Woof !

The Dogs Are Barking Only

2008-03-25T23:04:00.013+08:00

Gaudily decked, goaded by Bugger, a certain dog-like creature has finally ventured out of the hole-in-the-wall that’s called ‘home’ by some. This reluctance to smell the fresh air is born in part from the beast’s snobbish stubby snout, as well as the Bugger’s unashamed addiction to what he calls ‘work’ - scribbling, muttering, recording, reading, meeting….which leaves virtually no time to accompany his best fiend in leisurely strolls. But let’s get on with the walk. After all, it’s Goddie’s first in India.

Goddie (to himself): I always knew nothing pleasant would come of living with the idiot. Of all the alluring charm in the world, he’s chosen this crappy corner. Why did I allow myself to be dragged along? I thought we were off to Hawaii, the way he was chirping when we closed shop in Singapore… Banana daiquiris and bare brown butts……

He is interrupted by a proper street dog, which approaches him suspiciously.

Dog: Hello. Can we play?

Goddie: Play? Sure. I’d love a game or two of squash.

Dog: Squashed tomatoes? I’m liking that game also. There is a trash bin here only.

Goddie: Uhh?

Dog: I love the smell of rotten tomatoes. And also the feeling on the nose…

Goddie: Yuck. You play in garbage?

Dog (looking uncertain): Food.

Goddie: I better get going now. Sorry, I’m slightly pressed for time.

The dog tries to scratch Goddie, but hastily retreats seeing the bared fangs.

Dog (to Goddie’s back): Ok ok. I’m very sorry, ssir.

Goddie (muttering again): What’s all this noise, man… Jesus! Look at that guy…

And so, with such grumbles and grunts of disbelief, Goddie walks far out into the battle-ridden terrain of Mumbai’s main streets.

Goddie (avoiding a well-aimed kick by a passer-by): Bloody… oh, I’d have chewed a piece off that leg if I hadn’t sworn never to taste human flesh. If this is how they treat people out here, I wonder how they ever get along with each other.

As if in answer, he’s surrounded by a dozen demented-looking strays, adorned with saffron bandanas and vermillion smudges on the foreheads. For the first time in his life (and this takes a lot of courage to admit), Goddie looks a bit… scared?

Dog 1: Where’re you from?

Goddie: Err, I live right there.....?

Dog 2: You think we are fully idiots or what? You are speaking Hindi and you are walking like you own this street.

Goddie: Well, I’ve this power…

Dog 1: Power? Oh, so now you’re telling you have powers. In Maharashtra?

Goddie: Now, look here…

Dog 3 (growling): Shut up your mouth!! This city is ours. Milwaukee Naturalists’ Society is going to clean it.

Goddie: I didn’t know globalization has reached such levels in India that Americans want to clean up Indian gutters…..

Dog 2: Globalization is the root cause of all evil. We are not doing anything with it. We want the city only. And its people only. No outsiders.

Dog 1 (aside to others): It’s Mehta’s Nimbu-paani Stall, by the way…

The crowd is getting increasingly agitated, with froth visible from many jaws and louder growls each minute.

Goddie: Hold on, now. There’s no need to get so worked up –

Dog 3: We have no work! You outsiders are taking everything only. The only way to win back our living (also elections) is by driving out such dirty people.

Dog 1 (scratching himself): Wait… I think it’s Mallika’s Nascent Sexuality….shit, I’m forgetting what I am barking for.

Goddie: You mean you really want to forcefully eject people? But why?

Dog 2: We are asking you to shut up your mouth! Don’t ask questions for which there are no answers.

This is cheered by renewed growls and pawing of the ground. Goddie starts backing up.

Goddie: You guys are nuts… I mean you no harm. Look –

Dog 1 (now really on the verge of tears): Is it Motel New Sunrise or Marconi’s Nameless Signal? I am getting old. Please….

His faithful followers start chanting in a monotone, while advancing steadily on. Goddie is desperately seeking a way out.

Goddie: Hey… did you say Am An Ass?

Dog 1 (jubilant): That’s IT !!! AM AN ASS !!!! I am remembering !! You cannot be an outsider. You are knowing our values. You are a part of us only. We are very very sorry, ssir.

Goddie (wiping sweat discreetly): That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all along.

The mob parts, bowing in reverence to Goddie, who struts past (a little shakily, we must admit). The chants soon drown in the sea of ear-splitting noises from the traffic.

_________________________________________________________________________________

A couple of hours later…..

Bugger: Wake up!! Man, you’re rolling in fat sitting all day at home. The least I expect is a nod of recognition from you when I return.

Goddie: Shut up your mouth!

Bugger (taken aback by this blatant assault on language): Whoa.. take it easy! I just –

Goddie: I went for a walk.

Bugger: Really? Alone? Are you okay?

He begins his usual, suspiciously feminine fuss but is cut short by another spectacular show of fangs.

Goddie: I can take care of myself. Back off.

Bugger: Okay okay. Someone’s mean today. I’m getting myself dinner. Want something?

Goddie: Nope. I’m off to sleep.

Bugger (after some time, from the kitchen): So… how’s Mumbai?

Goddie (half-asleep): Next time, will you come along? Please?

Bugger comes running out.

Bugger: You mean.... Err, are you…. Scared?

Goddie (frowning): Meow.

We Shall Overcome...

2007-11-20T22:31:00.001+08:00

It’s a scene of chaos in the chaotic little household of the two main characters this blog is concerned with. The bedroom shows all signs of a recent battle and shouts coming from the sitting room hint that things have not yet settled down.

Bugger: I’m warning you, you sonuvabitch, you hand it right back –

Goddie, at this moment, waves two sheets of paper like a matador. The documents are evidently the objects of dissent here.

Goddie (reading while keeping an eye on Bugger): C’mon, dude. Why wouldn’t you share this with me, now? It’s just your curriculum vitae. What species is that again? Biology was never my strong point.

