Tag Archives: Susie

Austerity Overdrive

Posted on by Rofl Indian

I was quite perturbed to see a notice pinned on the hospital notice board early this morning which staidly announced -

All doctors and staff members are hereby instructed to observe strict austerity in their public conduct and refrain from wasteful expenditure wherever deemed applicable. Indulging in inappropriate acts of profligacy while on duty shall attract penal provisions and adverse comments in the annual report. Expression of public displeasure and/or mockery of the order (like calling the undersigned ‘holy cow’) will be treated with zero tolerance and may result in dismissal from service.

By Order

The Hospital Director

I winced. Austerity drives, like sex drives, were decidedly secretive issues and needed to be kept under wraps for best results. This hue and cry was entirely unnecessary and distracted us from the dignified cause of fostering doctor-doctor, doctor-patient and doctor-nurse relationships. Moreover, this sort of decorous prose was certainly not the handiwork of our HD. I suspected an element of foreign hand (Phadnis?).

Susie was the first to accost me as I settled in my chamber, and reflected dourly on the lump.

“Saar…!” she said, as usually adjusting her large and attractive pair of spectacular spectacles. (My older readers are quite familiar with, and largely appreciative of Susie’s assorted habits by now)

“What is it Susie?” I replied, with a tinge of irritation in my voice.

“The notice saar…”

“Yes, I saw it. So?”

“No saar….I mean….it is totally wrong saar!”

“What?” I sat up.

“Saar….wrong….the notice is wrong!”

Amazing! It implied that Susie had not only read the whole notice carefully, the promptness with which she had grasped the agenda and formed an educated opinion on the matter reflected her deep understanding of such abstract stuff as austerity, profligacy, tolerance and displeasure.

I felt terribly ashamed that I had doubted Susie’s aptitude all along. The girl, it seemed, was not so dumb after all. My chest promptly began swelling with pride for her. Soon I was so uncomfortably swollen (with pride of course) that I had to reach out and pat her arm tenderly to relieve myself.

“You are right Susie”, I observed with solemnity as things settled. “This notice is not only wrong, but wicked, prejudiced and sadistic. I know exactly why it is wrong, but I want to hear it from you. Give me your honest opinion Susie, as to why you think it is wrong.”

Susie bit her lower lip and twisted her hands in a sugary way that appeared quite engaging.

“Come on Susie, bite the bullet!” I exhorted her.

“No saar…”

“Soosie…!”

After another moment of silence, Susie lowered her eyes and said abruptly, “Saar….cow!”

This was so unexpected that I really thought Susie would thrust her hips forward and start crooning “Saar-cow lo khatiya jaada lage!“ But she did nothing of the sort. She just leaned closer towards me (ooh!), looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, and whispered,

“How can we call the Director saab cow? Cow is always female saar! But he is not female cow….Director saab is definitely male cow saar!”

“Holy cow!” I gasped. This was indeed indisputable logic. “Okatto jukti”, as we often say in Bangla. Had this been some other occasion, I’d have assumed that Susie had gone through the elaborate exercise of lifting the bovine’s tail from behind and peering underneath to ascertain it’s gender in a methodical sort of way. But since this was a weird situation, I dismissed her forthwith, thinking hard how to wriggle out of the mess without being branded as a cow-ard. I picked up the intercom and dialed the HD’s number to fix up an appointment with him.

.

.

“Yes, Dr. Bonerji?” The old codger rumbled as I took a seat opposite him.

“Good morning sir” I said, lowering my bottoms.

“Good mourning.  What is the matter?”

“Sir, I just saw the notice. Do we really need an austerity drive and all that?”

“Yes..yes…Dr. Bonerji! Don’t you see it is very important to give the impression that we are also caring for the poowar (poor)?”

HD was right in a way. He always struggled hard to give the impression that he was exceedingly concerned for the plight of the poor. As soon as a poor looking patient from the villages descended upon the hospital, he would summon the relatives, slap his forehead repeatedly and ask  “Tell me quickly….how poowar you are? Have you got a couple of farmlands or not which you can sell to pay for the treatment.” He was so concerned, that he’d even go out of the way and offer a huge 1 percent discount on the bills after adding another 15 percent in the name of (dis)service tax!

“Yes…but…..”

“Dr. Bonerji….last month the electric bill only was 3 lakes! Three lakes! We must reduce hospital expenditure. How can we make profit if we do not reduce many missile anus (miscellaneous, that’s how he pronounces it) costs?”

“No…but…..” I tried to interject, but in vain.

“See Dr. Bonerji. I have noticed that your department is not careful about spending money at all. You peepal drink four five cups of coffee everyday. That is why you need the AC at full speed for whole day! That nurse in your department, what is her name…..yes….Sooji…..she pours so much cocknut oil on her head! Her apron becomes oil stained. Why sud the hospital pay for dry clean? And why you are using Lux soap in toilet? You sud use Lifebuoy! I still use Lifebuoy while bathing. We cannot afford this kind of lugjery in these times!”

