Susie Makes Some Coffee (U/A)

“Saar…coffee.” 

Susie’s steamy whisper hung over the wisps of instant coffee as she poured me a cup of the piping concoction. It was a chilly morning and she was arched precariously over my table, her rather large pair of cute cherry blossoms (cheeks, I hasten to add, in case you thought otherwise) oozing enough warmth to cook the cockles of my quivering heart. I may have inadvertently stared at them just for a moment or two, I admit. Then, all of a sudden, it became so sultry that my ears turned crimson, the heart began to thrash about like a fish, the head started spinning and I had to take my eyes off to prevent my poor little sang-froid from becoming all shaken and stirred so early in the morning. 

“Thanksss….Ssusssy..” I squeaked, and took a sip, trying hard to dismiss racy thoughts of Susie hunched over me and lovingly pouring coffee into a couple of oversized cups from a large pair of jugs (steel jugs, that is) which she held with both hands in a very suggestive manner.

“Saar…..” Susie said, tossing some coffee for herself. 

I was still lost in thoughts, trying to wriggle away from a clutch of titillating visuals involving myself, Susie, and some spilled coffee on the table. But it was a futile exercise. No matter how hard (our hospital director often says ‘how hardly’) I tried, the images kept flooding my noddle with perturbing regularity. Not that I was complaining much, though. 

“Saar…O saar!” 

“Uh…yes?” 

“What are you thinking so seriously saar?”

“Jugs…” 

“What… saar?” 

“No..aa…co.. coffee…I mean your jug…your coffee jugs” I stammered.

“Saar…this is flask saar! No jugs here saar….what are you saying saar?” 

“Oho! Is this a flask? Well…well….it does look like a flask! Even I thought so….! Hmm….hmmm….how wonderful” I said, quite in a shaking voice. It was a narrow escape.

Eyeing me with considerable consternation, Susie straightened up, adjusted her tunic with a tantalising pull at the sides, and inspite of my best efforts to hide behind a stack of journals, noticed the blush on my ears. “Saar….! Your ear is looking very red! Feeling alright saar?” She reached out and patted my left ear lobe. 

“O Wow! You ears are so hot!” she said teasingly. 

Now, ‘hot in the ear’ isn’t exactly the kind of compliment that rugged, robust men like me expect from well-stacked bimbettes on a crisp January morning, particularly when their tender sang-froids have been tickled recently. Didn’t Susie know that there are many other pragmatic measures that can tasty testi testify to a man’s virility? 

Useful ways to test a man’s virility

So, not really knowing whether to feel flattered or flummoxed, I backed away from her touch, scared at the sudden realisation that she might proceed to tinker with my other honorable appendages (like the nose, for example) to ascertain if they too were hot, suffused and throbbing. With Susie around, things were really unpredictable. 

“Saar….why does ear wonly become hot saar?” Susie quizzed me with innocent mischief, drawing up her chair close to mine. 

“No no Susie….it’s not only the ear that turns red….there are quite a few other…..” I began in earnest excitement, only to realise that I was being led into a quagmire of interrogation by my own subordinate nursey, who would undoubtedly proceed to share the minutes of such an intimate exchange with Nikki the receptionist. Nikki was a stunning blonde (only her hair was black) who had joined the hospital a couple of weeks back. Though we had exchanged a few pleasantries while crossing each other’s baths paths, I was yet to gain a secure foothold at her promising doorstep, so to speak. So I clammed up and began whistling. 

“Saar…O saar! You would not tell me why wonly the ear becomes hot?”  

“Susie, these are uncomfortable questions….” I told her firmly, and finished my coffee.

“Why uncomfortable saar?” Susie batted her eyelashes at me and persisted.  

“Okay Susie….if you really wish to know, it’s this.” I explained. “Redness of the ears, hotness of the cheeks and wetness of certain body parts, I mean like the tongue and eyes, are purely impressionistic, and at best only subjective approximations of emotional arousal that have nothing to do with physically measurable estimates of the physiological response to visually appealing stimuli, thereby calling into question the very foundations of such an attempt to quantify abstract attributes of a stirred up horny carcass objectively….you see!” 

“Whoa…mamma!”  Susie gasped.