Bugger: See? That’s exactly why I don’t want to share stuff with you. Your sole purpose is to poke fun at everything I do. Now –

Goddie: “Education…. Experience…Achievements…” Fairly textbook.

Bugger: Yeah, well, being a deviant doesn’t always serve the purpose.

Goddie: I never knew you spent three years in a fume-filled laboratory. What were you inhaling?

Bugger: It’s not my fault that my university didn’t provide ventilation.

Goddie: Is that what addled your brain? I wonder…

Bugger: That, and a combination of cheap street food. And lot of Nietzsche and Russell.

Goddie: Don’t be so sanctimonious. You spent your life trying to become a nerd.

Bugger: …

Goddie: “Experience – can tie shoelaces with one hand.. Proficient in using a nail-trimmer…” Impressive.

Bugger: Hey –

Goddie: And you even have a certificate for backstage production help for a theater company. Wow. That must have really been an illuminating experience.

Bugger: Yes, I was holding one of the stage-lights in place for three-hour periods.. Almost got electrocuted… that was really a turning point in my career.

Goddie: I can imagine. What’s this? “Managed to zip up my fly all by myself after the annual Oktoberfest celebration?” This should go under “Achievements”.

Bugger: Yeah, I am still formatting this part.

Goddie: You have a long list of honours, man. “LFAPR medal – 2005”. That’s for…?

Bugger: It’s for growing a magnificent goatee outside France, that too without a beard trimmer. Awarded by –

Goddie: You’ve got a lot of Heineken coasters as well.

Bugger: Collected from several bars over the period of time. Memoirs of –

He makes a sudden grab at the papers. Goddie deflects.

Goddie: A small fortune spent in developing a robust flab across your midsection. What kind of job market are you targeting?

Bugger: Well, I try not to get entangled in the already super-segmented professional world. I am ready for all challenges. Anything.

Goddie: In other words, you are willing to serve anyone – from call centers to becoming on-street Santa Claus figures for Giordano.

Bugger: As long as it pays.

Goddie: And this… 3 consecutive years spent as chairman of the International Committee for Prevention of Cruelty Against Junior High Students by Inebriated Middle-aged Manchester United Fans.. Uh. Man, that’s awesome. Really.

Bugger: I hate Man-U.

Goddie: How long have you been looking for a job?

Bugger: Umm…

Goddie: These papers look dog-eared and yellowed, man. You might want to print another copy.

Bugger: You wanna skip your meal tonight? Because I can either feed your bottomless stomach or spend on printouts.

Goddie: Oh, c’mon now –

Bugger (looking tearful): I don’t care if my talents go unappreciated. I will bear neglect with honour but not compromise on my dignity. We will starve but I will not sell insurance to gullible people.

Goddie: Well –

Bugger: We shall not surrender.

Goddie: I heard one can earn up to $30 a day playing guitar on Orchard Boulevard, provided the stationing is strategic.

Bugger (indignantly): Are you suggesting…..?

Goddie: Not at all. It’s just my nature to plan for contingencies.

Bugger: Did you check the mailbox today? Any responses?

Goddie: For the fifth time – YES. I checked the mail. Still no responses. And your rich aunt in New Delhi is still healthy and munching three hundred pistachios a day.

A considerable pause.

Bugger: Well…..ok. Where’s my mandolin?

What? You still want more? Shameless rubbernecks! Leave us to drag on in peace.

Girlfriends are forever

2007-08-10T11:21:00.000+08:00

It’s a lovely evening for shopping. Shimmering city lights, a hundred scents in the air and fluffy plastic bags full of material pleasures. Crowds are… well, crowded. Money is alive and flowing in countless shiny rivulets. But two great and sanctimonious assholes have somehow been left bone-dry in the midst of gold and silver and green paper streams.

Goddie: Look, will you just explain what this is all about?

Bugger: I told you I want to buy a gift.

Goddie: And you also said it’s not for me. You have been raining hideous smiles lately, I also heard you singing in the shower and it was NOT one of your own lousy rhymes. Something involving ‘hearts’ and ‘holding someone tightly’ and... ugh. And now, you drag me to this extravagant place with invisible dollar signs glowering down at everyone…. What IS it? Are you sick?

Bugger (blushing… well, sort of): You won’t understand. Just come along. Help me choose a gift.

Goddie: Well, that settles it then. But I have to have some clue. How can I just choose a present not knowing whether you need diapers or diamonds?

Bugger: Diamonds! Aha… you are illuminating today even in ignorance. And there is the place. Right there.

Goddie: You realize they might kick you out if you are wearing underwear worth less than $40? It’s that kind of place…

Bugger: I am not letting them find out, am I? Come on.

They enter an expensive-looking showroom with glittering jewels and sparkling stones. Everything is mirrors, lights, velvets and marbles. Goddie looks a bit hesitant, but Bugger is already gliding.

Bugger: See.. this one is beautiful.

Goddie: $1300.

Bugger: And this..?

Goddie: $1190.

Bugger: It’s not that nice. What about this pendant?...... Uh-oh.

Goddie: I wouldn’t even bother reading the price tag on this one. Are you sure you can afford something from here?

Bugger: I have…$30.

Goddie: 3 with One zero? One fuckfuckitylousy zero…?? And you want to buy emeralds?

Bugger: There has to be something cheaper…

Goddie: You can’t even afford one of these fancy light bulbs. Get real, man.

Bugger (sighing): All right, then. Let’s find something else.

Goddie: What’s her name?

Bugger: Who?

Goddie: C’mon. Love songs in shower, stupid grins, dreamy eyes, bouncing steps, diamond gazing…. You take me for a fool?

Bugger: I… uh, well. Let’s find a gift first.

Goddie: Clothes. Women love dresses. I love taking them off. But, yeah..

Bugger: Ok… That store –

Goddie: Is beyond your reach. Try something simpler.

Bugger: Lingerie?

Goddie: Uh…simpler doesn’t always mean lesser, you know? But you can try.