I was getting hopping mad at these allegations. Had I really been a celebrity on Twitter like Mr Tharoor, I’d have declared “Susie and I would be ashamed if we were spending the hospital’s money to pay for the coffee and the coconut oil. But we are not, we are spending our own savings.” And it’s not my fault if the bill is 3 lakes or thirteen oceans! Who asked him to employ a bevy of simpering mermaids as receptionists who do nothing at all except cavorting around and playing with his fish the whole day.

I have not actually seen the mermaids tinker with his fish, I’m assuming that. What else do mermaids do except playing with fishes? This HD had to be taught a lesson or two in austerity.

.

.

“Sir…” I began.

“Hmm..”

“I think you are right.”

“Eggjactly! That is what I am saying.”

“Sir, I have a suggestion to make…” I said , clearing my throat “…that will reduce expenditure by at least 50 percent.”

“50 percent!” The Hospital Director’s countenance lit up with profuse expectation, just like a toad that had seen a fat fruitfly shaking it’s ass nearby.

“Yes sir….50 percent.”

“How….Dr. Bonerji?”

“Sir, I suggest we form an austerity committee that would look into various ways of cost cutting and enforce austerity in the hospital. Of course I will see to it that my department takes the lead in cost cutting. I shall only use the AC when patients are around. I will instruct Susie not to apply mustard oil on her head…”

“Cocknut oil…”

“Yes…coconut oil. I will instruct Susie not to apply coconut oil, and I shall limit the number of coffee to two cups per day per person.”

“Very good Dr. Bonerji…very good. And Lifebuoy…”

“Yes sir. That too.”

“Go ahead Dr. Bonerji. I authorije you to form that committee. Your ideas are very promising.” HD chuckled.

“Thank you Sir” I rose from my seat. “There is one more request….”

“Please…please….”

“Sir, I wish that the committee be headed by Madam…”

“Madam….?”

“Yes….Madam”

“Which madam…?” Thunderclouds of bewilderment were starting to build up on HD’s quaint expressions.

“Your wife …Sir. That way we shall have the opportunity to share her pearls of wisdom…..”

The HD gave me a look of utter disbelief, and let out a short, painful grunt. Exactly the kind of grunt that you get to hear from a large, well fed pig which has just swallowed a rotten bag of potatoes.Then he reached out for a glass of water.

I was out of HD’s chamber before the old coot could recover his senses.

.

.

The austerity notice was withdrawn a few hours later. I ordered coffee for everyone and gifted Susie a large bar of Lux soap from the hospital supplies. Readers are requested not to gratify themselves by imagining sizzling visuals of Susie unwrapping the soap in her bathroom.

Lugjery Zindabad!

PS: I recommend viewing the ‘Sarkailo Khatiya Jaada Lage’ video on You Tube [link] with the sound off. It’s an unforgettable experience.

Susie’s Follies.

Posted on by Rofl Indian

By follies, I mean mistakes. Not the Foley’s Catheter which nurses secretly enjoy inserting in a man’s, well, manhood. Susie is too young and inexperienced for that.

Truth is, Susie is beginning to lose her grip. No no, not on things you people are imagining. And so what if it’s Valentine’s Day today? Duh. It’s all about duty and care and responsibility, that sort. Tell you what, all those pearls of nursing wisdom that Susie had allegedly picked up at the Holy Mercy School of Human Nursing, Tellichherry appear to be getting squandered in a sea of sloppy neglect. Sigh.

My apprehensions have been confirmed. One day when, upon being asked to administer a gentle dose of soap water enema to an elderly constipated patient, Susie proceeded to launder his unsuspecting intestines with a deadly mix of Surf Ultra and, hold your breaths, lime scented caustic soda! Needless to say, a perfect catastrophe ensued, with the stricken patient slipping into coma and, spectacularly enough, working up a huge ball of foam every time he passed a gust of rectal wind. Of course it generated a lot of interest among fellow patients and their relatives who had never seen such a miracle in their lives, and brought me laurels as a doctor who treats patients by revolutionary methods, I secretly felt let down by Susies’s abject carelessness. More disturbingly, a nosy TV reporter swooped on the patient and started asking very uncomfortable questions. To allay his suspicions of criminal misconduct, I had to submit myself for a long chat with him over lunch. Two whole butter chickens and three whole sundaes later I could barely manage to convince him that this was every bit a variant of the Schulbaster-von Memmering syndrome, quite harmless by any standards. Whew! But just because Susie’s intentions were noble, and her charms nubile, that the day was saved for her. As for the horror the poor old soul endured, the less said the better. The moment he reached home, he saw the washing machine and collapsed in a heap. His neighbours, I hear, noticed that his distraught posteriors continued to smell of lime for quite some time. Sublime, as they say.

