Bongspeak

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Kolkattaiya English has a unique rasogolla like flavour, maachher kaaliya (fish korma) like aroma and jhalmoori (spiced up puffed rice) like tangy finish. Nothing but an exotic delight of linguistic cuisine. If you have seen Baappida on stage (Haamey toomse pair keetna)….or Pranob babu bifor da Parlaament (Da Gobharment is bhery seriaas about tackeling da resheshaan), you’d know what I propose to say.

Ask a Bong about life in general, and he would break into a sentimental rhapsody…

In nineteen sebenty phibe, howen I owaas seben eaars old, I owaas chased by a beeg stray dog, and I litarally ran across tha Howrah Breej in fipteen sekends. I think I ran phastaar than Carl Leewis! Had tha gobharment chosen me phor 100 mitaar race in Olimpic, I would hab brought a Gold Medel phor Bharot!

Ask a Bong if he smokes or drinks…..

Smoking? Only waan packet paar day. Uills Classic. Modira? O…I am bhery selectib about drinks. I prephaar only Old Monk Raam or Tich-arse Choice huiski. Naathing else. No beer teer or bhodka phodka. And waan peg only bephore dinnar. Aare Robithakur himselp wrote about huiski…

Deshe onnojoler holo ghor onoton …..Dhoro huiski soda aar moorgi moton! Hahahaha.

You know….littil bit of drinking is actuaali good for haart! And shaala my wife daas not allau me to drink more. Bheri alaart……hahahahaha!!

Enquire about his passions…..

Phutball…I laabh phutball. Mohon Bagan. I jaast laabh their green and howite outphit! Howen I waas in college, I played phor their B team. And then shaala I got married…that ruined my dreem of playing phor Mohon Bagan. And cricket?…Cricket is jaast hopeless. No team ephort! Ebhrybody wants to do adbhartisement! See Sri Lonka…reached tha phainaal!

And on fidelity….

It is bhery important to be phaithphul in marriage. We hab so meny phimale colleagues….it is so easy to be dibharted! Baat, you maast show discipline eour selph. So, my rule of thaamb is – abhoid eye contact. All contacts begin uith eye contact. So, when you are talking to a phimale colleague, don’t ebhaar look into the eyes…look elsewhare…I mean look aaway.

And finally, whom does he actually admire…

Mai-kell Jaksaan (aha-bechaara), Ronaaldino, Maradona, Ko-peel Deb, Maadhuri, Omitabb, Shourob, Shochin, Mollika Sheraoaat (uff), Mondira Bedi, Bhibh Richaard, Shakira (ufff…mairee!), Aambani, Bipasha, and meny more…shob shalaar naam ki mone thakey!

This delightful conversation may go on and on and on….

Bappida pronob

Tips On Choosing a Doctor

Choosing an appropriate doctor can be a ticklish exercise, particularly if you are new to the place and do not have reliable contacts to help you out. Every nook and corner of our vast nation is lavishly populated with practitioners of all conceivable kinds of ‘pathies’ – allopathy, homeopathy, unani, kaviraji, ayurvedic, naturopathy (fyi, it’s actually different from and lot less exciting than naturalism – see pic for further enlightenment), magnetic therapy, spiritual therapy, yoga, reiki, acupuncture, gem therapy, touch therapy, laughter therapy, hydrotherapy, herbal therapy, urine therapy (both own and the holy cow’s), naadi therapy, magic, mantras, jhaad phook, Jholi Baba’s holy bhasmas, home made potions, aunty’s cures, and geeky remedies of all shades and hues! Interestingly enough, each therapist is full of beans when it comes to claiming a cure for anything and everything from itching armpits to Chinese Restaurant Syndrome.  In such a knotty situation, the following general guidelines may be of help in choosing an appropriate doctor. I have chosen to focus only on the allopathic form of therapy as I consider my understanding of all other ‘pathies’ to be rather cursive!

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A GP or a General Practitioner (can either be an experienced MBBS or MD doctor) is the veritable ‘Jack of all trades’ in the medical profession. He is supposed to possess a very good ‘general’ idea about the general signs, symptoms and cures of a fairly large number of general disorders. So if you have any of the common doughs like fever, diarrhoea, nausea, aches & pains, cold, cough, allergy, acidity, sore throat, ticks and the like, just land on the neighbourhood GP’s clinic (make sure of the above qualifications to ensure that a quack is not masquerading as a GP). If you are visiting a sarkaari hospital, look out for the MD (General Medicine) OPD. Having had you in his grasp once, the GP will happily go about with his routine general check up. He will endeavour to size you and your pocket up first, and then have a measure of your  BP and the number of your heartthrobs…I mean….the rate at which your heart ‘throbs’ in a minute….or in other words, your pulse rate.  He’ll then do the following in rapid succession – tickle your guts to see if you have an enlarged spleen, dive into your throat with a torch to tinker with your tonsils, poke your ribcage with his stethoscope to hear the melodies maladies emanating from your lungs, and so on. He will intersperse his evaluation with a  sprinkling of seemingly inane enquiries like when was the last time your left shoulder ached, what was the colour of your shit like,  when you burp, do you fart too, what happened first – the toothache or the headache etc. etc. Answer all his questions truthfully; he is only trying to sort out the jigsaw puzzle of your troubles. He may either write you a prescription straightaway, or ask you to get some tests done. Suffice it to say that a good GP should be able to take care of all your routine health problems.