They enter a lingerie store and are immediately engulfed by scantily-clad figures, statues with scary faces and missing eyebrows. Half-moon pieces of multi-colored cloth and a lot of amused stares greet them.

Bugger: Wow.

Goddie: Satin?

Bugger: Red… white? I am already confused.

Goddie: They start at $110.

A salesgirl comes up to them.

Girl: Sir, may I help you?

Bugger: Hmm.. mmm… No. Actually, yes. I need… I mean, I want to buy a gift.

Girl (smiling): I see. Do you have an idea of her size, sir?

Bugger: Umm.. not really. But she’s somewhat like you, I guess?

Girl (not smiling now): So have you chosen something yet?

Bugger: No, I really… I have never given this a thought before. I just came in…

Girl (moving away): Sure sir. Take your time.

Goddie (whispering): Are you done making a fool of yourself? Let’s go, you idiot.

Bugger (being dragged off by Goddie): I like this blue one..wow.. wow.

Goddie: Why can’t you just buy some little useless piece of wood or metal? Women love to keep those things on tables, dressers and all over their house. The more useless the better.

Bugger: Will $30 be enough?

Goddie: No. But the shock and disappointment will be lesser.

Bugger: What’s the point of being in love when you can’t celebrate it?

Goddie: I never thought I’d hear you saying that. You can’t celebrate love without a gift?

Bugger: Of course, I can. But don’t you realize I want to give her something? It’s an urge I can’t explain.

Goddie: Well, then give her any damned thing that you lay your eyes on.. How does it matter if it’s a silver-ruby ring or a tea coaster, as long as you kiss it before you give it to her?

Bugger (picking up something from a huge flowerpot): Well, what about this then?

Goddie: It’s a pebble.

Bugger: But see how beautiful it is! Shiny black and worn smooth… with tiny dents on it. Barely visible, but always there. This has imperfection written all over it. And it’s so beautiful! Where did it come from, I wonder…

Goddie (smiling): You found a gift, then. Diamonds are rocks, so is this stone. The difference lies, as you rightly say, in degrees of perfection. And we both know what the real deal is, right?

Bugger (grinning): Thanks, buddy.

Goddie: Now, about those $30. How about buying us a couple of pints?

Career Choice

2007-06-11T22:20:00.000+08:00

Goddie and Bugger are dressed as door-to-door salesmen. In addition to cheap jackets and cheaper trousers, Bugger is wearing a fake moustache and Goddie has put on imitation RayBans. They are about to ring the bell of the first house in the locality. (First from the right. No, left. My right…no…)

The bell rings rather politely with just two ‘R’s, as befits well groomed bells of decent households. Trring.

Goddie: Ready?

Bugger (tapping his nose): Hrrmm..All right. Here goes…

A middle-aged matronly woman opens the door.

Goddie: Good afternoon, ma’am. Sorry to disturb your bath –

Woman: But I wasn’t bathing.

Bugger: Your nap –

Woman: I was baking some coo –

Goddie (hastily): Ma’am, we are here to introduce a radical product.

Woman: I am really sorry, but –

Bugger: Ma’am, we are in complete awareness of how you feel at this exact moment. We know there are thousands of pesky door-to-door salesmen and women who hound model citizens like you to death. Insufferable, ungrateful, irresponsible and rude bloodsuckers they are, ma’am. They trap you in silky but venomous webs woven verbally, then smother you with sugary smiles and force you to buy perfectly useless junk.

Goddie: We know the type, ma’am.

Bugger: But we are not them.

Goddie: Look into these honest eyes and ask yourself, “Can anything possibly be purer than this?” And then, rest assured, your life will change.

Bugger: For in the next two minutes, you will be introduced to a product that guarantees to bury you in happiness many feet deep, make you feel as if you have entered a sci-fi movie, and become a source of pride to you.

Woman: Oh, all right then. So what is it that you are selling?

Bugger digs into his bag and whips out something. They both take a step back and display it with flourish.

Woman: It’s a balloon.

Goddie: Forgive me, ma’am, but you have jolted us rather severely by saying something so preposterous. Why, a BALLOON? But I suppose we can’t blame you. It does resemble a balloon somewhat. It’s made of rubber, has a blowhole, is pink in colour.

Woman: So if it’s not a balloon, what is it?

Goddie: It’s an –

Bugger: Artificial womb.

Woman: Beg your pardon?

Bugger: A womb.

Goddie: Artificial. Without going into technical details, we can say it grows babies.

Woman: And how does that work?

Goddie: I’m afraid that’s a trade secret ma’am.

Woman: Uh. What’s your company?

Bugger: We don’t have one.

Goddie: A man is known by the company he keeps. We wish to remain anonymous.

Woman: Look –

Bugger: With this portable, pocket-size, adjustable, inconspicuous, reusable, sturdy, aesthetic product, you can grow babies of any size when and where you want without embarrassment or pain.

Goddie pulls out a handful from the bag.

Goddie: Comes in different colors to suit your mood, light in weight, easy to handle.

Bugger: And it’s dirt cheap.

Woman: Well, I really don’t see what I could do with another womb.

Goddie: This product has been made keeping people like you in mind. With 40 years of rugged life behind you, don’t you think you are ready for a change?

Woman: I don’t think I need more kids.

Bugger: Think again.

Woman: I just did. Now I really think I should –

Goddie: Wait! That’s not even half of what this amazingly simple gadget can do.

Bugger: The most outstanding characteristic of this product is that it is multi-functional.

Woman: You mean this is a womb and also something else?

Goddie: Exactly. Look here. It is a handy weapon for self-defense for timid women like you, ma’am. Just pull it back and let it go. SNAP! Better than pepper sprays and rusty umbrellas, eh?

Bugger: It can come in handy when you lose your hair-clip in a crowded bus. Jus wrap it around those lovely tresses.

Goddie: Are you asthmatic? Just blow it full of air and carry it around. Your ready supply of precious air when you need it.

Woman (quite irritated): Listen, I really need to –

Bugger suddenly starts digging his nose furiously.