In another recent instance, Susie almost had me sent to the gallows. It so happened that the wife of the superintendent of police was referred to me for treatment of a stomach illness arising out of indiscretions she had indulged in, in a titty (hark! These typos) kitty party the day before. Having tried my best to console her insulted entrails with a few friendly pats here and there, I directed Susie to respectfully administer an antibiotic shot, specifically instructing her to use a thin syringe, and as gently as possible. As I came out of the room to afford them some privacy, a piercing shriek rang out, followed by a string of, let’s say, quite colorful expletives. Before I could rush in , the SP’s wife ejected like a shotgun slug, menace writ large on her vicious countenance. The long and short of it is that before leaving, missus SP threatened me with getting my ass suspended from the ceiling at the nearest police station and a round of sound thrashing by eager specialists in the trade. Things became clear in no time. Susie, it appeared, had stabbed the wasp with a stout 18G needle, the kind you prefer to use in buffaloes to inject those milking hormones.  There was hardly anything I could do except wait for the knock of a policeman at my door. Anyway, nothing much happened for a couple of days, and then one evening, I  received a call from the Superintendent himself, who thanked me profusely for showing the conviction to tackle his wife’s troubles with a ruthless, almost hit-man like, resolve.

It was then when I decided to call a spade a spade, and summoned Susie for an interview this morning, specifically designed to grasp her booty. Her mental booty I mean.

“What saar?”

“Sit down Susie. We need to talk.”

“Having headache saar?”

“No no, nothing is aching Susie. Just sit down.”

“Okay saar”. Susie adjusted her big, round pair of  spectacles as always and drew her chair close to me. She has this uncanny ability to throw my thought process off balance, you see. For a moment, I forgot why had I summoned her.

“Susie”, I began, as things settled down “I have noticed that you often forgetting things. What’s the matter?”

“No saar!” Susie promptly adopted a look that amply stated her disbelief at such an insinuation.

“Well Susie”, I said sternly “there have been many complaints against you.” When I am stern, I am an unyielding pillar of authority. Much like Bruce Willis in Die Hard. Even the hairstyle.

“O God saar! Totally forgot!” Susie stood up with a big, disarming smile on her face and rushed towards the door, seductively undulating her coconuts coconut oiled hair. “Wait saar. I have something for you…”

She appeared with a rose. Won’t tell you the colour. “Happy Valentine’s Day saar”. My heart briefly transformed into a fish and started thrashing about in a pond of love.

But then, I have a lingering suspicion that the rose arose out of Sebastian’s (the lab guy) undying love for Susie. Why, it even smelt of cigarette. Still, a rose is a rose, and Susie’s upbraiding shall have to wait.

Don’t you remember how she went about pinching pennies during the recession? READ HERE.

Susie Returns

Posted on by Rofl Indian

I apologise to my readers for having kept Susie off my blog for a considerable period of time.  She was indisposed for a while, you see, having contracted malaria first, and then a bit of gas, ostensibly from an overdose of medications prescribed by my dear friend Dr. Phadnis. Now she is fine, radiating from the glow of iron tonics and protein powders, that I had pilfered from the Hospital Director’s room and given away to her in an act of genuine benevolence. It’s an altogether another matter that the Director was mad the next day, he having milked the medical reps for the products in the first place, with the charitable aim to improve the general health and appearance of a certain Miss Priyanka, the hospital’s newest receptionist.

So, there she was, back in my room, sipping coffee. She closed her eyes, threw back her arms, thrust forward her large cookies (Susie was indeed having large coconut cookies with coffee, trust me) and yawned noisily. She was sitting just across the table and her carelessness allowed me to steal a quick glance deep inside her throat.  Just as I was contemplating whether to reach up to her and tickle her cute little uvula with a syringe, Susie shut her mouth abruptly.

“What saar! You ver lukking inside my mauth…?!”

“Oh! W..was I?” I quickly shifted my gaze and started drumming my fingers on the table.

“Yes saar. I saw you lukking inside me!”

Now that was a lie. I was in no way ‘looking inside her’ if you go by the strictest sense of the phrase. I agree I have briefly tried to look inside her (inside her soul, I mean) on a couple of occasions in the past, but most definitely not now. Moreover, her abrupt charge caught me in a fix. If I admitted to the act, it would risk a long session of verbal ping-pong with the nursey. If I rejected her allegations, she would invariably find other means to extract a painful confession from me. Once, despite no fault of mine, she had two of my teeth knocked out completely by a deadly combination of  thayir sadham and kappa vevichathu allegedly cooked by her humongous aunt. My only fault was that I had not informed her of an inspection by the Hospital Hardware Committee in advance, as a result of which she failed to produce two paperweights that the records showed to be in Susie’s possession. Now, Thayir sadham when mixed in roughly equal proportions with kappa vevichathu forms a deadly plastic explosive like lump that is unquestionably the sourest thing on the planet. Thank God the minions of Al Qaida are yet to discover the deadly side effects of Eliamma Aunty’s cuisine, or else they’d have unleashed a series of kappa vevichathu bombings across the world! And it was only much later that I realised that one of the anagrams of sourest is oestrus! Eliamma Aunty in oestrus…lethal indeed!