“I hope that answers your question Susie….” I observed with a bit of resolve. “Next, I’d explain to you the physical changes of the human body associated with hot ears and how an change in blood supply to the skin results in piloerection ….”

Susie hurriedly made her way to the door. “Saar…there are three patients waiting outside….I’ll send them won by won…” she said, and disappeared into the the next room.

I could still make out that her ears too had turned crimson.

Risky Resolutions

Hope you all had some great New Year celebrations and are back to work after the elaborate bang and bangings. Just to keep the spirits high and to Foster’s foster a sense of well being in these times of bitter cold, here’s something that I’d like to share with you. These are a few of my new year resolutions which I am sure wouldn’t stand the test of time. I’d welcome your considered inputs on the subject.
1. I will not mind few more of my hair turning grey. There aren’t much left anyway (on the scalp, I mean).

2. I will try to remember birthdays. I’ll mug the dates, write them down on my desk, tattoo them on my posterity, do whatever it takes. I’ll try.Talking of tattoos, this is interesting!

3. I’d stop ogling at sweets. I’d try to stop ogling altogether in spite of it’s reported salutary effects. I promise I won’t ogle at Susie’s spectacles again. My eyes, are after all, precious assets. I get a lot of eye strain ogling.

4. I’d watch more movies this year. That way I’d be able to spend some quality time with Dimpy Minochha, Susie, Nikki (the new receptionist in our hospital) and their ilk.

5. I’d shed 500 grams by the year end. Anything more would be an unreasonable target. I intend to join a gym and hope to increase my heartbeat to aerobic levels daily just by ogling selectively observing others joggers of the opposite sex.

6. I’d try to keep my blog alive. I’ll prove that nonsense can be improved upon.

7. I’ll get my car serviced at least once this year. I’ll consider changing the tyres too. And I’ll always remember to fasten my seatbelts.

8. Whenever a clock, watch, remote control, toy or anything else that works by pushing buttons stops working, I’d make an honest effort to change the batteries within two weeks. Okay, three weeks. Also, I’ll try to make a list of things that work on pushing a few buttons here and there. Trust me, I won’t put Susie on that list.

Er...Where's the button for this doll?

9. I’ll actually read the newspaper before stashing it away for the day. I’ll actually laugh while reading the ribald Obama jokes.

10. I will change calender dates every month.
11. In the winter months, I’ll use the bath soap once every week. Okay, this makes me nervous, but I’m confident of pulling it off.


12. I will discard a razor blade after 45…no…35 …..okay, 25 shaves. As they say, God shaves those who shave themselves. Whatever.

13. I’ll remember to pay my bills on date.

OMG! Today is the last date for paying the broadband bill!
Signing off. I’ll have to move fast. They take payments only until 3.00 !
Cheers!

Co Curry Cooler Activities

Madho Singh had made a fortune by selling his agricultural land to Highmax Builders at the height of the realty boom. He had inherited the land from his father, who was a peasant. Earlier, he worked (or at least, pretended to work) as a clerk in some obscure government office. With the money, he bought a large farmhouse, quit his job and proclaimed himself to be a property dealer. I remember having treated his painful anal fissure a few years back with a combination of soothing creams, bogus assurances and some unpleasant fingerwork that involved fiddling with the nastiest parts of his anatomy. He used to visit my clinic riding a rickety Rajdoot of the 70′s, and often cursed the motorcycle for its hard seats. So, when one fine morning he alighted from a brand new Scorpio, I knew he was living a terribly good life.

“Namaskaar doxaab!” He greeted me in a booming voice that rattled my fragile ear drum and scattered the poor little ossicles.

“Namaskaar Madho Singh”, I replied, trying to look awfully pleased. “”New Scorpio…hmm hmm….!”

“Yes doxaab. Bought it this Diwali. My wife does not like to sit in small cars.” Madho Singh flashed an effervescent smile, flashing his stained teeth. “Also, my in laws live in Ajmer, so we often have to travel…”

“Right…right. You must do what your wife says.” I nodded in agreement. “So….what brings you here, Madho Singh?”

Madho Singh studied his palms for a few seconds, stifled a yawn and shifted on his seat.