Goddie: Uhuhh. Here, ma’am. Let me demonstrate.

He blows out the almost-like-a-balloon gadget.

Woman: What’s that written on it? “H.A.P.P.Y B.I.R.T…”

Goddie (deflating it quickly): It’s a welcome message. We took care to make the gadget user friendly.

Woman (now furious): Y'know what? I think you are a couple of frauds.

Bugger redoubles his nose-digging efforts.

Goddie (hastily): Ma’am..Smile, you are on –

She slams the door on their faces.

Goddie (whining): Well? Did it work this time?

Bugger: I dink nod.

Goddie: Damn. I told you that camera-in-the-nostrils trick is useless. New hosts for “Candid Camera”... Exciting career, eh, you nitwit?? May Madonna take me to bed if I listen to you ever again!

Bugger: I can’d ged id oud!

Goddie (softening): You were quite impressive, though. If only we had managed to film it...“Venomous webs woven verbally…” Hmmm..Try saying that double fast.

Bugger (with a hand on his nose): I dink id’s sdug really deeb.

Goddie: Venomouswebswovenverbally venomouswebswovenverbally….

Just Rock

2007-05-31T19:10:00.000+08:00

A popular TV show. The host is comfortably parked on a pink sofa. The décor is nothing extraordinary except a few stray dogs that look heavily sedated.

Host: And tonight, dear viewers, we have a special treat for you. Our guest of today needs no introduction.

A Pause during which some behind-the-scene whispers and scuffles can be heard.

Host (looking beyond the camera): But I’d still like to introduce him…. The man behind the pulse that the world is now rocking to, the voice that has penetrated deep into our souls, rattling the consciousness and make us rethink, the preacher of many a merry lessons, the creator of music beyond all genres, the face that symbolizes not just rock but a culture, a cult, a cu, a C…

He trails off, now looking impatient, finally sighing with relief.

Host: And here he is, ladies and gentlemen!

Goddie walks out, dressed in black leather pants and a loose shirt with a silvery sheen. He is heavily adorned with trinkets and a bandanna partly conceals golden brown dreadlocks.

Thundering applause rings out. We all know it’s prerecorded, don’t we?

Host (hugging Goddie): Welcome, God. You don’t mind that nickname, do you?

Goddie (speaking in a hoarse throaty voice): Not at all. Haha.

They both laugh.

Host: Godric, or God as the world likes to call him, for you!! Voted the Youth Icon of this year, the phenomenal song writer, singer and musician whose sensational rise to stardom has attracted more attention than the fall of Nigeria….Niagara. He’s with us tonight to share his story.

Goddie: Thank you, Hanky. You don’t mind that nickname, do you?

Host: Uh, actually. Hank is short enough… So, God. How do you feel about what you have achieved so rapidly in an industry overstuffed with talents and talons? We know something about it, though, if your latest song “Fig for the pig” is any indication of what you feel about this merciless world of musical entertainment.

Goddie: It still feels unreal. I mean, it seems just yesterday that I was sitting on the small hill behind my ancestral home, staring at the sunset and thinking, “Is this the end?”

Host: You sound like you are hounded by a unhappy childhood. Did you torment animals as a child? Killed some cockroaches?

Goddie (speaking slowly): Not everyone is fortunate enough to have two parents. Some have three.

Host: You mean you had three parents?

Goddie: My mothers were always divided on the question of me practicing music.

Host: And your father?

Goddie: I had no father. Three mothers.

Host: But that is not possible.

Goddie: Like I said, people born and bred in the plush comforts of city life don’t know the harrowing details of life in the wild.

Host: I am sorry if I touched a nerve. But –

Goddie: I used to sit alone in the attic with my guitar, strumming aimlessly. I taught myself music to shut out the yells of arguments.

Host (nodding): There was trouble in the household.

Goddie: They’d fight over lipsticks, over shower caps, over the TV, over everything. And they fought over me. Look –

He lifts his shirt to show scars on his chest.

Goddie: I was trampled by high heels, smothered in perfumes, mistaken for laundry….

Host (clearing his throat): Then one day you ran away from it all.

Goddie: With nothing on my back but my guitar.

Host: But you took some peanut butter as well. That’s what your song “Don’t chase my hot-air balloon” is all about. Am I right?

Goddie: I never looked back. But some hurts never heal. I guess that’s where most of my music springs from.

Host: Yet there’s a healing quality to them. People identify with your words, even if they can’t understand your pain. They learn from your words, they rock to your music.

Goddie: Every time I read a fan mail “Dear God..” I am overcome with tears.

Host: let’s talk more about your songs, God. Which one is your favorite?

Goddie: They all are a part of me. I like to think of my songs as pieces of my self. All of them hold a special place. And the heart is “The crimson ball”. I wrote it while on run from home. I was tired and hungry and I stole a tomato from a grocer’s. I ran with it all day. Then, at sundown, when I lay down on a field, I saw how the sun rays made the tomato look so red. A red tomato…it was such an incredible sight. That’s when I wrote the song.

Host (smiling sympathetically): And now you have bought a tomato farm… Destiny, ah! What about your latest hit “The Harrowed Dawn of Native Kangaroo”? It has stormed the city clubs, you know.

Goddie: No, that’s the dick.

Host: I’m sorry?

Goddie: That song. It’s my dick. Penis.

Host: I see. Wonderful. It’s very catchy, I admit. One last question, God. What would you like to say to the millions of fans – kids, teenagers, young men and women, Old Age Homes’ receptionists?

Goddie: Don’t be scared of your dreams. There are no monsters under the bed. Santa Claus is coming to town. We will never surrender. Life is a piece of cake. Or the mold on it. Chase your tails..I mean, dreams. May God be with you.

Host: That’s a very witty one, God. Haha. Now, before you leave us, I’d request you to perform for us.

Goddie gets up and walks to the podium amidst loud applause. He picks up the guitar and fiddles a bit.

