Once Vroomed, Forever Doomed!

                When we were in pre-school, we would start our essays with ‘I have many friends, but Ramu is my best friend.......' Thus, allow me to start this piece with, I have many friends. Most of them are on the internet and I have never met them per se. Others whom I have met, are graded as no better than acquaintances, friends and ta..da.... Best friends! This piece of literature is dedicated to one of my better friends. Let us call him Ramu for ease of communication.

                So, about a couple of years ago Ramu fell victim to Cupid. The girl was a very nice girl. Well behaved and polite. I was very fond of her only till so long as I had nothing to do with her or as the saying goes around, ‘Dur se hi Ram-Ram’. Usually I do not bother who my friends hang out with, but come on; we are talking about Ramu here. And, it nothing less than pained me to see my simpleton friend being dominated by that pathetic excuse for a human being. In a typical bollywood movie plot, I would go and tell my friend about my evaluation of his bride-to-be (I know this fellow and his day dreaming habits!). Then we would disagree, have a fight, he would perhaps hit me, and that would end our friendship. Then after the chewing gum had been extracted off its last bit of flavour and no longer good enough to be blown into even a bubble, the lady would spit him into a gutter. Then there would be an interval and after that we would meet in a disco, he would apologise and we would sing a hit musical number. Friendship rekindled.

                Now talking about real life! There is no background score, no make-up artist or no body double to take a pasting on my behalf. On top of it, I am not particularly “Hippy” to sing and dance, let alone visit a disco. So, when he introduced me to her, I did what I do the best, lie through my teeth. With a smile that I sport so well for all my emotions, I said, “I am very happy for you!” While at the same time I prayed that the forces of the universe come to his rescue. Whether it was the mutual dislike I shared with the Madame, or she was as sly as a fox or just basic primate instincts on the part of Ramu, I observed that he had become aloof of all of humankind in general. He started writing poetry, surprising, because in school poetry recital was in his words,”Yuck!” And now he was doing the yuck, even more yuckily. Even his actions had become so yucky- he started taking a bath on a daily basis, his monthly expenses shifted from deodorants to fairness soaps for men, he became punctual, dressed like an uncle and had a moronishly happy look on his face all the time. All this pain I suffered, with a smile on a face. What fate had come upon a high IQed beautiful mind? What had that witch (you can use b as well) turned him into? Ramu, as we had known for 20 years, was no more. But, like the old mother in old Hindi movies who would wear black clothes and utter “Mere Karan-Arjun aayenge”, I kept consoling myself.

                Then one day, Boom-Boom-Boomer was launched in India. It was juicier and had a new flavour. And Big-Bubblehead soon fell to disrepute, lost his favour with Cruella (actually she lost interest) and into the drains he was cast even before he could realise what had struck him. I knew this day was to come. I knew it because I am a very innocent little boy and God always answers well behaved children’s prayers. “Duaa ki shakti”. I did what any good friend would do in this situation; enjoy the sight of cockroaches crawl all over him.

But poor Ramu was still love struck. I saw the Hindi version of Makkhi. Innovative and all that, but what I realised at the end of it was that the poor love smitten sole of the protagonist has been doomed for all eternity. He dies only to be reborn as a Maakhi. Neither will he ever let the girl settle in life nor will he get any action himself! He is a drone bee if you realised!

I took him in my fold on his path to rehabilitation. One day he stopped playing the guitar, no more poetry. Such a relief! One could look at his face and tell what all stuff he had eaten over the past three days at least. Karan-Arjun had reincarnated! Ramu was back.

The reason I write this piece is that very recently I saw Madam Maya with my friend. Yes it was raining and the bus stop was all crowded, so I pray that it be nothing more than an awkward encounter. But the buzz also doing the rounds is that there may have been some sparks flying and the irrational romantics are happy. I am afraid that my greatest nightmare is coming true. The dung cake is attracting the flies! Poor Ramu does not realise however that, he isn’t the only fly hovering around this piece of manure. But maakhis do not have such IQs, definitely not drones! They just live to serve the queen, do all the donkey work and die without even expecting any reward.

