Archive for March, 2008

Racist are us

To the average onlooker on the Jet Airways Mumbai-Doha flight, it seemed like he was reading a novel. Only the keenest of observers could have made out that he was into his favourite travel pastime – overhearing conversations. This time it was between 2 passengers in his adjacent seats. They were apparently searching for one Mr. Krishnamohan aka Kitty.


Pass1: Edoi Kobi, Kitty kittiyo? (Hey Gopi, Did you manage to find Kitty)

Pass2: Enthaa athu, repetition? (Why are you repeating the same thing twice?)

Pass1: <wild laughter> Kitty name-aakkum. (The first Kitty was the name)

Pass2: Oh <high emphasis>. Yes yes. Kitty kitty. He is in my kitty.

<More thunderous laughter>


Chengizkhan turns a page. Now ears pinned to the front seat.


Pass3: Dei machi. Air hostess super illa. Tamizh madiri theriyuthu. (Dude. The air hostess seems hot. Is she Tamizh?)

Pass4: Illa machi. She is not Tamizh. She is Sneha. <Gloating laughter, enjoying his shitty joke.>


Time rolled on. It was time for food. The mealcart reaches Chengizkhan.


Sneha, the hostess: What would you like to have sir?

CK: Indian Vegetarian please.

Sneha: <Thinks this guy is a theraada case> Here you go sir. Anything to drink?

CK: Yes, anything.

Sneha: Excuse me sir, Anything to drink?

CK: I said anything will do.

Sneha: <Frowns. Notices CK’s ears pinned to the front seat> Any reason for the tilted head sir?

CK: Yes, I like to observe the gyration principles of the aircraft from various angles. Gives me a perspective of how the rudder swings based on the atmospheric conditions, especially when the pitch has moisture. I even try poking keys into the front seat.

Sneha: Thanks for the pitch report sir.


The cart moves to the seats in front of Chengizkhan.


Sneha: What would you like to have sir?

Pass3: Alcagaal (Alcohol) please.

Sneha: I will get it for you in a moment sir. Can you first tell me your meal preference please?

Pass3: <Unmindful of what she said> Yes yes, foreign brand only.

Pass4 interrupts: Machi, Englees kaaranunga ellaam saapta apparam thaan thanni adippaanunga. (Westeners drink along with or after the meal)

Pass3: Villangama irukke. Vaandi varaadu? Seri namakku enna, free thaane. (Seems weird. Wont they puke if they drink after meals? Anyways, I am not paying anything.) Non vegetarian please.

Sneha: Here you go sir.


Sneha comes back after a while and hands Pass3 a can of Heineken.


Pass3: <Chellam, I love you, I love you. Imitates Ghilli Prakashraj in his mind. But is still not satisfied. Turns to his friend> Enna machi beeeru. Hottu illiya? (Why are they giving beer. Dont they serve hot drinks?)

Pass4: Hottu-na tea coffeeya? <More shittier the joke, more resounding the laughter>


Chengizkhan’s neck was in a bad shape by now. He could not take it anymore. So he decides to focus his attention in a different direction.


Pass5: Orey Sandy, Meekku Kumaar gaaru thelusaa? (Hey Sandy, Do you know Mr.Kumar)

Pass6: Sandy-a. Nene Sandy raa. (Sandy? I am Sandy.)

Pass5: Sandy kaathu ra. Kumar-u. Last week, I read somewhere. He wanted to commit suicide, but his English was not good. So he ended by dyeing his hair.

<Needless to say, riotic laughter prevailed again>

Pass6: Oh vaada. I also read that story. That was crap raa. No truth in that. Some racist idiot has written it.


Chengizkhan was satisfied with the entertainment. He turned another page in his novel. He thought about Indians accusing foreigners as racist. ‘We are like that only’ he thought to himself and started to look out for fun in a different direction, and ofcourse in a different language. So racist of him, you see!


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HRJKLQX Kumar was not a happy man. The last few months have been very difficult. He has been the object of ridicule among his colleagues at office. It had reached a point where he could take no more. “Is this a disease? Is it my fault that I am subjected to this? The only solution is to die” he though to himself “but then I am only 28”. He thought about Sunanda, his wife, who was the only source of consolation during this tough period of his. He started walking towards the supermarket. His thoughts veered towards Sunanda and her reaction “She would only come to know after everything happens. She is a brave woman and would get through this. After all, nobody has a perfect life.” He picked up the bottle from the store. “Not for consumption” was written in Bold letters. “Yeah, right” he laughed cynically.

He returned home and wrote an email to Sunanda

I am not frightened of dying
Any time will do,
I dont mind. Why should I be frightened of dying?
There’s no reason for it, you’ve gotta go sometime.
I never said I was frightened of dying.

He thanked Floyd for the literature and clicked on ‘Send’. Almost an hour passed before Sunanda could check her email at work. She was shocked, almost in a state of paralysis. Somehow, she managed to catch a taxi and reach home.

It was too late. She found Kumar lying on the couch. He was at peace. Deep sleep. His head no more had those long straight streaks of grey hair. She found a bottle of Godrej Hair Dye on the table. She checked his pulse. It was alright. He was even starting to snore now. She realised the problem was not so much about ‘dying’ as it was about ‘dyeing’ his goddamn grey hair. “How I wish what you wrote was true” she thought as she launched a vehement kick on Kumar’s backside.

He awoke with a startle. “What happened Sunanda? You seem to be in dyer straights!” he asked innocently. “Take it easy. Life is, but worth a hair” he gloated, proud at his philosophical joke.

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