Goddie: I will sing my new composition from the soon to be released album “God’s Best Friend”. The song is called “You Are Just a Polka Dot on The Knickers of My Dream.”

Loud applause and whistles. On cue, heavy metal background starts thumping.

Goddie (singing with a deep throat):

Never washed, no…never clean.
Bound by sins of Halloween
The night’s so long,
Unbroken thongs..

The music picks up

Bring forth the light
Let me see that face
I won’t be fooled
By just some lace….

The credits start rolling as the chorus begins:

Rip you, nyah nyah…
Strip you, nyah nyah..
Fragile are those seams
Like freshly whipped cream.
You’re just a polka dot….…….

Intellectuals' Proper Tea

2007-05-16T18:20:00.000+08:00

An informal yet elaborate tea is in progress. Goddie is playing host to Bugger and his smelly socks.

Goddie: Thank you so much for coming.

Bugger: Why, thank you dear. I couldn’t have avoided it seeing that it’s my balcony and my crockery.

Goddie: Of course, the tea is just an excuse. I wanted to discuss a matter of utmost importance with you.

Bugger: Now don’t you start that oath-taking bullshit again. I’m not –

Goddie: Sometimes I seriously feel you shouldn’t have been inducted so soon.

Bugger (speaking rapidly): That is a purely malicious and personal opinion of yours, probably prompted by my callous use of –

Goddie: . Prompted probably, if you please. We are intellectuals -

Bugger: Meaning we are actually intelligent.

Goddie: The cream of society –

Bugger: That floats on top and sticks to the side.

Goddie: And we have a right to look down upon those that are considerably thinner –

Bugger: The skimmed ones, that is –

Goddie: In intellect. We have silent authority over the have-nots in the brain equation.

Bugger: We can whip, strip and search, arrest and sentence to death the dumb. All in the wonderfully graphic imagination of our beautiful brains.

Goddie: We shall be rich. We shall have the reins of the world in our hands -

Bugger: These creamy, 10-digit, delicate limbs.

Goddie: And the world will be a brainy garden -

Bugger: Where intellectuals meet intellectuals and have proper teas.

Goddie: In borrowed crockery -

Bugger: And stolen underwear.

Goddie: There! It wasn’t difficult, was it?

Bugger: You lured me into taking that oath again.

Goddie: We do things with precision and order. But just between us, I am afraid we have a slight problem on our hands.

Bugger: Ah. The matter of utmost importance.

Goddie: We need more stuff.

Bugger: Stuff. Material. Of tangibility and tangibleness. Matter as proposed by Democritus the Ionian –

Goddie: I mean, look at us. Put together, we have enough gray matter to plunge the world in darkness by dazzling it with our brilliance. But where does it show? When was the last time we put forth some stuff -

Bugger: Stuff. Redefined as something you can see, smell, touch, hear, taste. The more the better. In sharp contrast to Plato's vision of the ephemeral nature of ideas -

Goddie: That we could sell….?

Bugger: Money. Cash. (Also see: bucks). I need to buy razors. My beard is starting to get in the way when I relieve myself.

Goddie: Bluntly put, we are stuck. We need to show the world we are to be taken seriously as the frontrunners of the 837^th revolution in the history of this earth.

Bugger: 837.57^th, if I remember correctly. There are many 0.2ths and 0.01ths of revolutions scattered around, even if we ignore 0.0001ths and beyond – the likes of liposuction and personalized shoelace knot-makers.

Goddie: There seems to be a flood of ideas but a draught of 'stuffable' ideas.

Bugger: Ideas pregnant with little infant stuffs that will bring joy.

Goddie: Not a single contribution of slightest merit since that gentleman from Peru proposed herbal nailpaint removers made from llama droppings.

Bugger: As it turned out Chanel uses something similar. A pity, really. There was a fortune -

Goddie: But is no more. So what do we do?

Bugger: I had a feeling you’d discuss this so I brought along a list of potential stuffs and also ideas from the past that weren’t stuffed enough. Maybe we can glean –

Goddie: Excellent. Let’s see…

Bugger (reading): Shampoo for your favorite spiders…nah, we dumped this early on…sprinklers with sneeze activation…lavatory grip for three-fingered invalids…water bottles for the lipless…ultra-slow hair remover…all taken. Damn. We should have picked up that last one right then. It’s –

Goddie: Sshh..

Bugger: 'Sshh' being an indication that we still have air –

Goddie: No, WAIT! Your socks just said something.

Bugger (sniffing): They want out.

Goddie: There! You hear that? That was a definite “grmph”.

He pauses, takes a couple of deliberate sips of his tea. They exchange looks of profound realizations.

Goddie: Let’s check if there’s a sound like that discovered before.

Bugger: I will be darned if there is. And the socks could do with some darning, too.

Goddie: Do you even realize the implication of this?

He starts tapping on his PDA.

Goddie: We are going to be rich! And then the world shall know –

Bugger: That I haven’t forgotten how to shave –

Goddie: And we will usher in the biggest and possibly the shapeliest cultural and scientific paradigm since Angelina Jolie…. There.... Cheers! I have confirmed that there is no existing claim or even knowledge about the specific sound “grmph” originating from some internal disturbances in a pair of socks. There is a report from Wigan in UK about occasional “grrrhmp”s, but they have been conclusively proved to be emanating from the abdomen.

Bugger: It’d be worthwhile to –

Goddie: FILE IT !!!

Bugger: Uh, but they are my last –

Goddie: NOW !!!

Bugger pulls out an iron file and saws his socks into little shreds cheered on by maniacal laughter from Goddie.

Bugger: When will we get the money?

Goddie: Very soon, I should think.

A stuffable pause.

Goddie: Of course, the matter of utmost importance was just an excuse. I just wanted to have tea with you.

Bugger (whining): A proper tea. But my socks…

Goddie: Sacrifices on the altar of intellectual progression. Martyrs to the cause of liberation of mankind.

Bugger: You bastard.

