor Edwd: Every step of the way. Publicly listed companies with minority shareholders, giving out dividends, hiring and firing - .........................but all secretly owned by our agents.

Minister Edwds: And there will be no trace back to us?

Professor Edwd: None whatsoever. And even if someone does, whose going to believe such an outrageous story. They'll just be labelled .........................as conspiracy nutters, and that will be that.

Minister Edwds: Well, I guess there's no harm in trying.

Professor Edwd: So we should take that as a 'yes'?

Minister Edwds: Oh why not. Approval granted.

Professor Edwd: Thank you. Now, for the next item on our agenda..

....."

"Well, fuck me!"

He always said that. It was his thing. To have met him was to have heard him say it. With variations. Alternative stress-points, dramatised delivery, multiple exclamation points, the works.

After the initial shock/amusement, people just got used to it. They barely registered the actual words, but instead focused on trying to gauge the emotions that accompanied their expression.

Towards the end, he began saying it more frequently, and at the very last, that was the only thing he would say. It didn't matter if you bumped into him after months, or if you'd been seeing him every day, or if you were talking music, or discussing politics over dinner, or even just playing chess. That's all you would hear, those three words, again and again and again, the only notes emerging from the record as it wound down to its scratchy little end.

It was only later that they realised why.

Nobody ever had.

Provocateur

He finished proclaiming his latest view. Moments later, the expected storm of outrage, scorn, and counter-arguments burst.

He weathered the first wave, amazing as always at the vehemence that a few well-chosen radical words could raise. He then sent forth his words again. New outburst, another comment, yet more backlash.

The hours passed. He finally stopped when it hurt too much to laugh.

Another successful day baiting other commenters on Rediff.

The tales of Jeroo: Of tea and trouble

Jeroo Dalal leaned on the railing of her little balcony, and took a exploratory sip of her tea. Satisfied at its milky sweetness, she took another, and then looked around.

None of her neighbours were out yet. No matter, there was bound to be something interesting happening on the road below.

Aha. Like that little fellow sneaking up on those two girls...and was he holding something in his hand? Yes.  A balloon? No, too small. A stone perhaps? But what was he going to do with....

oh! The silly goose! He gave her such a start, bursting that nasty little cracker so unexpectedly. No wonder the girls were chasing him; she would too if she could. Not that they stood a chance of catching him - he was always too quick. No wonder they called him Jaldiram Haldiram.

Although she really did think that was such a silly name. Always made her picture one of those snack packets running about everywhere, prancing about in shops, hiding from the grasping hands of a baniya desperate to get some money from the fat man at the counter who was drooling over the thought of gorging on what was inside them. Poor little packets. Plucked, torn apart, their innards devoured, with fingers poking into all the little crevices looking for the last morsel, and then being discarded dismissively, their shiny skins soon to be grimed over by all the effluents of the world.

Besides, it wasn't as if it was a proper nickname. And he had such a nice name too - Vikram...Vikrama...Vikramaditya. Such a solid name. You could hear the echo of centuries each time you said it. Vikramaditya. Yes, such a good, old name.

And so rare. You didn't hear too many of them anymore - names her generation had been proud to carry, because they meant something, had some history to them. Kaikhusroo, Jalaluddin, Banoo, Meherbanoo, Gerson, Marilyn, Amreesh, Pradipto. Names that had a personal history for her, all old friends and family. All gone, of course. And what was she left with? These newfangled foreign words, with as few syllables as possible. Kaia. Gaia. Laia. Miel. All Greek and Hebrew and Latin and whoknowswhich other languages. No wonder she just kept calling them baby. They probably thought she was senile. Let them - she still knew what was what.

Ah, there was that nice upstairs Mr. Narayanan (with his cup of coffee, of course). What was he pointing at though, and why was he gesturing and grinning so much? Aha! That boy was right below her window, and the girls were headed in the other direction. Well. He might have a nice name, but he had startled her.

She leaned out a little, and carefully poured half her cup of tea over him.

And as he yelped and jumped up, only to be spotted and chased again by the girls, she settled back, acknowledging Mr. Narayanan's exaggerated claps with a modest smile.

It looked like it would be a pleasant evening after all.

She hid within the thick hedge, waiting. She had been squatting there for a while already, but she was content. After all, there was so much to do.

Like tasting the different tangs that the damp breeze carried as it swirled around her. Seeing how deep her toes could go if she kept pushing them into the softened wet earth. Counting how many of the little bodydraggers came sliming their way out to revel in all the water. Making sure that she was in position to see the road clearly, but was hidden well enough to not be spotted.