Once bitten twice shy is an age old idiom, perhaps I can add a few more

Once smitten, always ‘bee’ten!

Once vroomed, forever doomed!

Sarcasm

Off late I have been enjoying The Big Bang Theory. And the character which appeals the most to me is Sheldon. The high IQ part, love of Physics and know all attitude apart, another similarity which I find with the character, is our innocence when it comes to decoding Sarcasm.

For a very long time I was in the dark as to what the word SARCASM meant itself. I first came across the term in my 6^th standard when while reading a writer’s biopic, came a sentence, “He was a master of sarcasm.” Sarcasm? What was that? An average student would have either asked the teacher what it meant or better still just not bother about it as he didn’t bother about the other things that he didn’t understand. But, I thought I’ll look it up in the dictionary when I reach home. Then in the Geography lecture that followed, the teacher spoke about SAARC (South Asian Association for Regional Co-operation). Being the analytical and inquisitive mind that I was since a tender age I figured out that in English all religions end with ‘ism’. For eg., Jainism, Buddhism, Hinduism, Judaism, Zorostrianism and so on. So, SARCASM was the RELIGION OF THE SAARC PEOPLE. I didn’t discuss this with anyone, wanting to selfishly hoard the knowledge to myself as many of my colleagues still do.

Then I entered medicine. This field has been a life changer for me in more ways than one. In medicine I learnt that anything that ends with an ‘asm’ is a disease. Eg., spasm, neoplasm etc. So, when I was the Editor-in-Chief of the Medical College Magazine last year and some of the members on the editorial board suggested that we add a section on Sarcasm in the magazine, I realised that in the light of the recent advances in vocabulary, as sarcasm has an ‘asm’ not ‘ism’ it is a disease and as almost everyone that you see at in my college is into some or the other research, perhaps they had researched into sarcasm and wanted to publish their findings. OK, I said. Why not? This also cleared my long lasting doubt as to what ‘being sarcastic’ was. I always felt bad, that despite trying to search for literature on the Practices and Believes of Sarcasm and finding none, people easily used phrases such as ‘stop behaving sarcastic’, ‘very sarcastic’ etc. How did they know so much about the concepts of Sarcasm, a long lost religion when it wasn’t even being taught in school or preached somewhere? Now, if I were to consider Sarcasm as a disease, then being Sarcastic made sense, just as being spastic made sense. That writer that I had read about was a biologist who had researched on sarcasm and also written some novels, like most of us nowadays. (I thought it was related to sarcoidosis)

Just by the way, when Baba Ramdev was enjoying his claim to fame, for a short time I also believed that Sarcasm was described in Yoga as Sarc-Aasan, and when I had gone on a tour to South India, I thought Sarcasm was a Mallu delicacy like Rasam, Uttapam, Payappam, Prasadam etc. etc.

So, we had a full section dedicated to sarcasm and my editors handpicked the articles for the section. And when the book was released, a large chunk of people came complaining, ‘There is no sarcasm in sarcasm.’ A couple of contributors even came and said, ‘Jayesh, how could you put my article in sarcasm. It was intended for philosophy, not sarcasm!’ To this my standard reply would be, “I know. Even I didn’t find anything in your article sarcastic, but the editors made the choices.” I mean they were not research papers, but the editors would have labelled me a dictator if I had objected to this decision of theirs.