Evening News

2007-05-07T17:45:00.000+08:00

The evening news on See-A-Nun TV channel. Goddie is disguised as a news reader by clever application of violet mascara and a few strips of cloth dangling loosely from his ears.

Goddie (in a Newsreadese accent): A tragedy struck the small village of Strawberry when sister Agatha – local nun and a member of the Sisters of Holy Johnny Depp mission – was found mysteriously dead inside a toilet cubicle. Sister Agatha was a lady of admirably stout constitution with no history of ailments except a slight incident of food poisoning caused by eating earthworms in her early adolescence. The local community is deeply aggrieved by her demise. To tell you more, we have Irma Bishop on the scene.

The screen now shows a masculine lady in a polo t-shirt bulging with muscles, baseball cap and wristbands. Her voice is surprisingly melodious, reminiscent of autumn breeze and milk vans.

Irma: A tragedy struck the small village of Raspberry (burp) I am sorry.. Strawberry -

Goddie (from the studio): Yes Irma, I just read out all the lines in the report you had written so painstakingly. So you are in a jam. Raspberry, indeed. Haha!

Irma (panicking): There is mass hysteria in Strawberry due to the unexpected death of one of the few local attractions. Sister Agatha was a popular and well-known figure of 34-28-32 in not just her village but as far as Pickled Herrings. A kind and loving soul of 32, she hardly looked out of her teenage years and, according to Rev. Budwielder, was “a most accompalished organ player.”

Goddie (from the studio): Irma, you just stepped in muck. Hoho!

Irma (wiping her shoes on her stockings): Sister Agatha was also a member of the SJD mission – a global communion of nuns devoted to spreading the cause and words of our Lord JD. She was an active gossiper, patient listener, marriage counselor, divorce specialist and organizer of many garage sales in this lively little pink village.

Goddie (from the studio): Irma, what do people remember most about Sister Agatha’s last days? Show us some other ugly mugs. I am sick of your blue lips.

Irma: As I said before, there is widespread disbelief in this God-fearing community. No one has fully come to terms that the chirpy nun that was so much a part of their lives and livelihood is no more. There was nothing suspicious in her behaviour in the past few days. Some people do claim she had become a bit nervous and was drinking quite a lot more rum than her customary three glasses of ‘Sailors’ XXX’. But all this is just speculation.

Goddie (from the studio): Yes, indeed. That’s all they ever do. Speculate. Did anyone think of checking her dressing table? Any hidden cameras in her bath? No! And now when she’s dead – Lord bless her – they all speculate.

Someone (from off-camera): Hey, calm down. This isn’t personal, remember?

Irma: Uh, right. Even as the town prepares for a lavish funeral to bid goodbye to their favorite enchantress and prime source of revenue in this otherwise barren garbage dump, the applications have started pouring in from around the world to replace sister Agatha. Thousands of young nuns who have joined SJD in the recent years wish to continue Agatha’s work of illuminating the followers and spreading the faith in this agnostic region.

Goddie (in studio): Pagans! Communists! Bastard sons of Tom Cruise…!! (he starts foaming at the mouth in rage.)

Someone (off camera): Restrain him! He’s getting his fits again.

Goddie (recovering): I am fine. Go on, Irma.

Irma: I am done. That’s all. Back to the studio while I sample the local brew.

She strides off with her arm around a three-year old.

Goddie: A sad day, indeed for Strawberry and also for us at See-A-Nun. We need such pious souls alive and kicking ass –

Someone (off camera): Shut the heck up! Where’s your Appropriate Language Substitution Device?

Goddie (to someone): You are wearing mine, you idiot.

Goddie (to audience): Please forget what I just said. Pull it out of your ears. Pious souls like sister Agatha are badly needed and sorely missed in this world of little faith. We only hope other gorgeous women will hear the call and join this noble cause. Otherwise we at See-A-Nun will be out of business. Now for the sports news.

He bends down to pick up something and produces a super-sized replica of Raphael’s “Depp in the Bogs”.

Goddie: The Annual –

Some people come running and gag him with red handkerchiefs. They handcuff him and drag him forcibly away from the studio. An immaculately dressed German Shepherd comes on the scene.

GS: We are terribly sorry for this interruption. I’d like to apologize for the shameful behaviour of one of our news readers. His actions are a blatant breach of the policies of our organization. I assure you he will be relieved of his responsibilities till he gets rid of that horrible violet mascara and that mongrel accent.

We at See-A-Nun are committed to provide you with the finest piece of ....uh, news round the cloak and sometimes behind it.

Three more stooges join him and they shout the trademark chorus:

“It doesn’t come any fresher.”

Making a writer

2007-05-03T18:54:00.001+08:00

Bugger’s kitchen. Bugger is trying his hands at baked pasta. Goddie is playing with cheese.

Bugger: I want to be a writer.

Goddie: What do you mean you want to be a writer?

Bugger: Precisely that.

Goddie: Is that a wishing kind of wanting, or a decisive kind of wanting?

Bugger: Err, both I guess.

Goddie: What would you like to write?

Bugger: Why, anything. Anything at all. The world is full of writable things, my good man. From cabbages to kings. Didn’t you know? Sometimes I think every little thing – from bird-poop to retired bureaucrats – is just sitting there, rotting away while it awaits a writer.

He picks up a carrot and starts chopping it.

Goddie: Sadly, there are not many writers left who are versatile enough to cover such sheer variety. Everyone is out for quick money. It’s a sick world. What I don’t understand is why anyone would waste time writing about obvious things. Why, there are books like –

Bugger: Did you move my cheese?

He has a mad gleam in his eyes as he wields the knife. Goddie hastily puts back the cheese cube.

Goddie: Um, yeah. So my point is that there are too many writers writing unnecessary stuff.

Bugger: And I could make a difference? You think so? You are too kind.

Goddie: Uhm, no. I meant you shouldn’t spoil the broth further. It’s already stinking terribly.

Bugger (poking the pasta): It’s not even half-done.