6960D-quackNow the question arises – if the GP is good enough, what are the specialists and super-specialists for? Generally speaking, the specialists are those lettered pedants of the medical profession who have an MD or MS qualification in addition to the bachelor’s degree in medi-sin. Most surgical specialities are outside the purview of the GP. Surgical specialists include

General Surgeons (cap-mask weilding sawbones who gleefully draw their scalpels at the drop of a hat)

Gynaecologists (guy-nakko-logists; those who…well…need I add any ornate descriptions in their sublime honour?)

Orthopaedicians (specialists of bone disorders and fractures who literally go hammer and tongs at their job, or in other words, who make a living out of making a bonsai of your bones)

Otorhinolaryngologists (auto-rhino-larrinjo-logists) –  i.e. ENT (Ear Nose Throat) specialists (proficient in the art of tweaking your tunes therapeutically) and

Ophthalmologists (of-thal-mo-logists) – or the Eye specialists (those pretty docs who insist upon revising your knowledge of the alphabet).

The medical (MD) specialists include -

Physicians – typical sombre looking bespectacled whitecoated blackbooted stethoscope dangling bookwormish gentleman seen roaming the corridors of infirmaries.

Paediatricians (child specialists – who always seem quite eager to explain even the tiniest of things in vivid detail to all those pretty moms with gaping mouths and ‘Oh! Is that so? I didn’t know’ look in their eyes)

Psychiatrists (sigh-kia-trists) or mental docs (the kind you see in movies giving electric shocks to hapless heroines – in actuality, it is a refined science on which psychotherapy and counselling is based)

Dermatologists (skin specialists who keep on writing creams, tubes and lotions by the dozens for those obstinate pimples adorning your faces)

Pulmonologists (lung fung specialists)

Anaesthetists (as opposed to aesthetics – those who knock the patients out before any surgery and kickstart them afterwards), and

Radiologists (docs with X rays vision – beware, they’d know if you are wearing an old yellow-stained underwear with air-conditioning vents at strategic spots ).

Pathologists and Microbiologists play (all work and no play, rather) an important role in arriving at a diagnosis; they may not however, see patients directly. Then there are Anatomists, Biochemics, Pharmacologists, Physiologists, Community Medicine docs – all are MD specialists but they do not treat patients. Their work is more of refined meshugaas teaching and research oriented.

Finally, the superspecialists. These are the blokes who renounce all worldly pleasures in the pursuit of clinical excellance and end up on the wrong side of forty with nothing in hand (no birds, no nest, no moolah…no nothing)except another frightfully specialised qualification (DM or M.Ch) in a specific subject. They are, from the medical side –

Cardiologists (heart specialists, dil ka daktar, who spend one week in the Alps every month – this, unfortunately, compensates for only half of the losses incurred in earlier life)

Nephrologists (kidney specialists, who frequently tour Europe and America)play-doctor-costume

Endocrinologists (diabetes/thyroid/obesity specialists who look forward to touring Thigh Thailand and Bangkok)

Gastroenterologists (liver & abdominal disease specialists, who find solace among the grapevines in Germany and France)

Oncologists (cancer specialists, South African safari lovers)

Neurologists (paralysis specialists – who never find the time to tour anywhere) and

Neonatologists (who take care of critically ill newborns between sojourns to the Middle East and Asia pacific regions).

From the surgical side, there are the Cardiac (heart) surgeons

Urologists (who deal with kidney operations, urinary stone removal etc.)

Gastrointestinal surgeons (who sort out screwed abdomens)

Paediatric surgeons (who operate on newborns)

Neurosurgeons (who open up the brain, shout much upon finding a hell lot of burnt out wirings, and then zip up the skull as if nothing has happened)

Plastic Surgeons (surgeons dealing with buttocks botox, liposuction, nose jobs, breast implants, thigh shaping, etc), and

Onco (cancer) surgeons.

Most surgeons go only as far upto Tirupati or Shirdi in their vacations (I hope you see the association). Only the plastic japanese-doctorssurgeons travel abroad.