She realised she probably wouldn't be upset if her original plan didn't come to pass. But she kept a sharp lookout anyway, peering constantly at the rapidly glooming road, determined not to let an opportunity pass.

Like the one just arising.

Oh, yes.

A pre-occupied young man. Hurrying-scurrying. Worrying more about mud-sprays from the nasty little cars flying by in the murk, and sparing only the occasional look to notice where he was stepping.

She waited.

He came closer, shaking his head and muttering - and occasionally shouting - as more muck splashed onto him. Striding quickly, and only distractedly taking care to watch the path.

She waited.

...and as he passed by, and looked up to shake his fist yet again to some unknown antagonist, she SNAPPED the twig she had been holding for so long.

And almost laughed out loud as he turned horror-stricken eyes to the ground, trying to locate the snail he had accidentally stepped on. And she kept on laughing (hand clasped to mouth) while he nervously glanced around to see if anybody saw it, tried one last time to distinguish the snail from the twigs and stones, and then scurried away from the scene of the (assumed) crime.

When the giggles finally subsided, she picked up the next stick.

Oh, yes.

The Thin Edge of Philosophy

"Well? What're you waiting for?"

(chuckles...briefly) "Look at you. Demand, demand, threat, demand. Me, me, I, me. Do you ever look beyond yourself? Do you ever stop to think about the rest of the world? Have you ever just once stopped and thought - maybe there's more than this. Maybe there's something greater and grander to life than this. Maybe there's a better reason for me being alive. Or, have you considered this, maybe there isn't? Maybe there's no point to it all, no point to going on like this, just...surviving and not really living. After all, what are you but one more person on one more street in one more neighbourhood of one more city in a world full of them, and that whole world nothing more than the merest speck in the eyelashes of time. Have you ever thought of that? That you're nothing, I'm nothing, we're all nothing but a loop that's been lived out again and again and again. Have you never wondered how many people before you have done, and how many more after you will do, the same things you have? Felt the same things you have - and how many have thought about how many have thought about these things. Don't you ever feel like a ghost - like nothing's real, like nothing you see or feel is really there, like...."

Wchniiinkk.

"Now tell me....does that feel real? Or is that pain, that blood, this knife all just "imaginary"? ...(sigh)... You could've just handed over your wallet quietly you know".

She watched as the hanging corpses twisted in the gentle breeze. Savaged beyond the point of stubborn resistance, they slowly stiffened under the burning glare, which would leave them dessicated beyond all recognition.

She smiled.

Another batch of clothes, washed clean.

"It is hardly suprising that the growth of Political Correctness in the late 20th and early 21st century eventually led to extremes, largely due to the rigid adherence to the letter of the concept, often resulting in absurd situations such as the case of the Down's Syndrome boy who was accused of racism for pushing an Asian girl.

Things eventually came to a head in the year 2011, when, during a period of seven months, a series of suits and counter-suits were filed in law courts seeking to ban and criminalise the usage of certain words and phrases on the grounds of racism. Besides white Christmas, dark night, blackboard, whiteboard, and brownie, the suits also objected to songs such as "Brown girl in the ring", and societies such as SPIC MACAY.

These groups, often consisting of not more than a few individuals, incredibly managed to get their cases given a public hearing. It was at this point that the general public realised the depths to which the situation had sunk, leading to the formation of the so-called "commonsense protecting" group SPITS (Society for Preventing Idiotic Tampering of Society)."

- Dr. James Willington-Scotts* (The Battle For Language)


* Read an excerpt of Dr. Willington-Scotts' seminal work on the history of offensive language here.

Odd man

She runs home, hoping that the little sunlight today, will not have touched the corner where he rests. She's been smiling to herself all day thinking of his oddly shaped head, and the way his crimson eyes set off his green grin. A grin which she's convinced grew wider when she planted the mirror in front of him, and which mirrored her own joy at his existence at this unexpected time.

When she runs into the garden, though, she only finds a little pile of plucked grass and red petals, floating in the slush.

She wonders if it will snow again tonight.



PS. Four inches of snow in April. This is what happens when you moan about how hot it was back home. That weather spirit is one snarky so-and-so.

Funny, father

He waited patiently for them to ask him what he knew they would ask. In cases like this, the question - simple though it was - took a while to wade past the torrent of nervous excitement and exhilaration, before finally being blurted out in burst of devil-may-care bravado.