Goddie: Besides, you just think you can write. It takes more than just words to write, you know.

Bugger: Yes, yes. I know well enough. Imagination, a keen eye for detail, sympathy, impeccable morals, money and lots of free time. But I think I’ll manage. I am quite an observant, imaginative, sensitive, rich and jobless saint. You know that.

Goddie: Can you write about mothballs?

Bugger: Eh?

Goddie: Or tiny, adamant tendrils of pubic hair that don’t wash away with the roaring torrents of sanitized water?

Bugger: You are ribbing me, aren’t you?

Goddie: My point, flushed away in that poetic overflow, is that you are not imaginative enough. Yet.

Bugger: Yet? You mean there’s still hope?

Goddie: Maybe. Maybe. You should always have a finger on the pulse of society.

Bugger (muttering): Last time I tried, they called me a pervert.

Goddie: What do your readers want? Think. Do they want morbid tales of lust and gore, or fictitious true accounts of psychopathic serial killers? Or would they prefer travelogues from Haiti? Do they ask for saccharine romances,tear-wrenching heroic sagas from the past or demented scientific fantasies about a future civilization? Do they read stories so real that the stench of gutters is brought alive…(sniffs)

Bugger: There! It’s done. Want to try some?

Goddie (wrinking his nose): No thanks.

Bugger: I agree. It’s important to know what your readers want. But they are so bloody fickle. And there is so little time to give them all they want! What if I wrote a book with a bit of everything in it?

Goddie: I get the idea. A rapist who is murdered by a psychopath, who in turn is caught by a heroic rebel soldier of Alexander’s army. Except all this happens while he’s time traveling. He then marries the daughter of an Iraqi general, escapes with her to Krypton and sends in the sequels to the book in form of travelogues.

Bugger: Something more exotic, maybe. But you get the idea. Yes.

Goddie: Maybe you should just write greeting cards. They would really sell. And they are universal.

Bugger: “To the flower of my life: when I think of you/I long to feel your touch/When I’m with you/I wish the moments wouldn’t fly so fast…Can’t live a moment with you.”

Goddie: Without you, you mean.

Bugger: Yeah. The same.

Goddie: See? You lack the inherent expressiveness that makes a writer ‘click’. Maybe you could write screenplays for Hindi cinema.

Bugger: Look, I asked for a listening ear. You are getting on my nerves.

Goddie: A very poetic expression.

Bugger: If you don’t leave my ketchup and the kitchen in three seconds, I will drown you in…in…

Goddie: Lack of words. A writer’s block. I recommend an unmoved piece of cheese taken thrice a day with single malt whiskey.

Bugger: I don’t care what you say. I have all it takes to be successful in the writing business.

Goddie: I think –

Bugger: COOKIES!

Goddie: mmph hmmph…woof woof..!

He struggles a bit with himself, then runs away.

Bugger: Ha! That did it. Insufferable pest. I won’t let him get to me. Imagination? I’ll show him.

He starts singing softly

"Shredded ribbons of charcoal heart
Never sinking, how brave thou art
Now the rivers of sorrow wash you clean
Splotchy and blotchy and gurgly-glug-glum"

(Dies down in whispers)

"They think you are pubic
But you are survivors.
Remnants of a long-forgotten war."

Goddie (from far-off): I could let you write my biography but you have a lousy sense of humor.

Scientists

2007-05-02T23:04:00.000+08:00

The weekly meeting of a group of scientists is in progress. Goddie, disguised as Dr. Gaudy, is only slightly noticeable in the bunch. He is wearing a t-shirt that says “Nothing shocks me. I am a scientist.”

S1: Yes. Good morning dear colleagues.

A murmur of “good morning”s, yeah”s and “up yours”s go around the table.

S1: We can discuss the progress of experiments since we last met. Let’s start with… S2?

S2: 现代汉语通用字表 ….

S1: In English, if you please.

S2: Right, sorry. I was thinking aloud. So as you all know, I have been trying to produce the WSP2 protein from the recombinant baculovirus. Last week I succeeded in cloning my promoters and now I will start cell studies. But my cell lines are not healthy.

He smiles. And the group smiles in return. Then they burst out laughing.

S1 (wiping tears): Really? Haha…So funny !! Lovely joke. Now let’s get serious.

S2 (with a serious face): My cell lines are not healthy.

Everyone nods solemnly.

S3: I am trying to conjugate FITC with AMCA, X-SE. Does anyone have some BOR-TYC-23 to spare?

S1: What?

S3: Honestly, are you uneducated? I asked for BOR-TYC. And also some HPK-(SRS).

S1: Oh, definitely. Of course. I couldn’t hear you at first.

Goddie: You can use Sexithiophane instead.

S3: Hmm. Yes. I think so. In fact, it’s a brilliant suggestion. But I am not sure how it works.

Goddie: Well, Sexithiophane should be reacted with Fukugetin overnight in the presence of Funicone. Then you can use either Clitoriacetal or Vaginatin to remove excess Fukugetin. Next, you co-incubate the conjugate with Fornacite and Constipatic acid. After that, just do the standard activation.

A collective murmur of admiration spreads at this very obvious display of scientific acumen.

S1: When will you start the animal studies, S4?

Everyone seems (a)roused by this.

S4: We have received all the mice, rats, fishes, lizards and Royal Bengal tigers we had ordered. Also, one of my graduate students caught a couple of pigeons and my wife has agreed to let me have Snoopy the IV on the condition that I buy her a new one.

S1: So it’s all set for this week, I hope?

S3: Yes. We will be injecting all the animals with U251 and T298G.

S2: Intracranial?

S4: Yes. We will plunge it right into their brains. The bastards. I can’t wait..

S1: Patience, S4.

Goddie: So what is the purpose for this animal study?

A silence follows.

S1: Surely you know we are trying to see the destabilization of the Retinoblastoma Tumor Suppressor by Human Papillomavirus Type 16 E7

Goddie: Uh..