But, the final nail in the coffin came last week and my eyes opened and I finally got down opening the dictionary and looking up what sarcasm actually meant. I’ll describe the chain of events for you. There is this old foe turned friend in college. Old foe, because we were competitors in 12^th and she wouldn’t be particularly happy on seeing my usually delirious devilish demeanour (I know because she was quite vocal about it then as she is now), turned friend, because as luck would have it, we were batch mates in the first year and she sort of relied on me to pass her exams. Not that I showed her my papers, but she somehow managed to take a peek into them anyway. So, old foe, you can’t trust. She would encourage me to write about people in our college and comment on all the gossip that was going on. While at the same time, she went about bhadkaoing all those people and uksaoing them to slap me,  until a weak hearted human being finally fell for the temptation last week. As I walked into her and a common friend to whom a blog has been dedicated, she declared to me what she was doing all these years when I considered her a friend and even before I could say anything, I had five fingers imprinted on my left cheek, courtesy the other friend as he declared, “Jayesh, how could you have written such things about me.” One more had come up to the Gymkhana the other day, in a manner that was quite reminiscent of those movies of 70s & 80s when the hero (usually Dharmendra) would enter into the villain’s den, unarmed and alone, shout “Kutte-kamine, maa ka doodh piya hai to bahar nikal”, tell him a few things right-left and centre, enrage him, then about 2000 strong fauj of the villain, with fully loaded guns and grenades would attack him, and with a few acrobatic skills and a fighting technique with sound effects of ‘bhishum bhishum’ would kill them all and leave, his anger avenged. Luckily, this time no one got killed, but he did speak to me requesting me “to stop this non sense”, in some not so polite words. The next day onward, I decided to be a little careful about what I commented. So, while I usually am very straight faced and do not hold myself back even while making nasty comments, and refrain from saying polite things as a rule, I toned down a bit and commented “Nice photo” on the profile pic of one of my friends. I expected the reply would be, “Thank you JAYESH”. Instead I got, “Are you being sarcastic?”

This is what people have begun to think of me. Even Anu Kapoor calls me a ‘Sarcastic sperm’ now. 

Just think, if every discussion is to be viewed sarcastically the following exchange of little sweet nothings that I heard while I was sneaking up on the lovebirds in my college will have a completely different meaning,

Girl:  Do you love me?

Boy: Yes. Yes, I love you.

Girl: How much?

Boy: I cannot tell you.

Girl: Till when will you love me?

Boy: Till death do us apart.

Girl: What will you do if I die? (Didn’t you hear, he said the love lasts only till death do you apart.)

Boy: I will go mad. (Seriously???)

Girl: You love only me?

Boy: Yes, only you. And no one else. Tumhari Qassam! (Take the hint lady!)

Girl: When will I meet your mother?

Boy: There is no need. I have told her I will bring home the girl of my choice.

Girl: What do you like about me?

Boy: Nothing in particular, everything in general. Ask me if there is something I do not like about you.

Girl: If an apsara came down and offered you all the wealth in the world, will you leave me for her?

Boy: Leave you. For her????? Never.

Girl: What do I have that an apsara does not have?

The further conversation took a course that is not suitable for a blog meant for family viewing.

I have always been truthful about my opinion. After hunting down Chinkaras and getting drunk and running their cars over poor people sleeping on pavements, don’t you forgive people in the name of Being Human? I have always called smart people smart without intending it to mean dumb. Is it my fault, if you read too much in between the lines and think about yourself the other way round? Anyway, if ever you have felt about yourself that way after reading my blog, intentionally or unintentionally, I apologise. Please forgive me.

A-JO: The Love Story of A Cute and A Serious Boy.

This is the legend of A-Jo and the love of his life, Baby.

1942 B. C., Mesopotamia:

The times in Mesopotamia were changing. The glory and the prosperity were past their peak a long time ago. The hardships that had come upon the subjects had forced a great amount of civilian unrest. Riding on a legacy of peaceful and prosperous existence that spanned over millennia, the administrators of Mesopotamia found themselves incompetent to tide over the crisis. Some serious steps were required to be taken and quickly. For Mesopotamia, the time was running out quickly.

The crisis of Mesopotamia had started a decade ago with the state of Avon declaring its independence after the central army of Mesopotamia failed to secure its gates against the invading Trichons of the North. The Trichons of the North had abducted the Low Chancellor of Avon, Teea and the subjects of Avon had demanded Teea be rescued. But as the constitution of Mesopotamia placed the state before the rulers, this was not to be. And this led to Avon declaring its independence. Many other neighbour states who feared an invasion by the raiding Trichons of the North too declared their independence. Thus, cut off from its most of its resourceful regions, Mesopotamia was under tremendous stress.

