Rangaswamy & The Tiger

Hilarious!

Rangaswamy & The Tiger 

(Colonial Poetry of the Raj)

Deep in jungle I am went

On shooting Tiger I am bent

Bugger Tiger has eaten wife

No doubt I avenge poor darling's life

Too much quiet, snakes and leeches

But am not feared these sons of beeches

Hearing loud noise I am jump with start

But noise is coming from damn fool heart

Taking care not to be fright

I am clutching rifle with eye to sight

Should Tiger come I will fall him down

Then like hero return to native town

Then through trees I am espying one cave

I am telling self - "Rangaswamy be brave"

I now proceed with too much care

From nonsense smell this Tiger's lair

My leg is shake, I start to pray

I think I shoot Tiger some other day

Turning round I am going to go

But Tiger giving bloody roar

He bounding from cave like shooting star

I commend my soul to Kali Ma

Through the jungle I am went

Like bullet with Tiger hot on scent

Mighty Tiger rave and rant

Rangaswamy shit in pant!

Must to therefore leave the jungle

Killing Tiger one big bungle!!

I am telling that never in life

I will risk again for damn fool wife.

                                 ~ Anonymous

                                   (source: internet)

Unfair Words

P.G.Wodehouse (Plum to his fans) spoke about how difficult it is to find a rhyme for “love”.

Unfair Words

Plum spoke about the difficulty, by Jove

In finding a rhyming word for ‘love’

Dashed unfair are these dashed words

Can’t be rhymed forwards or backwards

Orange, for instance, is by itself, all alone

In solitary confinement, loneliness prone

The solution to this problem called orange

Is to simply its colourful name re-arrange!

Purple is one more such feller

Sort of a roving single bachelor

No kith, no kin, no mimic and no mime

No copy, no dupe, no verse nor rhyme!

And unless you deign to consider

Substitutes below par and inferior

You have to carry on, regardless

With orange and purple, rhymeless

-         © Shiva Kumar 2016

Dreamy Maal Chakni

Dreamy Maal Chakni

1. Sock 1 cup dal from the Urals, ½ cup dal left over from the tour and ¼ cup king-mother beans left over at night or at least 8 years, sorry, 8 hours old.

2. In a pressure pan, add a little pressure. Pour a little oil into the troubled pan and let it calm down. Heat it till hot. Frightfully lie one opped chonion, one small god of parlic and one finely gingered grate.

3. If you wish to add one or two spoons of kasoori methi, add. If you don’t wish to add, don’t. Subtract. Multiply. Divide. Do the math. Agar nahin karna hai toh math karo. Go and do khethi baadi instead.

4. Add one big tomato finely chopped or two small tomatoes super-finely chopped or three smaller tomatoes super-duper-finely chopped or four still smaller tomatoes totally super-duper-finely chopped or ... you get the Atlantic drift.

5. Add some terrific murmuring powder, silly red powder, dakhni maal masala and some tastefully pinched salt. Lie frightfully till the mixture is homogeneously reduced to a sad pulp.

6. Add the socked dals to the mocked masalas and a liberal dash of milk along with two fingers. Close pressure pan and cook well. Whistle a jolly tune 4 to 5 times. Check if you have put on weight since the last dal session. No? Good.

7. When the pressure subsides, open the pan and remove the fingers. Add more water, more masala, more salt and anything else lying around. Add more heat. Don’t subtract anything. Mat karo. Pinch more salt if you like. Remember to taste the salt before adding. Heat on till everything boils once more. Encore!

8. Give a coat of coriander varnish. Glory be to la hoja verde of the Familia Corianda. Go to the verandah. Play the viola. Voila!

9. Dreamy maal chakhni ready. Steady, go.

- Sieve Cucumbar

-      © Shiva Kumar

    18 July 2016

Bongo Trumpet

                                 THE BONGO TRUMPET

KOLKATA’S PHEVRIT TRANSAMERICAN NOOSEPEPPER

KOLKOTER PRIYA TRANSAMERICA PHANSAMARICA

To-day’s news delivered yesterday.