“Doxaab…you know…you are like my brother….”

Brother? O ya….really? How about sharing the moolah with me partner? You take the Scorpio…I take the farmhouse!

“Yes, yes….I know that.” I said, oozing brotherly love for the cabbage.

“Doxaab…I am having some doubts about my son’s studies”

“What kind of doubts?” I politely enquired. I was well aware of the ethereal qualities his son possessed. He had once crept up stealthily behind his neighbour’s bull and managed to fasten a rather stout clothespeg to its testicles. The bull had then uprooted the cowshed, chased the neighbour’s wife for a good hundred metres and attempted to force itself upon a dozen odd terrified cows before bounding into the nearby fields, bellowing madly in agony.

“He doesn’t study his books.” Madho Singh stated sadly.

“Oh! Surely there must be some books which would engage his vacillating attention…!” I exclaimed. “Some profound literature to stimulate him, enlarge his horizons, help his abilities to grow and allow his faculties to stand tall and erect…!” I wondered.

Madho Singh reached inside his jacket and produced a well thumbed copy of Debonair. “This!” he exclaimed sheepishly “..is what I found in his school bag…!”

I was swept by a strong urge to grab the magazine and find out for myself the extent and scope of stimulation, enlargement and growth of sundry human qualities which the colourful pages of the journal offered.  

“This….I guess is not very unnatural.” I cleared my throat. “Adolescent boys do develop such…..quests”

Madho Singh looked alarmed at my unreserved straightforwardness. “But…doxaab….16 magazines! Sixteen! I found sixteen of them in his room! Look at the variety!”

I had to agree. “Yes! It does look a little wormy. With this rate of titillation he’d soon qualify as an amateur bazoomologist.”

“Huh?!!”

“Never mind.” I said shortly.

Madho Singh let out a sigh and withdrew floppily on his chair. There was a strange, dejected look on his countenance. However, after about three minutes of silence, he sat up bolt upright, eyes flashing with a steely sort of resolve ”Doxaab…I have made up my mind. I will send my son to boarding school…” With that statement, he walked out in a huff leaving the Debonair spreadeagled on my table.

————————————————————————————————————————————————–

That was six months ago. Last Thursday, Madho Singh trooped into my clinic, sporting a broad smile. He told me he was just back from his son’s boarding school and was terribly pleased with his ward’s progress there.

“Really?” I asked, feigning admiration for the worthy lad’s achievements.

“Yes doxaab! It is a very large school with so many beautiful teachers!”

There you go. Like son, like dad!

“And there is a big swimming pool…and large ground! Every room has AC! And very good food!”

“Hmm…hmm….”

“And they also do lot of extra curry cooler activity!” Madho Singh was nearly frothing at the mouth with excitement. “My son is acting in a drama directed by famous American director…..what’s his name…sex…..”

“Shakespeare?”

“Yes! Sex Pear! Funny name! I strictly told my son to call him Mr. Pear!” Madho Singh let out a guffaw.

“And you know? They also teach whores riding!”

“What?? Whores???” My jaw almost dropped out of its sockets.

“Yes!” Madho Singh seemed terribly amused at my bewilderment. ”They keep many healthy whores in the campus! You can ride whores one after other…very good sport!”

“Aww..ohh…indeed!” I was at my wits’ end. This was defying logic.

“Very beautiful whores. Trust me doxaab! Great body….great power……you have to run after them before you can catch them! And once you catch them, then riding them is very easy…”

I was nearly perspiring.

“At first, it looks difficult…you may fall down..or whores may fall down on you….you must hold on tightly when you are riding them!” 

Then it dawned. Struck me like a sackful of pumpkins. ”Horse… You mean?” I said.

“Yes..yes…whores! What else I am saying? White whores, black whores, brown whores….”

“Blond horse, brunette horse, latina horse too…I guess?” I interrupted.

“What…doxaab?”

“Nothing. Did you ride one, Madho Singh?” I asked him.

“Naah…not this time. But next time when I go there, I will ask headmaster to allow me to ride whores.”

Madho Singh got up, shook hands with me and left with a dreamy smile. He was already thinking of ways to mount a horse.

Oh well…A Very Happy New Year To You All.