“What should we do now?” asked the High Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

“We need to do something, I think!” reiterated the Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

“We should consult someone.” said he High Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

“The Oracle of Jay had predicted the crisis of Mesopotamia a thousand years ago!” reiterated the Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

“But no one knows where the Oracle is now. The founding Fathers of Mesopotamia had hidden in some undisclosed location. And the boundaries of Mesopotamia have greatly expanded since then.....” said the High Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

“Yeah, and greatly shrunken also”, chucked the Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

“Whatever! We need to find that Oracle. It’s our only hope.” said the High Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

“Guards, take out our torches and load our ships. Today we said to find the lost Oracle of Jay.” said the Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

“We cannot go! We are the administrators of Mesopotamia. And also that we are old..... None the less, in order to correctly express the gravity of the situation, we must call this a very High Level State Sponsored Secret Mission. We will have to appoint someone to do this.”, reiterated the High Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

“But, how will we find the right person to find the Oracle of Jay?” asked the Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

“Just the same way as our founding fathers founded Mesopotamia. We will leave at night and travel through the darkness with blindfolded eyes and whosoever we see in the morning first will be our man.”, declared the High Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

“Or woman.....” chucked the Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

And so they set sail. The night was spooky. And the Chancellor's constant chucking throughout the night also contributed to freaking the High Chancellor out of his skin. Finally, the day dawn. The duo unfolded their eyes. And stay in the midst of the unknown land waiting to glimpse upon someone. Waiting for their hope.

At a distance the High Chancellor saw a young man in his early twenties walking alone, whistling a sweet tone. “Good morning Young man. We are the High Chancellor of Mesopotamia and the Chancellor of Mesopotamia.”, said the High Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

“Sire, I am A-Jo. I am a cute and a serious boy!” replied the young man.

“A-Jo, the entire fate of Mesopotamia depends on you. You have to find for us the Oracle of Jay”, said the High Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

“Okay..... How does it look, where is it?” asked A-Jo.

“Well, if we knew all that stuff we would have got it ourselves.....” chucked the Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

“We will wait for you here so that you don't have difficulty finding us later”, said the High Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

“It seems like a dangerous voyage. Searching unknown things in unknown lands. What if I don't return.......” asked A-Jo.

“Well then, we won't wait for you.......” chucked the Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

“Huh...!” exclaimed A-Jo.

“Young man, we'll settle all that after you come back. And think positive. The nature calls for you. Remember, we want only the Oracle, you can keep the ruins of the war!” said the High Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

“Ok, but what if I run of supplies on my journey?” asked A-Jo.

“Tell them, you are on a very High Level State Sponsored Secret Mission.”, replied the High Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

“And how will I know when I find the Oracle of Jay?”

“Just trust your instincts.” replied the High Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

And so, A-Jo set on a journey after which his life would never be the same.

After travelling for 2 days, A-Jo was finally out of liquor. He went to a shop and demanded liquor. The keeper gave him and when asked to pay, A-Jo replied, “I am A-Jo. I am on a very High Level State Sponsored Secret Mission. The State will pay you.” And so, the keeper handed him over to the state authorities.

“Who are you?” asked the Counsel.

“I am A-Jo. I am on a very High Level State Sponsored Secret Mission.”

“What non-sense. And which state is it?”

“The State of Mesopotamia!”

“Guards, Mesopotamia sends drunken spies to Trichon. Imprison him in the invasion tower. They will have to pay for this....... Another invasion is on..... In three days we will invade Mesopotamia.”

In the detention tower, A-Jo was thrown into a cell with only one window. The room was dark and clumsy but for a narrow beam of moon light entering in through the window. A-Jo had become sober by now. “Who--- Who's there? I am A-Jo. I am on a very High Level State Sponsored Secret Mission of Mesopotamia.”, he asked.

