RETURN OF THE DRAGON

After writing ‘How to win accolades and burnish people’, since it did not seem to work properly Darnakee started to build a foundation for himself to make sure that he want move about much and since he had read somewhere that Marx had given prominence to the ‘base’ and was since then doubtful as to whether he was base enough. He was a bit superstitious (another of those institutions) about the super-structure, though. When the structure was represented in superlatives, you should pay obeisance (root- obesity) and kneel before it, or otherwise the rifle butt will teach you how to go about it. He was a staunch poppy tommy democrat(paunch stoppy tommy) combating aristocrat(ic) designs among suit cases and carry bags.

“Can I bear your weight, sir?” asked a brief case.

“I have a case against brevity, and the long form is too short. Let us see. Anyway, I am not packed yet. Can you put the blade through me, for Gods sake?”

The man at the shop was demo- crazy  with me, and my wallet which was near empty seemed to fill up with air to suit the occasion starting to look like bellows.

“Do you have pan-pipes?” a guy was asking the shop keeper next door.

Neither Pan nor the pan walah are in town and the pipes are leaky, but yes, you can have it.” A voice sang out from behind a huge drum.

Bhaskar went out of the shop and peered at the musical instruments in the next shop. He was amused by the hugeness of the drum that seemed to cover a three quarter of the shops space and immediately thought about the ‘Fleeing army’ a poem that he had read at school in which there was an incident in which a man hid in a drum. Maybe this could be a comfortable fit for him, he thought.

“There is a rebate on the item, sir. You can have it for…” the man called from behind.

“No, no… I need a suitcase that can carry this drum!” Bhaskar said, dismissively.

The man of foundations was standing at the corner, looking around the bend. Was he also without qualities. It was difficult to make out from such a distance. 

“You are joking, sir.”

(‘Ass hole, why bother me in my sleep if he were not here to buy something?’ he murmured under his breath.).

Bhaskar went into the shop and gave a small tap on the drum expecting to hear a loud noise. There was a flat sound, unusually soft for the size of the drum.

“Is it okay if I sound it for you?” the shopkeeper looked up from his table and queried, pushing back his glasses to get a better look.

“Are you from around here- must have met you somewhere.”

“No, no…I am from the next town and I don’t come here very often. But yes, there are many people who look like me.”

“Ya,ya…I liked your looks. But are you buying anything?”

The bellows in my pocket was starting to cry out, and the pocket tore with a screeching sound, making the wallet sound like ‘wall-streeeet’.

I turned around and saw the bull, let loose in the street lifting its tail and pooping on the pavement.

“Oh there… that is my bull-ion for you!” it seemed to quip.

“Then they made us billionaires

With plenty of bulls and no air to breathe.”

Bhaskar remembered the lines of his poet friend reading out something which sounded familiar.Where could he have heard that?

“Ionising radiation…” He grunted and moved on, and his kurtha flapped in the wind for the bulls eye to see.

“But where is this wall street? I thought it was in Israel!”

“After China,sir!”

“Chein chein anda lo!(Gimme a Chinese egg)” Madhavi screamed, looking at the egg with two yolks that she had broken and poured into the tava. “You can’t have two kids, but maybe more yokes want trouble us!” She thought.

Darnakee looked at her through the window and at the picture of St.George slaying the dragon on the wall. Next time he would have to make sure.Was the dragon Chinese? or Tibetan?

Shredder Pillai peered at it over his shoulders and passed on. “As usual, not even a national one to make a statue of!”

“Shred it , dear Pillai, Please shred it!” called out his wife. He stumbled a bit and recovered by tugging at her skirt. "Parasu Ram made us presents- but now they say he was an enemy to all ‘others’ and thought them to be mean. The Webster’s doesn’t say so- neither does the Shabdatharavali. As for that axe, what could you make of it?"

Shredder looked around to look at the image , almost as if to see whether the dragons tail had crossed his path to make him stumble remembering Bruce Lee for a moment as he stood with his thighs flayed out and hands spread. The dragon failed to enter. There was a line of smoke drawn by a Jet in the sky and he could see the jet shining ahead, but still no Lee.

“Can we have a fight right here?” he asked.

But still, no dragon.

St.George looked up to see whether  Pillai was shredding proper, threw down his javel and said, “You can’t drag this quarrel any more, Kill joy! As if I had nothing better to do all the time.”

A shudder went up Shredders spine, as nationalism gripped him for a spasmodic moment.

“Bande matharam!”

“Poye matharam!” The bull snorted. “You need wall streets, bulls and bears to make a forest for you, if you don’t know that!”

“Without a wall, the street looks empty.” Bhaskar moved on, circling around Shredder Pillai. Someday one should buy a drum like that.

“That looks like prison. Can you write diaries?”

“Not unless I am down with diarrheoa!”

“Sure you will, God bless you!”

Darnakee walked on. “You sure are flue over the cuckoos nest, epidemic!”

“No idea, sirjee!”

“Try some other network, then.”

“How about BSNL?”

“Expansions with vowels added!”

“No texting for these testing times. No Wordswap.”

‘FOR YOUR MOUSE ONLY’. The phone doesn’t work.

Let me introduce you to our daughter, said Brooke(Never die brucke) Shields. James Bond smiled from behind her.

“Don’t make it too long, Mama. Papa’s sky craft is waiting for him. And I hope that you wouldn’t mention my name.” Brooke Bond said in a nervous voice. I am coffee all over. Her coffee grey apparel looked smart on her.