“Saar?” Susie nudged me with her eyes. “Tell me na saar…you ver lukking inside my mouth na saar?”

“Umm….yes. But just a little. I didn’t see much Susie…”

“O..ho! I was right saar!” Susie’s eyes brightened. “What did you see saar? Please tell me na…”

“I told you Susie….I didn’t see much..”

“Saar…” Susie bit her lip..”You are not being truthful….are you shy of me?”

“Why should I be shy of you? I’m not even shy of my wife!” I boasted, only to realise that the comment had gone a bit too far. A doctor ought to be of an inherently shy nature, I thought. Shyness confers a degree of immunity from locker room mishaps, something I had realised last year when three young, pretty and inquisitive OT nurses (I guess they were Julie, Rosamma and Annamma …maybe not Annamma, I’m not sure) had barged into the OT locker room while I was changing. What followed was a series of polyphonic screams from the three, followed by a melee and a mini stampede, as the three rushed out and thirty rushed in, followed by the OT incharge and a little later by the Director himself. From that day onwards,  I always pretend to be extraordinarily shy and close the locker room door tightly before even I take off my shoes. Anyway, more on that story later.

Susie was still looking at my face, perhaps expecting an admission of sorts.

“Susie, stop looking at me that way….I told you I didn’t see anything worthwhile…moreover, you look sleepy. Didn’t you catch enough sleep last night?”

“No saar…I was thinking of you saar…..” Susie laid her head on the table and said dreamily.

“What!” I suddenly felt like a brooding mother hen which had just discovered that one of her eggs had got really stuck down there. I had to fight to shut out suggestive visuals of Susie eloping with me with a tiffin carrier full of kappa vevichathu. What a scandal it would be!

“Susie….” I said firmly “…you should not think about me in the night. Er….by the way…..what were you thinking?”

“Nothing saaaaaw” Susie again broke into a noisy sigh. “I was thinking of inviting you to our house for lunch next week…..Eliamma Aunty is coming from Kerala….”

A chill ran down my spine and knocked my knees together. As Susie dozed off on my desk, I silently stood up and ran my tongue on the bare mounds of hardened gum where my two molars used to stand proudly. Nah! I had to plan a holiday to Shimla next week. You don’t get decorated with military honours for surviving Eliamma Aunty’s cuisine!

Susie Makes Some Coffee (U/A)

Posted on by Rofl Indian

“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.

Birthday Whooshes

Posted on by Rofl Indian

 

“Saa…aar…”

I confess I become dizzy with arousal (an emotional and innocent kind of arousal, so to say) whenever Susie calls out in her husky coconut milk flavoured Mallu accent, and today her pitch had that unique seductive chirp to it that augured a sense of general happiness and robust well being. This girl is something, I tell you. And she was smelling quite strongly of coconuts too.

“Saar…!”

“Yes Soosie” I extracted myself from my reverie and looked up. Whoa! Susie was standing at the door of my chamber wearing a pair of tight blue jeans and a bright red tee shirt that proudly proclaimed ‘Oops!’ in striking white letters across her voluminous, well, you know, frame. My God! She looked stunning!

jessica-simpson-real-girls-eat-meat-06 2

I doubted if she had indeed chosen the tee shirt for herself. It was quite possible that either Sebastian or Verma had gifted it to her. Sebastian was the shy lab techie with a bushy moustache who watched only aesthetic Mallu movies on his computer when no one was around. Verma, the sly office clerk, preferred western atheletic workouts. Both, I knew, had designs on Susie, and I had on earlier occasions apprehended both of them red handed for trying to slip uncouth love letters into Susie’s purse. Verma had even the gall to write ‘Sozy I will dye far you’  in red ink which he tried to pass off as blood! But you cannot really hoodwink me so easily, you see. I made Verma confess that it was indeed red ink, and as punishment bade him to pay for a round of kachoris and coke that was relished by the whole department, including Phadnis, Dimpy and even the Hospital Director’s peon. But presently, the smell of coconut oil was so overpowering that I couldn’t really take my eyes off Susie’s tee shirt.

“Saar…what are you looking saar?”

My gaze was fixed on the ‘Oops’. Why ‘Oops’? What had spilled over? And it must be Sebastian. Now I remembered. He was untraceable for a couple of hours the day before. The scoundrel must have slipped away to buy this for Susie.

“Saar….o saar! What are you looking saar?”

“Coconuts…”

“What saar?”