“I am Teea, the Low Chancellor of Avon.” was the reply.

A-Jo looked towards the narrow beam of moonlight flooding the clumsy cell. And what he saw stunned him. He lost many a heart beats. From the shadows emerged a figure. Flawless fair colour. Hair that shimmered in the moon light. And did I forget to mention that he had never seen bigger or more beautiful eyes than those. The gait, majestic and classy. A-Jo was swept off his feet. He moved closer. Extending his hand, he touched the beautiful face feeling the warm breath.

“You are so beautiful. What can I call you?” wondered A-Jo loudly.

“Baby! That's sort of a pet name.” replied Teea.

“Oh Baby, you are the most beautiful creation of the creator. All my life, I have dreamed of someone like you. If only I could make you mine?” A-Jo excaimed.

“In fact, you can!” replied Teea. “If we escape from here, you can. Finders keepers!”

“That’s great. But how do we escape from here?” asked A-Jo.

“Well, you seem to be the chosen one. So, you figure out.” replied Teea.

“Have you never tried to escape?” asked A-Jo.

“Well, no. Why should I? I am the Low Chancellor of Avon. Isn't Mesopotamia supposed to send someone over to rescue me? This is such a moot question. And also I don't know horse-riding.”, replied Teea.

“O......, but for this beauty, I would never rescue you. And by the way Avon has been independent for over a decade now and so technically speaking its Avon's job to rescue you, not Mesopotamia's.” replied A-Jo.

“My God, I am ruined! That invasion has brought about so much bad...” cried Teea.

“Do you care educating me a bit more about the invasion?” asked A-Jo.

“OK. You must be aware that Avon has been known to produce the finest species of horses, the Avonian Raptors. Unknown to us, some of our Raptors had escaped our stable and run into the Trichon territory to the North. The Trichons, now craved for the Raptors. And so they invaded Avon and took away the Raptors.” replied Teea.

“Then why did they capture you?” asked A-Jo.

“Well, their leadership felt that I would look very lowly of the mighty Trichons to invade only for horses. So, as the Head of State they took me away as well, aiming to bargain me for a few more raptors and extending the olive stick. But, now I can understand, Avon and Mesopotamia are themselves in a mess, so nothing has happened. Bloody bureaucracy!” sighed Teea.

“I heard them planning to invade Mesopotamia again in three days! What could they want now?” asked A-Jo.

“Well, as far as the rumours go, they are upset over Mesopotamia sending over drunk spies! Or, in untrained hands, Raptors are difficult to control. They must have run off and now they want more.” said Teea.

“Then why don't they trade you for some Raptors as planned, rather than invade?” asked A-Jo.

“You see, Avon is independent of Mesopotamia now. I was an administrator for Mesopotamia. Now, in Avon nobody cares who I am. Dirty politics!” replied Teea “Now I get why this tower is also so sparsely guarded.”

“So, escaping will not be difficult. There is the Great Bear”, said A-Jo pointing at the stars from the window “So, that is the north and Mesopotamia is in the South-East. We have directions. All we need is time and speed.”

“Well, you’re getting lucky!” exclaimed Teea “Baby likes you, and he is the fastest Raptor I've known.” replied Teea.

“Then, what are we waiting for? Hop on. Let's go Baby!!! Yee-haaa!” cried A-Jo.

Surely, Baby proved that he was the fastest horse on Earth. By the time the guards could alert the borders of the escape, the three had already galloped out of sight. By noon the next day, they met the High Chancellor and the Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

“Here's our man!” exclaimed the High Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

“And his woman....” chucked the Chancellor of Mesopoamia.

“No, this is my Baby! And this is the erstwhile Low Chancellor of Avon.”, replied A-Jo.

Mesopotamia prepared its armies.

“I want you two, to quickly go to Avon and get them on our side.”, said the High Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

“But she is worthless there. Avon is independent of Mesopotamia and no one gives her a damn!” protested A-Jo.