Read to-day and tear tomorrow : Aaj padho aur kolkoter karo

Published every now and then from the laptop. Ed: Sudden Shiv

Weakened edition: Soon-day, Sechszehn fur Siebzehn Joolai

One single page

CITY  ON  HIGH  ALERT !!! Plans for secret meeting unearthed by your phevrit noosepepper before any unearth happens. Read on! ACHTUNG!  ACHTUNG!  ACHTUNG! CAUTION NOTICE TO ALL KOLKATANS -          Filed by your correspondent from an undisclosed location in Sharif Town, Omar Kolkata, on Sola Joolai -            Your phevrit noosepepper has learnt from reliable but anonymous sources (your correspondent forgot to ask their names, but has promised a quick update within a week) that a group of unfettered lunatics are planning a secret rendezvous at, hold your breath, the ordnance factory! They are planning to have a blast there! (You may breathe now.) These as-yet unseen insanes are said to very closely resemble humans but prone to unpredictable behaviour. They have named themselves after a fruit of the genus prunus.  Without easting or wasting any time, your correspondent very generously shared a scoop of this three-scoop news and alerted the alert authorities. They immediately deputed the keeper of the simian enclosure who swung into action to track down and deal with these ufos. Meanwhile, the ordnance factory has been kept closed to-day. All weapons including brooms, sticks, coconut shells, papayas, etc., are safely stored in a wire cage, secured with foolproof pyjama naada. Your phevrit noosepepper has been tasked with the responsibility of issuing dire threats, sorry, urgent summons, sorry, saavdhaan notice to all citizens to be on the alert.

IMPORTANT WHATTUDU TIPS      1.    If you see any unidentified object or baggage at the railway station or the airport, do not pick it up. If you do, you will be responsible for paying the baggage charges. If you see any identified object or baggage, don’t touch it. The owner may not like it.      2.    If you see a copper without a helmet, beware. Our fruity friends are known to have a fondness for coppers’ helmets and may be lurking around the corner. They may be lurkas or lurkies, we don’t know yet.       3.      Our Prunus manus are said to communicate by throwing bread crumbs at each other. If you see bread crumbs strewn in your path, go around them. However, if you find bread crumbs coated with jam, then it is a new thing and needs to be investigated. Call us and we’ll see what we can do about it.       4.      Stay away from the ordnance factory. Don’t even think of having a blast anywhere near it.       5.      Watch out for flying fruits. If you are caught plum in front, turn around and run for it.       6.      That’s all for now. More soon. Stay at home to stay safe. Don’t exit. (Note from Ed: There will be no issue of your phevrit noosepepper until further notice as your correspondent has gone into hiding and the editor fears for his wellbeing. Soo you seen.)

Shoes for sale

SHOES FOR SALE

One complete pair of leather shoes for sale, my own

Comprising one left, black and the other, right, brown

Both left and right are of the same size, number eight

A nine might squeeze in but find the fit a mite tight

Also included: one black lace and one brown lace

There’s even a third one, burgundy, just in case

They’re as good as new, though the soles are lightly worn

And very carefully maintained, though slightly torn

Hate to sell as they’re deeply attached to my feet

But compelled to do it so as to make ends meet

If interested, contact my agent’s office

Uninterested parties may stay away please

-                                                                                                                -  Shoe Coomar

© Shiva Kumar -  July 2016

Hit Squarely!

Hit Squarely!

“Tok … tok … tok… …. … Yeow!!!!!”

You might be wondering what brought me to such painful grief. Well, I brought it upon myself.

It actually started like this one fine, lazy, Sunday morning. Having gone through the three newspapers which are delivered to me on Sundays, I contemplated deeply on the country’s plight for about four and a half minutes, tut-tutted when I read about today’s youth and commiserated with Dagwood Bumstead on his never-ending troubles with Dithers. There was nothing else in the papers which could hold my attention. I sat there, at a loss, twiddling my thumbs, my mind blank, seemingly in a vacuum.

