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'Pray go on,
Augustus.'
'It's about
these two deaf men in a train.'
'My
sister has the misfortune to be deaf. It is a great affliction.'
The thin
aunt bent forward.
'What is he
saying?'
'Augustus
is telling us a story, Charlotte. Please go on, Augustus.'
Well, of
course, this has damped the fire a bit, for the last thing one desires is to be
supposed to be giving a maiden lady the horse's laugh on account of her
physical infirmities, but it was too late now to take a bow and get off, so I
had a go at it.
'Well, there
were these two deaf chaps in the train, don't you know, and it stopped at
Wembley, and one of them looked out of the window and said "This is
Wembley", and the other said "I thought it was Thursday", and
the first chap said "Yes, so am I".'
I hadn't had
much hope. Right from the start something had seemed to whisper in my ear
that I was about to lay an egg. I heartily laughed to myself, but I was the
only one.....
...PGW
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Indira Gandhi
once regretted that she was no good at small talk. She carried a Big Stick
alright.
I too am no good at small
talk...I don't regret it though.
Just now I woke up from my
afternoon nap. And I dreamed a frightful dream. You know, dreams are about
suppressed desires and fears.
Apparently there was this colleague of my son
whom I had to engage in small talk till my son comes and takes over. And I
started with:
"How does your father
spend his time upon his retirement?"
"Oh, he died long
ago"
...end of my small talk...
Britishers, it seems, have
this standard gambit in their London Tube:
"So hot it is
today"
"Yes, it is not so
much the heat as the humidity that bothers me"
And then they open their
Times or Telegraph and hide their faces behind them, having got over the
business of small talk successfully.
I lived in the Campus of IIT KGP all my working life. And soon found that most Professors have
a variety of chips on their shoulders...someone has missed the promotion bus,
another's son failed in the IIT JEE...
And you start with this
gambit:
"Both my son and daughter are in
the US. Where are your kids?"
"O, we are childless,
you know"
And his wife never forgives
you.
So, for the most part I
remained silent like a tomb and let others do their talking.
In 1993, after living long
in hostels, and bungalows with gardens, and fences to protect them, we shifted
to the coveted middle floor of an Apartment Complex of nine flats.
And within a couple of
weeks, our hi-fi Gole Bazaar Carpenter, Jaswant Singh, of whom every professor
was scared, dispatched a teak bed we ordered specially for our son...he was tall
and had this tumbling habit.
As the van arrived at our
gate and the Sardarjee's son was helping unload it, our neighbor, Prof B,
rushed out of his flat, and even before seeing it cross the steps, asked me
impulsively:
"How much did it
cost? How much did it cost?"
That was his small
talk. I ignored him. He never forgave me.
There were eight of us
professors in that Complex and we knew each other by name and fame since ours
was a small campus.
Within a few months of our
arrival there, this jovial Prof A joined us and came to know that the rest of
us were unsocial in the extreme. And he wanted to civilize us. And then, Holi
came. And he organized a Holi Milan Function of our Complex.
It was held on the terrace
of the top floor, and there were sweets and soft drinks to which we all
contributed to Prof A. Our sons who were studying in the IIT sweated out the
whole Do, with a couple of dozen chairs (which too all of us contributed for
the occasion) arranged in a circle so that every prof and his wife faced
everyone else.
We all arrived there duly
and took our seats...every wife sitting beside her own hubby for protection.
And Prof A started with:
"We profs know each
other...but not our wives. So, will the wives please introduce
themselves?"
Unfortunately, my wife's
turn came first, and she was shy and blurted out:
"My name is
Rukmini"
And the jovial Prof A at
once crooned the latest hit song:
Rukmani rukmani shadee ke bad kya kya huwa
Kaun hara kaun jita khidaki me se dekho jara
Everyone laughed but my wife kept
quiet...anyone else would have walked out. And I was embarrassed by my wife's
discomfiture.
That was the end of the Wives' Intro.
And Prof A very courteously asked each wife to sing a
song of her choice (after his own fell through the pit).
The first to be asked was Mrs Prof B. And she went all
coy and said:
"I can't sing. But I can recite any shlok of Bhagavad Gita
you choose"
And everyone simpered, implying:
"No, thanx!"
Then the kids distributed the eats and everyone fell
silently busy.
After which Prof P, living one floor above us started
bitching in public about Prof M who had his roof garden
on the roof of Prof P instead of his own:
"Prof M, you must know that the water you pour on your
plants seeps down my wall and dining table as well....Why
can't you shift your garden on to your own roof? You do
have a roof, no?"
Prof M stammered:
"My roof has no stairs to go up"
And our Host (paid), Prof A, butted in:
"No private quarrels in Holi Milan please!"
The kids then brought our soft drinks and all fell silent.
Prof B then broke the awkward silence:
"There is this new soap in the market you know...it is
made in India and is herbal"
Then Prof D, the cynic of the campus, growled:
"There is no SOAP in the Indian market...all we are
sold are soft cakes that get syrupy, or hard as rocks that
don't give any lather at all. Phew!"
"What do you mean? I am an expert in Saponification
and I am the Consultant of two soap manufacturing firms"
"That proves me right! Ha! Ha! Ha!"
End of our first, and last, Holi Milan.
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