And so it was, that several long minutes after stumbling their way through a litany of their past and their beliefs and their hopes, the braver of the two youngsters asked him if he would marry them.

Ahh. Finally.

He smiled slowly, and then said, "But I can't do that. My order demands that I remain celibate".

And as he saw their smiles falter in confused bewilderment, he began to chuckle loudly, as he always did. It was such a funny joke.

"From our vantage point today, it is clear that the key trigger for the Born Abusive, Defamatory, And Stroppily Sexist (B.A.D.A.S.S.) movement - and the subsequent almost total short-term elimination of social niceties - was when the Western world believed it had received unassailable proof that the so-called "political correctness" trend of the late 20th and early 21st century had gone too far.

That 'proof' was, of course, the suit filed by mute adult-film actress Loraine Lengen ('Lollipop Lola') against the director of one of her films, on grounds of discrimination, for calling her a "dumb fuck". "

- Dr. James Willington-Scotts (From Ass-anglers to Ziplickers : A Guide to the Terminology of The Rude Years)

Secrets - 2*

"I have to tell you something."

"Hmm?"

"It's something I've been hiding from you."

"Uh-huh. Haven't I told you before that I don't want to know?"

"But you can't do that! I have to tell you - it's driving me crazy keeping this is a secret from you!"

"Well, that's your problem isn't it? You should have thought of that before deciding to keep it a secret."

"Fine, fine, I made a mistake. But I can't take it anymore - I have to tell you! Please!"

"Why? Why exactly do I need to know? Just so that you can sleep easier? Just so that you don't have to worry about me finding out on my own, and then giving you hell for doing it with telling me (which, by the way, do expect in full doses)? Just so that you can make a song-and-dance about being totally honest even though you've just kept it secret for who knows how long? So tell me - why do I need to know?"

"....because I love you? And because I'm sorry?"

"...hmm....Not the best reasons - but fine, out with it."

"Umm...but first you have to understand. I didn't not tell you because I didn't trust you. Or because I didn't think you'd understand. This was just something that happened. Something that I needed to do. Something...."

"Will you stop bullshitting, and just tell me already?"

"Ok. I...erm...I blog."

"Oh."

"Yeh."

"Hmm."

"...are you very angry? "

"No."

"No?! Why?"

"I knew that."

"What??!"

"Yeh - who do you think 'Anon.E.me' is?"

"Ohhh....crap."

"Yeh. Idiot."



* Part 1 here. End of story. Yes, yes, much work is needed on one's dialogue-skills. Other comments welcome.

It all changed when, in an attempt to divert the conversation from history to literature, he asked if she had read Vanity Fair.

She said she was more of a Cosmo girl.

.....There wasn't to be a second date.

Autumn fantasies

Crunch!
Stomp!
Graaaaaaaaaaaar!
Crackle!
Stomp!
Graaaaaaarrrrrrr!


"....and why is your son stamping on those leaves?"

"Oh, he thinks he's Godzilla."

Secrets - 1

"I have to tell you something."
"Hmm?"
"I've been keeping something from you."
"Oh?"
"Yeh."
"Is it a surprise?"
"Weeeell....possibly."
"Good surprise, or bad surprise?"
"That depends."
"Ok, tell."
"See, its not that I wanted to keep it from you...well, I wanted to, but more because I needed to. It's just that I didn't see how I could tell you and retain any..."
"Wait."
"Yes?"
"Is this something you've done? Been doing?"
"Ye-ees."
"And you've kept it a secret? From me?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Umm..because...well, like I said..."
"No. Stop."
"What?"
"You kept a secret from me."
"Yes."
"Despite all that we've been through, all the things we've worked on, despite all your promises, and all your assurances. Despite all everything we said about things like this, you did something which you felt you couldn't reveal to me? And now you feel guilty about it?"
"...yes."
"And you think you can just tell me now? After all this time?"
"It's not been that long, only a few..."
"I don't care! A week is too long. An hour is too long. You did it. And you chose not to tell me. So why are you telling me now? Why bother?"
"Because! I can't not ever tell you."
"No? But I can choose to not ever want to know. And I choose not to want to know."
"What? This is stupid...I'm trying to tell you..."
"No."
"But listen..."
"No."
"Hey..."
"No!"
"Come on..."
"NO !! I.don't.want.to.know. Live with it yourself. So shut up now, or you'll never get to speak to me again. Ok?....Good."