An Hour of Silence

So much has changed in the last six months. The Earth revolved around itself 180 times and more; Flat Foot, Grey Eyes and Nethravati Express made it out of Bombay for better, I met Subo Khan, joined a Gym and put on 10 lbs of prime quality lard on my belly, saw my city get washed away in floods and saw the Sena disintegrate; but Ma Cheri is still the same as she was – with her kind and loving face radiant as ever, with the sparkle in her eyes and a hint of mischief in her glance.

It is best to pen down ones thoughts when they are still fresh in the mind, and I intend to do just that ‘cause I’m sure that by tomorrow morning I’d have lost not only the enthusiasm to type this text but also the words to express my sentiment.

Ma Cheri, looked just the same when I saw her today evening at the check post to Thane, where she had promised to meet me. She kept her word and I have kept mine by actually taking the efforts to pen a blog promptly as I’ve never done in my life before.

When some philosopher quoted that beauty is but skin deep, I am sure he had Ma Cherie in mind. There in nothing I know that is ugly about her. Great Poets and Writers have lauded the Beauty of the Woman, commented on her virtue, grace, essence and charm. I intend to do nothing of that sort. I realize that some of the best things in life can’t be talked about and expressed, because words prove too meager to convey these sentiments. I do not intend to obliterate the sanctity of my relationship with Ma Cherie by reducing its worth to a text in black and white confined to the limitations of expression of the English Tongue.

I accompanied her to her house. We talked and walked all the way along through that hour of bliss that went away like a fraction of a second. I now realize how Einstein came to his Theory of Relativity. She came from work, but she oozed freshness; exuberance that has the potential to resurrect wilted flora. We met after long, but there was nothing to suggest that we had even been apart - even for a second.

Ma Cheri and I perfectly compliment each other. I speak, she listens. Our rendezvous this time was in no way different than any other time we’ve met. I spoke for an hour flat and she just looked at me and listened, just listened; and while I spoke to her I felt certain calmness take over me, a certain silence, a feeling that I was content and in peace with the world. It was as if I was talking to harmony herself.

Ma Cherie is ephemeral, fleeting, stolid yet ever-changing; cunning yet subtle; she is as obvious as much as she is an enigma. In my five years of association with her I’ve come as close to knowing her as much I can possibly intimate any one I so adore.

Albeit such intimacy, I still think she’s as elusive as when I first met her on that wonderful autumn day of 2001. Throughout these years our relationship has changed dynamically and so have our feelings for each other; and they will continue to do so as time flows. But one thing I’m sure of is that that no matter what, I’ll always have the lady by my side when I need her the most. She is someone I can totally bank upon.

Ma Cherie’s aversion to being photographed is the only thing that hurts me the most. For many years down the line when I happen to be an old man of eighty, I’d be sorry that there would not be an image with me of the beautiful girl who I once happened to meet many years ago.

There are very few things that I’ve ever regretted for. One of my greatest regrets -when I meet Ma Cherie - is that I’m too practical to face my sentiments.

This one is just for you………

Mona lisa, mona lisa, men have named you

You’re so like the lady with the mystic smile

Is it only ’cause you’re lonely they have blamed you?

For that mona lisa strangeness in your smile?

Do you smile to tempt a lover, mona lisa?

Or is this your way to hide a broken heart?

Many dreams have been brought to your doorstep

They just lie there and they die there

Are you warm, are you real, mona lisa?

Or just a cold and lonely lovely work of art?

Do you smile to tempt a lover, mona lisa?

Or is this your way to hide a broken heart?

Many dreams have been brought to your doorstep

They just lie there and they die there

Are you warm, are you real, mona lisa?

Or just a cold and lonely lovely work of art?

Mona lisa, mona lisa.

(Note: This piece of text is a reflection of the author’s sentiments towards a purely imaginary character, any resemblance to any individual living or dead is purely co-incidental whatsoever. The text is not open to argument or debate of any kind.)

Slimeball (6th-25th Nov)

Just as always a lot of thought processes have gone into the construction of this piece of communication, and undoubtedly, this blog- as all my other blogs have been – will be a magnificent piece of literature, that will be for centuries to come lauded not only by serious students of the wonderful subject that is English Literature, but also by casual readers.

I shall now commence on the crux of the issue that I’d like to discus.