Take your pick.

 

 

 

Rofl Indian’s Law: An apple a day, keeps the doctor away. But only if you aim it well enough.

Who Framed Todger Grabbit

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It is indeed a queer quirk of fate that actor Todger Grabbit finds himself today behind bars, accused by his bai of fishing in forbidden waters.  To the utter consternation of Mr. Grabbit perhaps, the bars in this case are made of steel, and are not the usual assembly of glass topped tables with cushioned chairs and hovering bartenders. Apparently, Todger Grabbit weaseled into illicit territory while attempting to his hook his libidinous line with his bai’s innocent sinker, and when the police took him into custody, he was reportedly trying to fix his blemished rudder with oil stains all over it.  

Now, for the uninitiated, the word bai refers to a female domestic help in Indian households. Such a person, as a rule, is believed to possess a multitude of sweeping, unconditional rights conferred automatically upon her from the day she condescends to extend her estimable services in exchange for an ample salary. This includes holding an entire household to ransom over the right to avail unlimited casual leaves and the right to demand generous grants of credit and consumables at bai-monthly intervals. Most Indian households, particularly in the metropolitan cities, are strictly bai-polar, where the word of the bai is final and bai-nding. Understandably, no one messes with their clan, let alone even think of flexing bai-ceps before them or rubbing them in either right or wrong ways. Wrath of a bai is horror personified, as Todger Grabbit is now realising to his utter humiliation.

Mr. Grabbit’s wayward, and in a way, inexplicable behavior is increasingly being attributed to a few of his earlier films, in which he was shown cavorting amorously with assorted seductresses in wanton acts of unbridled lust. Sins Since then of course, Mr. Grabbit has come a long way, grabbing a Filmfare Award or two on the route and generally coming to be accepted as an acceptable actor. As his co stars emphatically point out, Mr. Grabbit sported a wholesome reputation on the whole and was known to keep his boat usually under wraps, at an arm’s length from raunchy vessels bobbling in alluring waters. As to why Mr. Grabbit chose to rip away from his fairly steady anchor and run after a wild goose so late in married life, is definitely a puzzle for human bai-logists to mull over.

His defense counsel may argue that poor Todger was an innocent bai-stander in the whole sordid affair, and that all evidences that otherwise point to a forced one night bai-stand are utterly fabricated. Perhaps, it was merely bai-chance that Mr. Grabbit happened to be at home when the domestic help was rubbing away at the floor hard, in a sincere attempt to make it shiny and lustrous. Perhaps Mr. Grabbit was seized by a philanthropic urge to lend a hand in her chores, and that the passionate chorus which resulted was a bai-product of those messy laws of physics involving forced vibrations and unnatural frequencies. Or that Todger was merely riding a bai-cycle in his loving living room and inadvertently lumped into the lass in question, the bai-cycle’s handle doing all the grimy damage. The counsel may also argue that the congress was consensual to begin with, and the alarm which was raised afterwards was the result of failed bai-lateral negotiations. Whichever the case may be, for once, Spongebob has been apprehended without his square pants in place.

Whatever may be the truth, Mr. Grabbit’s career appears pretty blighted for the moment. Licking illicit grape juice is an 65C68-sour-grapesinfinitely more heinious crime than, say, ferrying guns with roses. If the charge is proved, Mr. Grabbit will spend the next decade or so mending his tattered sails in undignified confinement. He may, perhaps, redeem his image later by writing a truthful autobaiography, confessing to his sins. His distraught wife, who is putting up a brave face and an impassioned fight at the moment, will eventually wipe away her tears and get on with the task of bringing up their child. It may also happen that Mr. Grabbit’s counsels manage to make him wriggle out of the bai-gamy charge through some loophole in the bai-laws of the Indian Penile Penal Code.

All characters and situations mentioned in WFTG are figment of the author’s flatulent imagination. Any resemblance to characters alive or dead or somewhere in between is purely coincidental and unintentional.

Paan-o-rama

paanPaan khaaye saiyan hamaarowhite-dog-in-fall1
Paan khaaye saiyan hamaaro

Karnal ke kutte pe cheent lal lal
Paan khaaye saiyan hamaaro

I must admit I tend to forget things after a couple of drinks. I’m not sure if it was a kurta or a Kutta in the original song!

Paan –  India’s indegenous mouth freshener made of moss green heart shaped leaves having a liberal filling of all sorts of wonderful condiments. After a mouthful, your speech changes drastically (Queen of Hearts may sound as cooing of aarse; we love our lifes may sound as we rubb our wives ). So beware. Among other interesting side effects of this magical morsel is the irrepressible desire to shoot your slobber around, the higher and the farther the spatter, the greater is the satisfaction quotient generated.