I gazed into space for a few moments but there was nothing to see there except empty space. I found it extremely boring. I closed my eyes for a couple of minutes but there was an inky blackness which unnerved me. I tried to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come, not at such short notice. I had had a good night’s rest and was feeling fresh as a daisy. I opened my eyes again and sighed.

My better three-fourths, busy as usual with her kitchen chores, saw me sprawled limpidly on the easy chair as she was passing by, and prodded me with the back end of a ladle.

“Why don’t you do some useful work for a change? You could dust the furniture or sell off the old newspapers or, better still, put up all those pictures you got framed last month.”

Now that last suggestion sounded like a good idea, something which would keep me busy for a couple of hours at the very least. Suddenly energised, I sprang out of the chair and headed off to get together the tools and tackles.

I keep a tool box handy for just such purposes. From it I gathered a handful of nails and wooden plugs, a carpenter’s drill, a hammer and my trusted tape measure. First I stood back and surveyed the living room wall facing the sofa where I would hang my favourite picture. Then, tape in hand, I measured out the width of the wall at a little above eye level and using my time tested knowledge and experience, I calculated and marked off with an “X” the exact centre, give or take a couple of millimeters. I stood back a couple of steps and checked out the spot again. It seemed perfect. Satisfied with my preparatory efforts, I proceeded further. With the carpenter’s drill, I carefully drilled a hole about a quarter of an inch in diameter and an inch deep. I hammered a wooden plug into this hole. It was now ready to take the nail.

I chose a one-inch nail which had a flat round head with a large striking surface, a smooth and straight shank and a sharp point. I gave it the once over to make sure that it justified its selection. It did, and I decided to hammer it in without further ado.

I held the nail with the point at the dead centre of the plug with my left hand and hefted the hammer in my right. After a couple of practice swings to get the feel and the follow through just so, I went for it. Starting from somewhere behind my right ear, I brought the hammer down smartly. It struck the nail squarely – my thumbnail, that is.

“Ayyoeow! Yeow, yeow, yeow”, I screamed, dropping the hammer. It fell on my big toe, causing me to yelp again, “ow, ow, ow”. I hopped around for quite some time till the pain subsided somewhat. Naturally I had to suspend all hammering operations with immediate effect.

What started off as a fine, lazy Sunday morning ended on quite a painful note for me. I retired hurt for the day, all thoughts of hammers, nails and picture frames put aside for the moment.

Those days were a daze!

Those days were a daze!

Once upon a time there was a tavern

Where we used to break a glass or three

Remember how we laughed at the barman

Think of all the great things we got free!

Those days were a daze my friend

We thought we’d never mend

We’d run and prance for hours without end

We’d live on musambi juice

We’d fight on without a truce

For we were stung and swore to have revenge

Refrain: Oo-oo-oo-oooooooo

(refrain from saying anything)

When the busy steward went rushing by us

We blasted him in indignation as he passed our way

If a glance you’d give me in the washroom

We’d grimace at one another and we’d bray

Those days were a daze my friend

We thought we’d never mend

We’d run and prance for hours without end

We’d live on musambi juice

We’d fight on without a truce

For we were stung and swore to have revenge

Oo-oo-oo-oooooooo

(refrain)

Just to-day I staggered near the tavern

The way in seemed crookeder than it used to be

In my glass I saw a strange concoction

Was that glowing lemon really free

Those days were a daze my friend

We thought we’d never mend

We’d run and prance for hours without end

We’d live on musambi juice

We’d fight on without a truce

For we were stung and swore to have revenge

Oo-oo-oo-oooooooo

(frown)

Through the floor came Amelia the doctor

She saw my face and tried to recall my name

Oh my friend we’re old but she’s older

For in her heart the beats are out of time

Those days were a daze my friend

We thought we’d never mend

We’d run and prance for hours without end

We’d live on musambi juice

We’d fight on without a truce

For we were stung and swore to have revenge

Oo-oo-oo-oooooooo

(refrown)

© Sibu Kumru 2016