“Go there and tell the people that the proponents of Independent Avon had you abducted and Mesopotamia has rescued you. Come on, I expected better from you! You aren't new to this....” said the High Chancellor of Mesopotamia, looking at Teea.

“Dirty politics.....” chucked the Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

And with that Avon and her sister states resolved to rejoin Mesopotamia. The Trichons surrendered when they heard of Mesopotamia preparing an army. Thus, the borders of Mesopotamia expanded even in the North.

“But, the kid didn't get us the Oracle of Jay, and yet he kept the ruins of the war....” chucked the Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

“That is the Legend of the Oracle of Jay! It always appears when Mesopotamia is in danger. Let us say, we have hidden it somewhere safe, only to be searched when Mesopotamia is in danger ever again!” said the High Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

“Legendary...!” chucked the Chancellor of Mesopotamia.

A-Jo and Baby lived happily ever after.

The Wrath of Varutian

                Mr. Jay was a well known archeologist of his time. Legend has it, that he was a very lucky person. The sayings making round in the archeological circles was that, “Mr. Jay does not discover legends, but whenever a legend wishes to uncover itself, it discovers Mr. Jay!”.

 Movies  were made to commemorate his achievements and valor.

                The king Oway Tituta, ruler of the Harshala kingdom, had a vision one day in which the patron deity Varutian had asked him some perplexing questions. Unable to find a solution to them, Oway Tituta had requested for the services of Mr. Jay.

                Mr. Jay immediately set on course for Harshala. His jouney was however interrupted by a storm, perhaps the greatest and fiercest of the century. As Mr. Jay failed to make to Harshala,  King Oway sent a rescue team for search operations. However, as the team struck no luck, Mr. Jay was feared lost in the jungles of Erabmaz.

                The entrance of the cave in which Mr. Jay had sought shelter had been closed due to the massive landslides caused by the storms. Now he lay trapped in  a cave with perhaps no outlet. On the numerous other excursions that Mr. Jay had undertaken he had invariably landed in life threatening conditions. Polished by experience, he was now well adapted to surviving in hostile environments. But, being trapped in a cave, with no source of light, and prpbably no way out was something that he hadn't anticipated even in the wildest of his dreams.

                Realising that there was no way out, other than divine intervention, Mr. Jay began concentrating on the puzzles put forth to King Oway by Varutian. Mythological stories of Varutian, the patron diety of Harshala, were well known in every nook and corner of the world. So fierce were the narrations that many a raiders had stopped short of invading Harshala, by the fear of the “Wrath of Varutian”. And those who were foolish enough to have done so, had paid a heavy price for it. Chaos had rained down on them. The Wrath of Varutian had made generations of their pRosuwaggeny pay for their mistakes. Generations were driven mad until  no sanity was left. People even remotely related with them had to face hardships and torture, the order of which is unimaginable and beyond description.

                Varutian had become very impatient with King Oway. He was visiting him ever so often, asking him the same puzzle. He would not let King Oway have a single moment to himself. With every blink King Oway would envision Varutian getting even more restless and enraged. It was now certain that unless the puzzle was solved in time, Harshala would be driven to madness. This was making King Oway even more restless. The entire future and fate of Harshala depended on him solving the puzzle of Varutian. And so, an entire civilization depended on Mr. Jay for its sanity.

                Sitting in the dark cave all by himself, Mr. Jay pondered over the puzzle:

Ae Ae batana batana,

Ae ae batana batana,

dur choopa hai khazana khazana,

Chahiye muzhe wo, jo hai hi nahi,

Aur wo bhi jo uske bina hai nahi,

Bol tuzhe pata hai;

Bol na Bol na!

Aise mat kar na, Bol na Bol na!

                “Weird”, thought Mr. Jay “How could Varutian possibly ask for something that is not there and also something that ceases to be without it?” Indeed some of these puzzles of life are such that no straight answers are possible! Varutian had been known to be a puzzle master of the highest quality. Satisfying him was something that was impossible. The ancestors of the King Oway had been gifted the Kingdom Harshala by Varutian as they were the only people who had managed to satisfy his never ending quest. Ever since then, for the past 26 generations Varutian would give a puzzle to each ruler of the Tituta dynasty as a test of their worthiness for the thRosuwagne of Harshala.