The practice of chewing of paan has a rich and colourful history. Its basic kinky quality was best described in the Kamasutra of Vatsyayana. (Hope you’ll find the link extremely… er… educative.)

“After cleaning the teeth and having looked into the mirror and having eaten a tambula to render fragrance to the mouth, should a person start his day’s work”.

Woohoo! What Vatsyayana actually meant by ‘starting a day’s work’  is really anybody’s guess. Imagine him saying, “C’mon guys! Let’s work harder and beat the f**king recession!”. Moreover, in those days of glorious liberalism, ‘day’s work’ didn’t have to wait for the stars to shine and the night to descend! I guess Vatsyayana must have grinned and winked hard at his students while penning this verse! Furthermore, it is widely believed that the more red your tongue gets stained after chewing a beeda, the more you are loved (or is it lusted really?) by your lover. Alas Linda Goodman never had a paan or else she’d have promptly written a bestseller on ‘Linda Goodman’s Tongue-in-cheek Love Signs’.

So, quite naturally, a study had become terribly necessary to dispel myths, and more importantly, to frame a set of rules for paan (betel leaf) chewing. Since most of the leading researchers in the blogworld are heavily occupied with determining the exact duration of mating calls of adolescent tree frogs, the onus (I said onus) of this research automatically descended upon my shoulders. So here I am, with my findings begging for your fertile attention.

Rule No. 1 – A Paan A Day Drives Your Blues Away

What the world badly needs today is a paan for everybody (no paan intended). Paan is said to cure digestive disorders of the mind. Disorders which otherwise cause cerebral constipation leading to an excess of pongy ideas within the skull which then find a way out by means of earth shaking intellectual farts. Intellectual farts smell awful. And they also stain your psyche’s undergarments. So to avoid such disasters, have some paan. And see the world change around you.

Rule No. 2 – A Paan A Day summons The Dentist Straightaway.

Rule No. 1 is just for amusing you. Don’t really take that seriously. While paan may really put an end to bad blood between battling bandicoots, regular intake will surely give you bad breath and teeth like Miss Palampur’s (the cow…you remember/ from the Cadburys ad?) freshly laid manicure (or is it manure?). Teeth may also demand an early plebiscite to break free and your gums might resemble the bombarded mountains of Tora Bora with loads of smelly-shit transported from Pinjrapole Gaushaala.

Rule No. 3 – Enjoy the juices…. leisurely

Paan is not your Bandra ka vada pao which you would gulp down in a hurry. The delicate flavours of a well made paan are released slowly and sensuously. So place it in one extreme corner of your mouth (don’t push it down – or your balls, I mean eyeballs, will pop out, therefore push sideways) and let the juices flow. Masticate leisurely.cow1

Masticate = the exquisitely pleasurable action of chewing slowly with eyes half closed and with a grinding, cow like action of the jaws; not at all to be confused with all other exquisitely pleasurable actions beginning with ‘mast’ and ending with ‘ate’.

Now let the juices and the sweetness dissolve thoroughly in your soul and stir up corny love songs of Jeetendra  – Sridevi – Jayaprada films. (Tohfa –tohfa –tohfa-……..Laaya – laaya – laaya….)

Rule No. 4 – Peek (throw your slobber) around with care.

woman-hanging-oversized_~BCP019-24You may need to get rid of some of your saliva from time to time to be able to breathe, speak or survive, so always keep your eyes open for appropriate places. Your neighbours car (right next to the rear door handle), their potted plant across the balcony, or his white Amul Macho underwear drying on a line may challenge you if you are an expert slobber chucker. Else, just spread your legs wide enough, do a dead drop straight down and walk off. Of course check your pants and your wife’s (or girlfriend’s) saree/ salwar / jeans to ensure that your colourful shot did not land there. You know, some very uncomfortable questions may follow afterwards if this precaution is messed with.

 

Rule No. 5 – Mardaa….No zarda please.

Or Zafrani patti or tobacco in any form. If you need a high, here’s a practical and very safe suggestion. Just ask someone to kick your butter really hard. This is a quite successful method with results guaranteed. Trust me, at any given time there will be atleast 10 blokes around you happily willing to give your butter a resounding boot (personal experience). But avoid paan and tobacco …for that’s a deadly combination, literally!

So go ahead and enjoy your bite. If you wish to have your paan and eat it too, just ask the paanwallah to cut that big kalkatta patta into two and rape (wrap….still not out of that awful ‘English’ hangover) one piece in cellophane. And don’t forget to ask for extra gulkand, tutty-fruity, mishri and elaychi; after all your paan is nothing less than Woodward’s Gripewater for the soul!

Enjoy!