She treats me like a Jewish Ghetto in the Nazi era. Yes, I work in her educational institution, teaching English. I am given no salary, only a pittance to buy cigarettes and coffee. It’s a long time since I have had booze and the reason is I have no money for it. I live with her daughter in law, sister and their kids in a bungalow. When I wake in the morning, I need cigarettes and I have to plead with her to shed half a dollar. She murmurs in disgust: ‘that confounded nuisance’ and very unwillingly hands me the money. She sends her time teaching Shakespearean English to high school students. She has been convent educated and all her life nuns have been her tutors. She is jealous of me and fails to acknowledge that I have greater knowledge than her in modern and post modern literature, especially in philosophy, literary and cultural theory. Many a time when I have consumed alcohol, she and her daughter in law, have used thugs and have locked me in a mental asylum. All the family adheres to a rigid puritan Pentecostal faith and are prominent church goers. They have raised all hue and cry to get me baptized, but I till this day feel no need of being so. They threaten me that God will punish me and leave me with grim visions of hell. I till to this day haven’t understood Christianity. Christianity lowers self esteem and poisons the self with a depressing nihilism that humans are tinged with guilt and they have to baptize and repent and surrender their self to Christ. This poison has depressed my life and now I have liberated my mind from its clutches. During the evenings, nights and early mornings, this old hag sits on the sofa and reads the Bible scrupulously while taking notes. This old hag has complained many times that I lie on the sofa like a couch potato and scratch my balls in public, a deed which strikes her as being diabolically fiendish. What is the harm in scratching one’s own balls? One gets a curious dwarfish pleasure from this wholly non violent gesture. I am sure that even the American President will scratch his balls in his own bedroom. Another thing I have noticed about this old hag is in spite of her Pentecostal faith she has not given up her aficionado for wearing gold. A thick necklace, the size of a dog chain laces her neck. Many a times I have had the temptation of wrenching it from her bloody neck. Once I have tried and I was threatened with being reported to the police. When she sleeps, I have watched the necklace hanging down from her neck and I was filled with Devilish glee of grabbing it. But I have resisted partly out of fear. These days, I am dreaming of getting a job. I wish to escape out of their clutches forever. I also dream of buying a house in a cozy hill station and living a life devoted to writing and also spending my life with someone, whom I can love and relate to. I leave it to the reader to guess who these people are.
I am a shop but more like a pigsty in a town, Kozhencherry in Kerala, in God’s Own Country. My walls are dirty and covered with mud, grease and slime. I have a narrow corridor reaching to my entrance which is on both sides covered with metal barricades. I open at 10 in the morning and close at 9 in the night. Even before I am open, people of all flocks come and stand in a queue and wait eagerly for my metal shutters to open. Some people take particular care to cover their faces with a helmet so that their identities will not be revealed. I watch with glee and schadenfreude at the pain people take to come and buy my elixir. Some people buy two or three, then even more happier. Some of the people buy me and gulp me raw and fall down pissed. There are others who just after buying me open their shirts and stuff me into their bellies. Sad to say my time has come. People have complained about me telling that I am nearby a school and in the heart of the town. Then all of a sudden without any notice they Govt. had decided to execute me. Now I am lying in my grave.
Mr. Fartinsky from Fartopia invented a new machine for testing the emissions of farts.
Fartometer is a simple gadget that can be placed on one’s ass.
Fartinsky also invented a Fartscale meter on which the intensity of farts can be measure.
Scale ratings on the Fartometer.
Scale 1 on the Fartometer
The fart let out by the farter is so silent, almost a whisper. The farter alone knows his tiny, precious secret.
Scale 2 on the Fartometer
The fart let out by the farter is silent but there is an odorous emission. Other’s can smell to a point of irritation. Some farters relish their own farts but not others farts.
Scale 3 on the Fartometer
The fart is loud and explosive and an awful disgusting smell pervades the atmosphere. The farter might enjoy it but it causes annoyance and irritation to others.
Now I would like to introduce the readers about Quixotic Uncle Thomas. Uncle Quixotic Thomas was an income tax officer but now retired. He regards himself to be an excellent poet, an intellectual philosopher and above all an erudite man of words. He has a habit of writing poetry and books on philosophy. His world view is rather muddled: a hotchpotch of Christianity, Hinduism and idealist Philosophy. People at his home, especially his wife and kids (who are married and working) have given up on him as being demented. Sometimes he adheres to the saying “I am God” and sometimes he confuses God as being a human evolved idea. He has written a book where he is ambiguous about whether it’s God inspired or inspired by his on hand. He is fascinated about an evolution of a global society, where peace, love and democracy also become Gods and Religions of the World. The book mixes up evolution and creation. Yes, God created but Charles Darwin evolved and both like Ms. Malaprop ring bells of truth. He is a devout Christian one day, attending the rituals of the Church and on other days visiting Hindu temples and chanting the sacred OM and the Gayatri Mantra. He takes great pains to self publish his books apart from his weakness for expensive cloths, perfume, shoes and hotels. One quality that he does not have is he is not a womanizer. After publishing his books, he somehow by all means manages to obtain the addresses of very important people especially Prime Ministers and Presidents of Countries. He then dispatches his books to all these prominent people. He is like a greedy pig, waiting anxiously for their replies. Sometimes the reply to his book goes unanswered. But, he is lucky; few important people at least, pay heed to his writing. One day he goes berserk with happiness and remarks joyfully to me, I have had a reply from the President of Israel.
He reads eagerly to me:
“Mr. Thomas, your work baffles the intellectual, yet it is thought provoking…its rituals as words of meaning proliferate endlessly into an ideal conception for the world and (humans) to emerge. Your generous gift is greatly appreciated. I wish you all luck in your writing and its endeavors.”
Signed for the President by his Personal Assistant.
I smile in appreciation for Thomas but keep my humor in my mind about whether the Personal Assistant has the time or leisure to read a book. I can’t help ridiculing my dear Quixotic Uncle Thomas for his simplicity that in the end all humans are like him and his talent would never go unnoticed.
Vanity …. You are no vain imposter …you besiege the mind in ideals chocking wit in ludicrous innocence and nonsense. I am also a fool swimming in your chartered depths.