“No no….I mean….no…er….not coconut, I wasn’t looking at coconuts….I said you are looking wonderful!” Though I was thoroughly shaken, I barely managed to recover my composure. That was a bad slip of tongue.

“Oh..thank you saar.” Susie smiled coyly.

“Not wearing white today?” I cleared my throat.

“Today is my bird-day saar. I thought I will come to hospital without wearing my dress.”

There was a loud clatter as I choked and dropped my coffee cup, making a mess of things. A lizard, which was lustily eyeing Susie from the roof, quickly disappeared behind the tubelight in deep fright. In trying to move back, I knocked over the examination lamp, kicked a jar of spirit and broke a couple of glass slides on the side table. The spirit jar toppled over, spilling over a litre of the precious thing on the floor. What a waste. Though it was spiked, it was alcohol nevertheless.

“Without wearing your uniform you mean…” I barely croaked. I noticed that my voice, among other things (my back, for example) had gone stiff. 

“Yes saar…” Susie squeaked. Her face was rapidly turning purple (a heady mixture of dusky and crimson, you see).

“Happy Birthday Su….” 

But Susie wasn’t there at the door. She had already disappeared into the adjoining room.

Kambakkht Ishq – Endgame

Posted on by Rofl Indian

Part III was written much earlier, but I became so numb with Kambakkht Ishq’s hangover, that this blogpost was excessively delayed. You may refresh your memories by reading the prologue here and the pain there.

As I said earlier, Bebo is a wannabe surgeon. She weighs a little over twenty kilos, roughly equal to the added weights of Sabiston’s and Schwartz’ Textbooks of Surgery, lumped together in a bikini towel. Susie and I concluded that in order to get a degree Bebo must have soaped her examiners with front row passes to her swimwear shows, and that she badly needed to practice her skills as a butcher before she could be entrusted with the job of dismembering a stuntman. However, this being a movie, we ignored the minor factual errors and concentrated on the larger picture as a whole. So Bebo cut up Akshay, and ended up leaving her watch inside his tummy.  Afterwards, Akshay moved heaven and hell to discover the source of the earth splitting chants of Manglam Manglam, which were in fact coming from inside him only!

It was interval soon, and the dim lights came on. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Faddu and Dimpy quickly move away from each other with naughty half smiles and a coy, come-hither type of look on their faces. A few nasty thoughts rampaged in my mind, but Faddu explained that he was sharing an SMS joke only.  I had my doubts, though.

Faddu stood up and trotted off, saying he was going to get some snacks, but I knew he would first go to the loo, and then to the snack bar to buy nachos and coke. It wasn’t a very agreeable thought (even if he washed his hands thoroughly), and I resolved not to touch that plate of nachos defiled with Faddu’s machos. I got up and moved to Faddu’s seat, leaned over Dimpy’s, and took up the profound matter of Bebo’s surgical skills with Dimpy.  She seemed greatly interested.

“Bonerji boss…did Akshay have to remove his clothes in the OT!”

“Dimmpal, I told you I am not Bonerji.” I said with a tone of mock offense. ”Clothes? Oh yes! every bit. You never do any surgery with clothes on…I  mean, with no clothes on the patient. Very important Dimple, very important…else the patient gets all sorts of infections!”

“Ohh Boss!” Dimpy’s jaw dropped. Susie looked quite excited.

“Wouldn’t he feel …uh….ashamed without his clothes?”

“I should think so.” I said gravely. “And with Bebo as the surgeon, all types of uncomfortable accidents are possible!”

“Accidents? What accidents?” Dimple stared at me with wide eyes.

“Things in Akshay would shoot straight up and refuse to come down…you see.”

There was a stunned silence. Susie shifted uneasily in her chair.

“Things that Bebo would really like to hold on to might get out of her hand!”

Dimple gulped. “Things like?” She was breathing heavily.

“Can’t you guess? So simple!”

“No” Dimpy whispered, her cheeks turning as red as a tomato.

“Like? Like the blood pressure! Pulse…..!” I declared casually. 

“Oh! BP! Yes….!” The two girls exchanged quick knowing glances and heaved a collective sigh of relief. Why were they getting so worked up on the trifling question of BP and pulse, I wondered.

Faddu arrived with a tub of popcorn. When he saw me occupying his seat, he looked a bit annoyed and grumbled that he had a few more SMS jokes which he wanted to share with Dimpy. I refused to budge, and assured him that I had enough of them myself and would happily share them with Dimpy if she so desired.

The second half brought more pain. Boman Irani (Doctor Deaf) and Javed Jaffrey (Sue-er ka bachcha) compete with each other for the trophy of ‘complete ace-whole’ of the movie. Bebo preserves her virginity and Akshay somehow keeps his BP and pulse under control despite both of them snoozing under the same sheet in their birthday suits.  Amrita Arora frequently changes exotic swimwear in the kitchen. Bebo bamboozles Akshay in a bikini, cuts him up once again to retrieve the watch and then dumps him. In the end everyone bashes everyone else, but not before Sylvestor Stallone makes a couple of illogical appearances and gets a peck on the cheek from Bebo for . In the end, Akshay dumps Denise and goes to watch a movie with Bebo.