                As Mr. Jay laid, lost deep in his thoughts, the roof of the cave began buckling.  A little at first, and then there was a hole sufficient large to allow passage of light. Perplexed at this, and driven by curiosity, he stood up. There was a pause . Complete silence. And then the entire roof caved in, in one go. Dust and debris lay scattered all over, with Mr. Jay underneath the rubble.

                As he tried to get out of the rubble, sounds of human voices struck his ear. FRosuwagm the way they were growing, it was certain that a whole flock of humans was progressing in his direction. Their mutterings were incoherent. They were the At Ul tribesmen. They were the rulers of the jungle. Very vociferous and dangerous breed. Hunting was in their genes. This was the only tribe that had ever managed to raid Harshala and fight a battle against Varutian. They had successfully managed to overcome the Wrath of Varutian. It was then that the Tituta Kings had sided with Varutian and managed to drive the At Uls into bewilderment.

                The At Uls, brave, as they were, were habitual hunters. Though over time they had learnt to control their instincts, they did yet have a vice. They could not resist the urge to kill an animal, legend says, a particular species. The Titutas were rearers of this animal, and fearing that the overthrown Wrath of Varutian would ricochet onto them, had very cleverly devised a strategy by letting out the entire livestock into the dark jungles and making the At Uls chase them. Varutian then bound these jungles by a spell compelling the At Uls never to be able to leave it.

                As Mr. Jay thought of drawing attention of  the At Ul chieftain to help him out of the rubble, he heard a timid whisper, “Please don't”.

 “Anybody in there?' asked a soldier from the outside.

“No. Nobody here!” Replied Mr. Jay.

“Sire, there is nobody in the ditch!”, replied the soldier to the chieftain.

When they had gone a sufficient distance, from the shadows emerged a majestic animal - fur shining in the light, whiskers as white as nylon. This animal had the biggest unibrow that one would ever see.  Intimidating and magnificent.

“ I know you”, said Mr. Jay “You are share khan. From Jungle Book! What the hell are you doing here? This is not your story, this is my story. And you weren't even supposed to be on the drawing board! Look at yourself. Shameless! Get the hell out of this story before I get an elephant to fall on you and break all your bones.”

“Oops .............. Sorry! My bad. Actually........um......... I.......um..........  wore the.....um............wrong costume. Just wait here, I'll change and be back. Don't you fear my dear; you won’t even realize that I am gone. Here I go and here I come.”

(Mumbling to self) ' stupid......stupid......stupid me. Why can't I do one thing proper.  Rudyard Kipling is dead. This is not the Jungle Book. This is the JV Blog by the Jayesh Vira. Underline fullstop.'

 (To you) 'What are you smiling at? REWIND!!!”

When they had gone a sufficient distance, fRosuwagm the shadows emerged another shadow. The fur making a weird noise “Sob Sob” as the animal advanced. The shadow was characteristic. It projected the animal to be a fierce large, dangerous species. As the animal neared the edge of the cone of light, it drew in a huge quantity of air almost enough to make its lung burst. And then it let it all out in one single burst attempting to give the most intimidating war cry ever, but only managed to produce a mild “meow”.

“I know you”, said Mr. Jay “You are Rosuwag. But if what the legend says is true, you were supposed to Rosuwagar, rather than mew! And you were supposed to face the At Uls head on, till you die, not run away from them! You are such a loss! Uhh......... all this ...........only for so this!!”

“But”, Mr, Jay continued “weren't you supposed to be extinct? The At Uls had killed all of you, hadn't they?”

“Yes. But my mother had left me in a bag. The Pandas thought there was food in it. So, they took it away. Then they realised I wasn't edible, because they were vegetarians, so they raised me with them. They taught me Kung Fu!”