Readers who happen to have an iota of grey matter in their Brain would have by now surely noted that The Great Aimless Archer has no Crux of the matter ever. He Blogs merely to vent out his frustrations in general. I shall therefore safely conclude that either all my readers have remarkable IQs or that they are very kind, sympathetic people to go on reading what; Shakespeare (Tennyson, Brown, Keats, Spencer, Shirley, Pope, Somerset Maugham, Mark Twain, Charles Dickens, Alexander Dumas, Frederick Forsythe etc and/or any of he aforementioned) would have rightly evaluated as An Apology of a Blog.

Varun says that He likes frogs and I sincerely see no justifiable reason why he should not. I like Mutton chops, Fish, lobsters so on and so forth don’t I? But what plagues me the most is that Varun, instead of relishing French Frog legs soaked in wine likes to enjoy the Croaking Company of those blasted slime balls. The worst part being that he prefers Toads and Frogs to us [Homo sapiens – For the less Gullible].

Disclaimer- The author seriously denounces cannibalistic tendencies, and is in no way responsible if any reader by some unfortunate stroke of apathy decides to believe that his compatriot would if properly dressed look better on his dinner plate (or lunch plate whatever the disturbed reader prefers more) than his barbecued steak.

Big Butt was supposed to get back to Bombay from Dooms Valley on the 9^th of December but I was disappointed to be apprised of the fact from the concerned party that the concerned party deems it fit to meet his Amigos ten days later because he deems fit to spend his dispensable time in the presence of creatures with attractive names like Clinotarsus curtipes, Bufo melanostictus, Microhyla ornate, Kaloula taprobanica, Sphaerotheca breviceps, Hydrophylax malabarica and the like.

Blast his over inflated organ (Perverts should carefully note that the reference to the word organ mean the vocal sacs of Frogs and toads that, if I’m correct have a tendency to swell up on certain auspicious occasions). But as a true friend I’ll strive to stick to him harder than a fly sticks to the tongue of our warty friend before it (i.e. - the fly) attains Nirvana and the Warty friend his burp (or croak, whatever sounds right for the occasion).

The reason that I am elucidating these reprehensible characteristics of Varuns amphibian friends is that upon Big Butt’s arrival it will be crucial for us to understand the behavioral traits of these sordid creatures if we are to deal with him in an effective manner.

The idiom that ‘One is known by the company one keeps’, I’m quite sure is undoubtedly not unfamiliar to us. And Varun is I’m quite sure no exception to this rule.

Varun is metamorphosing in to very much the Toad I was afraid he’d become if isolated from the benign company of his fellow patriots. Varun’s bottom licking social skills are of no interest to us as these happen to be non existent. But now I am shocked to see that Varun has lost his correspondence skills (something I’m quite sure he was really good at). He has not communicated with me for the last month or so. Naturally, as a true friend would, I was concerned. But upon head-breaking efforts on my part I finally found an answer to this perplexing riddle.

BIG V is suffering from the Stockholm syndrome. Information sent to me by reliable sources helped me to conclude that whilst Flat Foot was out on a field visits near The Stream of the Slippery Stones he was kidnapped by a bunch of Frogs. The frogs claimed Varun had messed up with their womenfolk (or Frogesses whatever sounds right). V’s stay with these amphibians was accompanied by the consumption of a number of flies and rotten insects. Kudos to V’s adaptability that he changed himself to such an extent in the company of frogs that, the WII rescue team turned up at the fateful spot picked him up assuming that he was a rather well fed toad and not their lost colleague Varun Torsekar.

So great was his deception that the WII authorities realized that the French (bearded) Toad was human only when a Female Toad refused to reciprocate to his advances (Actually the female toad had no doubts about Varun being a Toad, but she refused to entertain him because he was too reticent and unwelcoming for her taste).

Nevertheless, all is well that ends well. Fat ass has been secured and restored to the company of his fellow beings in Deheradoon, and has reportedly being showing human traits. Friends have been asked not to feel bad that he can’t mail or call as yet owing to his webbed appendages. But he’s expected to be quite himself when he lands in Bombay sometime in December.

All of us here are eagerly wait for him to turn up and hope from our heats that he does not order for Maggots in chocolate sauce when we go out to eat together. Cause I’d really hate to serve him Kab’s (K’s metamorphosis into a maggot owing to the constant interaction with flies hovering on idli batter will be discussed later)

For now, enjoy the weather. Cheers!