Sylvestor Stallone’s appearance stirred Susie who sat up in awe and exclaimed happily “Saar…..John Dumbo!”

“John Rambo” I corrected her.

“But whats he doing in the backyard in the afternoon?” asked Dimpy.

“Susu karne aaya thaa…uske ghar ka toilet kharaab hai” mumbled Faddu and finished the popcorn.

 

Concluded (derived from the words ‘Conclusively’ and ‘Dead’)

Kambakkht Ishq – The Pain Begins

Posted on by Rofl Indian

Before you read further, you’re urged to read the prologue.

We were allotted seats from D3 to D6 and there was considerable discussion as to how we should accommodate ourselves without ruffling each others feathers. Since Faddu and myself hardly had any (feathers, I mean, and we were ready to remove our shirts and show it), we were gleefully open to all possible combinations wherein each of us would have the pleasure of sitting with a pretty lady by our side. But, in an act of extreme unkindness and with total disregard for sentiments, Dimpy selected D5 for herself and D6 for Susie. Naturally, the question now arose as to who would have the privilege of sitting on D4.  Soon Faddu and I developed quite a handful of feathers, and had a heated arguement for sometime which lead us nowhere, not even the staircase.

The issue was still unresolved when we entered the dark hall holding each other by the tail.  Since I was leading the pack, I had no tail to hold on to (that IS a problem with leaders everywhere). Consequentially, I hobbled along blindly like Paresh Rawal in black goggles.  Also, I had no idea who was holding mine (tail, that is), but whosoever it was, he or she appeared to be holding it with a firm resolve to yank it off. We waded through murmurs of disquiet and at least three loud hoots before we finally reached the D row and tumbled over the chairs. There was no other way but to surrender to the law of natural selection of seats as ordained by Darwin hundreds of years ago! The seating problem seemed to resolve by itself in a most amicable manner.

seats

It took us a few minutes to catch our brea breaths. The screen lit up with Akshay Kumar’s muscular presence against a backdrop of Hollywood’s Universal Studios. A farcical marriage was being solemnised.  Aftab Shivdasani and Amrita Arora were trying to steal a smooch when suddenly Kareena entered the scene.

“Bobo!” Susie exclaimed loudly and happily.

“Sshhh!” I nudged her.

“But saar, I really like Bobo…”

“Suseee….she’s Bebo…not Bobo! B-E-B-O. Bebo. Do you get my point? Bobo is altogether different…” I whispered. Susie’s knowledge of Mallu heroines was enviable. But whereas she would remember such exotic names as Kaviyoor Ponnamma and Samvrutha Sunil immaculately, she screwed up on Bebo. What a disgrace! I tried to concentrate on the movie.

Akshay Kumar, as Dimpy and Susie found out, happens to be a rich, hot and lonely stuntman who lives in a large condom condomium by the seaside and regularly seeks solace in the arms of Hollywood’s naked beaches. He seems to have a pathological aversion to any kind of commitment and regards women as omens of downfall. He has a cute kid brother, Aftab Shivdasani, who looks as if he missed his puberty by a mile and grew straight into a lump of bloated flesh and sinew minus the balls. Akshay Kumar’s job is to rescue people from sliding trucks and burning trains on the sets, which he does in a matter of fact way, earning the accolades of poorly paid hollywood actors like Brandon Routh, Holly Valance and Denise Richards in the process. Denise lives in the swimming pool and wants to play with Akshay’s wraps herself around Akshay at every available opportunity. She also wants to have golden Punjabi babies with him, something which Akshay eyes with deep skepticism. Like all other Indians, Akshay Kumar grew up eating tonnes of Golden Bread, and knows that after all, it is made up of brown wheat only. But he doesn’t say this to Denise as he fears Denise might hand him the golden mitten.

Bebo, on the other leg hand, is a trainee surgeon. Aaaa-hahahahaha…. HAHAHAHAHAHA Lol! Lol! Lol! har har har har!! O hohohohohohohoho!!

Oops…got carried away….

Well, as I said, Bebo is a trainee surgeon. She models for international lingeries, travels only business class, drives a Volkswagan Beetle and gambols around in stillettoes and in the most revealing of micro minis. She wears a bracelet (gifted to her by her NRI aunty Kiron Kher) with a queer looking watch that emits earth shaking chants of ‘Manglam-Manglam’ loud enough to waggle the foundations of the Empire State Building.  She cannot tolerate men and equates them with dog poop.

Akshay gets conked at a freak accident and lands up on the operation table. Bebo gets her first surgery. A simple case of intestinal perforation.