“But I forgot it. I thought life would be an open book, but I realised later that it wasn't ! Now I am screwed. The At Uls will kill me.”

“Fear not, timid animal, learn from Mr. Jay. I will teach you how to face life, close book! {to you: click on that link at the top to like this on Facebook!}. I will teach you how to conquer your fears. I will show you how to face the At Uls.!!!”

“Oh please, make me your pet!” said Rosuwag.

Rosuwag, was the legendary animal species that the At Uls fancied hunting. Which the Tituta kings had used to distract the At Uls.

“Now, look, observe and learn fRosuwagm the greatness of Mr. Jay”, Mr. Jay told Rosuwag. “O........ At Ul.............!!!! O........... At Ul.................!!! I have Rosuwag. Come to the ditch.”

Rosuwag, by now was very perplexed. Had he done the right thing by handing over his fate to the hands of Mr. Jay? Well, whatever it was, it was too late to step back.

“ Do you be the renowned Mr. Jay?”, asked the voice from the outside.

“ Yes! It is me.”

“ I be the At Ul chieftain. I offer my services at your feet”. Saying so he threw a rope into the ditch. “Yo say, yo have the Rosuwag.”

“ Yes, timid animal it is. Last of its species. Why do you want to kill it?”

“ Mr. Jay. This Rosuwag is retard. We are At Uls. We are born hunters. We kill only animals of quality, not miserable wretches like this.”

“ Then why were you chasing this one?”

“ We want his DNA. In the laboratory, we make his clone. We make stRosuwagnger, longer, sharper Rosuwag. Rosuwag, as it should be. We have technology.”

“ So, you want to make Rosuwags and kill them?”

“ No. No. We are environmentalists now. We want to bring back Rosuwag to the jungle.”

“ But what about your hunter genes?”

“ We have technology. We make ' SAVE  THE  ROSUWAG’ computer game. We teach children – Rosuwag and At Ul friend....... We try to explain this stupid animal, but he just run away. Shouting all the time I know Kung Fu, I know Kung Fu. What the hell do I do, if he know Kung Fu?”

“ I suppose, we have solved more than one mystery today. If Rosuwag, is what was supposed to be extinct and you were chasing him, I think that Varutian wants to see you.”

“ Varutian, I not come. He sore looser. And that King Tituta, cheat.”

“ No cheiftain, you must understand. If you do not come, Varutian will spell his Wrath on the kingdom of Harshala. You must come. The sanity of an entire civilisation depends on you. And me, because they will kill you if you go there alone. With me, you will get safe passage.”

“ Do they have lollipop in Harshala?”

“ Yes.”

“ Do you buy me lollipop?”

“ Yes.”

“ OK then I come.”

                Saying so, Mr. Jay, At Ul chieftain and Rosuwag, left for Harshala. In Harshala, they were given a heros welcome. King Oway Tituta praised Mr. Jay as he had helped avert a political uprising. The rebels were trying to claim power amidst the rumours of King Oway Tituta’s failure to solve Varutians puzzle and thereby looming danger of Varutians wrath.

                In the temple of Varutian, Varutian was invoked to come and see the puzzle pieces. Varutian emerged from out of nowhere. Coming over to the Chieftain, he spoke:

Ae Ae batana batana,

Ae ae batana batana,

dur choopa hai khazana khazana,

tumlogi ne kaise, mere hamle ko kiya ravana ravana.

Bol tuzhe pata hai;

Bol na Bol na!

Aise mat kar na, Bol na Bol na!

“Array simple hai”, said the Chieftain licking the lollipop, “Hum log ko Mr. Jay ne training di thi, fir tera popat to hone hi wala tha!”

                Saying so, everyone joined in in the chorus laughter. Varutian got his answer, King Oway Tituta managed to save his throne, Harshala held on to its sanity, Mr. Jay added more accolades and his name and fame sky Ro’suwag’cketed. And Rosuwag.......... well....... it just remained as it was......

And everybody lived happily ever after.

THE END!