Susie nudged me sharply below the ribcage.

“Saar…”

“Ei! What?”

“Intestinal perforation saar? Easy case saar?”

“Sshhh!”

Susie’s eyes were popping out in disbslief. “Saar…she is paying no attention to OT manners saar! She is touching her face with the sterile gloves…and she has not removed her bracelet ….is she a surgeon or a joke saar ?”

“Susie….the whole thing is a joke” I told her. “Now keep quiet”

Susie adjusted her big pair of specs and sank back into her seat. Amrita Arora threw one more piece of bodice into the air.

To be continued

Kambakkht Ishq – The Prologue

Posted on by Rofl Indian

Susie had been hovering around me for the past few minutes doing all sorts of unnecessary things. Surely she had something in her mind.  She had dusted the books on the table five times and washed the same tea cups thrice in the last ten minutes. When she looked like approaching the wash basin again, I could take it no longer.

“Yes Soosie? Is there something that you wished to ask me?”

“N…no saar…”

“Any doubt….come out!” I quipped, trying hard to avert my gaze as Susie stood on her toes and stretched herself in the most seductive manner to replace the cups on the topmost shelf of the cupboard. It was 2.30 in the afternoon and we were nearly through with the day’s OPD.

“Saar…I mean…can I yask something?”

“Hmm…hmm. Yes. Go ahead….”

“Saar, are you going to see a fillum today?”

“Who told you so?” I sat up bolt upright.  

“No saar. I overheard you and Phadnis saar…..” Susie flashed her 32. (Thirty two teeth, I mean. Moreover, that isn’t 32, that’s probably 34 or 36. Whatever.)

“Uh…yes, Faddu and I are going to see Kambakkht Ishq today. So?” I deliberately hid the fact from her that we had roped in Dimpy Minochha as well, and that the tickets had already been booked on phone. Faddu and I had planned to make the most of the afternoon by having Dimpy Minochha sit between the two of us in the cinema hall. We were banking on the assumption that Dimpy would fall asleep sometime in the second half and eventually roll over to one side, resting her head on one of the two gallant shoulders. I knew Faddu badly wanted to win, though I too was not exactly averse to the idea of shouldering Miss Dimpy’s little siesta.

“Saar…” My reverie was broken as Susie dropped all pretense and came straight to the point, “can I also go saar? I promise I will sit quietly next to Dimple docsaab. “

WHAT? She knew about Dimpy too?! I suddenly felt like a fly which had fallen into a bowl of sweet corn soup. Plenty of sweet and cow1corn, but still a soup nevertheless. I brushed aside an unpleasant image of Dimpy’s head resting on Susie’s shoulders and Faddu’s oily head dumped on mine. Susie was eyeing me expectantly with the gaze of a benevolent cow (there, in the pic) that had just been shown a sackful of delicious fodder. There was no choice but to relent.

“Hrrrmph!” I grunted, and reached for the phone. ”Let me see if we still have any tickets left!”

Nothing much happened between then and 3.30 pm when the four of us reached Fun Cinema for the afternoon screening of Kambakkht Ishq. Faddu had grumbled quite a lot on hearing about Susie’s inclusion in the party. Dimpy seemed exceedingly pleased. I struck her name off the samosa list for her misdemeanour.

And Susie exclaimed once, “Saar…I am watching the maternity show after a really long time…” Poor confused girl. Didn’t know the difference between matinee and maternity.

To be continued.

Heart Attack – II

Posted on by Rofl Indian

Before you read further, you are urged to read Heart Attack – I, to be able to understand the context better.

Contd. form Heart Attack – I

“Please saar…” Susie cocked her head, batted her eyelids, adjusted her..ahem…specs and acted real coy.

The resolve suddenly vanished. Coy-thus interruptus.


Heart Attack – II

“You see Soosie, constipation is not too difficult to treat..” I moved closer to be really able to explain things better “..a lot of green vegetables, fruits, plenty of water, no smoking, regular exercises….”

“And medicine saar?”

“Yes…yes…be patient Susie. Medicine……3 teaspoons of Agarol at bedtime. But he must see a doctor over there…”

“Thank you saar..” Susie seemed to make a mental note of the prescription, adjusted her (you now by now) specs, reached for the mobile phone in her breast (gulp!) pocket and vanished.

“Be careful with the instructions Susie….just 3 teaspoons of Agarol and no more…”

One month passed. I had nearly forgotten all about Susie’s Uncle….until….

One fine morning, as I just entered my chamber, Susie floated in, chirping like a sparrow.

“Saar…..thank you so much saar!”

“What for, Susie?” I felt jolly good. Her effervescent smile never failed to warm the cock cockles of my heart.

“Saar, unnkill called from Kerala today. He is so very happy!”

“Okay…how is he?”

“He says he is fine saar!”

“I hope his constipation is cured…..”

“No saar…….not fully!”

“What? Isn’t he following my instructions?”

“Saar….he is still smoking, not eating vegetables, drinking a bit, but one thing saar…..he is taking Agrol three times a day….in fact now he has three days constipation and then four days loose motions!” Susie giggled.

Agarol three times! And still corked up down there! That would even send a whale to the loo six times a day!  “Susie….call him up right now and ask him to see a doctor as soon as possible..”

“Arre no saar…..he says he will not see any doctor. Completely satisfied with you treatment saar!”

“But…”

“Saar…I tell you saar…Unkill Sebastian is very fussy. Showed his motion problem to many doctors. No doctor till now able to satisfy him saar. You are the firstt one.”

What a peculiar sort of appreciation this was. I suddenly felt very nervous.

“Susie…are you sure he is okay?”

“Perfectly fine saar…..says this is the most wonderful treatment of constipation he has ever taken in his life…!”

“If you say so Susie!”

Another month passed. Susie kept telling me about her uncle and the wonderful (!) life he was able to lead thanks to the Annamalai brand ‘distance’ therapy.

The shock, when it came, was half anticipated. A tearful Susie broke the news …”Saar…Unkill had heart attack”

“How?” “Why?” “When?”

“Yesterday saar….after he went to the loo….clutched his chest and toppled…”

“Then..?”

“Then what saar….angioplasty done saar…..will you speak to the heart specialist saar?”

“Of course I will Susie..” I gave her a quick hug to comfort her. At last.

Susie duly called up her Auntie who somehow managed to smuggle the phone inside the ICU and persuaded the cardiologist on duty there to speak to me.

“Hello…”

“Hello…yes…”

“Hello…can you please tell me about Mr. Sebastian’s condition?

“Oh him? He’s fine….had a massive myocardial infarction …we took him up for primary angioplasty….all three coronaries blocked you see….”

“Oh! All three?”

“Yes….so we put three stents. He’s pretty stable now. Hope to send him home in five days…”

That was one rough patch for the ol’ boy.

“And what do you think caused the MI?” I politely enquired.

“You want to know?” The ICU doc paused, took a deep breath and cleared his throat “Some idiot had asked him to eat three egg-rolls a day for curing constipation! That’s nearly 600 eggs he has eaten in the last 3 months”

.

.

Thud!

Epilogue

Strictly for public awareness.


0518072226

This is an Egg Roll

E G G – R O L L

Made of eggs

Great to eat

DOES NOT CURE Constipation.

Even if you eat 600 of them. Mind it.

This is Agarol

A G A R O L

Got it?

A-G-A-R-O-L

Lousy taste

Not made out of eggs

Still, CURES Constipation.

Huh.

Heart Attack – I

Posted on by Rofl Indian

Sister Susie, our nurse, entered my chamber with a sad look on her face.

“Saar…”

“Yes Soosie? Anything wrong?”

“Saar…my unnkill….”

“That’s quite a sad news!” I felt a surge of sympathy for Susie. Poor girl. Too bad to lose an uncle at this tender age. What she deserved now were a few words of comfort, a friendly pat on her back, and most importantly, a quick hug or two…before Phadnis barges in to express his grief.

“I’m so sorry….how old was your uncle?”

“Arre no saar…”

“No what?”

“Saar….unkill is fine” Susie flashed her teeth “…he got motion problem…!”

Duh! There goes the hug. What a disappointment.

“Why me? Ask him to see an orthopaedician for motion problem”

“No saar…you don’t understand! No problem in movement saar!” Susie appeared to hesitate a bit. “Saar…he is having real difficulty in motion… in morning saar!”

“I see. Does he have morning stiffness?”

“What saar….” Susie blushed like a roasted tomato “…how do I know saar!”

“Oho Susie…not that! I mean, is there a stiff knee when he gets up in the morning?”

“Arre no saar. I tell you na….no problem in walking!”

No problem in movement….yet, somehow, a great deal of difficulty in motion? What a commotion.

“Can you make it clear Susie?”

“Saar…I tell you….when he get up in morning and go for motion first thing, motion does not come easily. Many times motion once in three days saar!”

“Oww! You mean constipation?”

“Yes saar! Wonly that saar”

“What Soosie….couldn’t you have said constipation in the very beginning?”

Susie flashed her teeth.

“Hmm….so what am I supposed to do?”

“Write medicine saar…”

Baap ka raaj hai? “Why don’t you ask him to see me?”

“Not possible saar. He is in Kerala…”

“What? I cannot do that without seeing the patient….” I said with some resolve.

“Please saar…” Susie cocked her head, batted her eyelids, adjusted her..ahem…specs and acted real coy.

The resolve suddenly vanished. Coy-thus interruptus.

If the title ‘Heart Attack’ appears foggy, it’s because the story is incomplete. To be concluded soon in Heart Attack – II. Till then, enjoy :D