S2: by Frameshift Signal Transplantation and the unambiguous analysis of mutations in the Yeast Retrotransposon

Goddie: Wait -

S3: as seen in recombinant respiratory Syncytial Virus deletion mutants.

Pause.

Goddie: Can you explain this in a simpler way?

Everyone looks incredulous.

S1: Well, you know that CD8⁺ Lymphocytes from Simian Immunodeficiency Virus-Infected Rhesus Macaques recognize 14 Different Epitopes bound by the major histocompatibility complex Class I Molecule.

Everyone laughs at this brilliant pun.

Goddie: Uhhuh. Whatever. So I understand it is absolutely essential to use animals?

S4: Absolutely. The buggers asked for it.

S3: So will you be doing a brain section analysis?

S4 (rubbing his hands in glee): Yes! Cut those little vermin open with a sharp knife, snip the heart vein, let them bleed out, then inject the heart with saline. The blood flows all over the white sheet and drops into the sink with a steady ‘drip..drip..’. It looks enchanting.

S2: We hope that the miRNA targeting sequence we have designed will show a reduced tumor growth. 常用字字形表…..

S1: We will all come and watch, S4. You can’t deny us this pleasure.

Goddie: I have a feeling we are getting carried away.

S1: Carried away? But it’s for a noble cause.

Goddie: I am sure the data you have collected for the effect of Pubescine and Uranate in vitro should be enough to prove your point. It will make a good publication. That’s what you all want, don’t you?

S2: He has a point. Why are we doing all this bullcrap anyway?

S1: Please mind your language.

S4: I don’t give a damn. I want those animals. I bought a new cleaver at a garage sale. And we are having guests for dinner next weekend.

S1: Well, that’s all for today then. Let’s meet next week to discuss the progress again.

S4: eeek !! ughhh…..

Goddie: What happened?

S4: I spilled some coffee on my trousers. Eww..Disgusting.

A walk in the park

2007-05-01T22:27:00.000+08:00

Bugger’s bedroom. Goddie is reclining on the bed, watching one of those Indian movies filmed in New York. Bugger enters with a can of Bud and some ice-cream.

Bugger: Hullo there.

Goddie: mmph hmph.

Bugger: Ah, that walk was most enlightening, I must admit. You should get out more, my dear fellow. Nothing like a whiff of fresh air to charge those super brain cells of yours.

Goddie is completely immersed in fancy dress dances on the screen. He barely nods this time.

Bugger (continuing to himself): For example, I was struck by a most fantastic thought today. A business proposition, to be precise. It came to me so suddenly that I almost tripped. A most Bill Gate-ish feeling.

Goddie (raising an eyebrow): Right. Well, I have had my share of those moments. Nothing beats opium.

Bugger: Opium? No no, you have quite –

Goddie (sitting up): Please don’t do that. It’s disgusting.

Bugger: What? You mean you saw…

Goddie: Uh-huh. Never mind. What about this fantastic business proposal?

Bugger: Ah. Yes. What if cows wore brassieres?

Goddie: Brassiere?

Bugger: You know, that itsy-bitsy lacey stringy jumble of cloth wrapped around mammaries –

Goddie: Yes I know what a brassiere is. But you were telling me about your business proposal.

Bugger: Exactly. We will make brassieres for cows.

Goddie: When you say we…

Bugger (ignoring him): Allow me to summarize the manifold advantages of this revolutionary product.

He pulls down a whiteboard and starts scribbling on it as he speaks.

Bugger: 1. Our product will address the major concern for hygiene in all dairy products. We will stop contamination by nipping it in the bud.

Goddie: Haha. The bud.

Bugger: 2. It will infuse a sense of modesty in cows worldwide. A cultural revolution. Sort of anti-nudism, even. It will certainly reduce the number of sadistic crimes by little kids against cows and pigs.

3. It will open a new employment sector. It’s a shame to see all that creative talent going waste. Think about it. All those fashion designers, creative photographers, wannabe authors... It will be a great boon to this stagnant society.

Goddie: Authors? Aren’t you stretching it a bit?

Bugger (stretching his legs): Not a bit. You mark my words. Once we get going, we will need everything in-house. Brochures, campaign productions, do-it-yourself guides, the works.

Goddie: Whoa.

Bugger: And just think of the potential. It’s a product that ingeniously combines necessity with luxury. Strapless clip-ons, red silk from China, denim for the boycows… the possibilities are endless. And we can easily charge thrice the price of the standard product in the market. Three times two, you see. We will create our market and never get out.

Goddie: Great! You know, I think it just might work.

Bugger: Hmm. Yes. Uhmm..err…there is one tiny problem though.

Goddie: And what might that be?

Bugger: I can’t think of a dynamic punch-line for this business proposal.

Goddie: And so you need my help?

Bugger: Well, I thought you might just contribute your tiny bit if we are going to be equal partners.

Goddie: ….

Bugger: What’s that?

Goddie: Will we buy a yacht?

Bugger looks at the TV screen for the first time.

Bugger: Hullo. That’s quite astounding.

Goddie: Yes, they are deeply in love.

Bugger: No. I meant the bra. Did you see it? Hold on..THERE! See? It’s got..holy cow! The cheats! Sniveling buggers. My design..! Oh, I am ruined.. I didn’t even file for IP.

He breaks into genuine sobs. Unlike the guy on screen now.

Goddie: There goes my yacht.

Bugger (sniffing): Yacht? Is that all you can think of, you selfish brute? Just look at that…there! It’s an exact copy of my design.

Goddie: I never saw your design.

Bugger: Well, I just dreamed of it, didn’t I?

Goddie: Never mind, now. I am sure you will think of something new very soon. What are walks for, after all?

Bugger: Is that a tail there between your legs?

Goddie: Woof.

Bugger: You barked??

Goddie: It means "buzz off", dickhead.

Enter Goddie

2007-05-01T12:23:00.000+08:00

So if you haven't noticed, I am a dog named Goddie with a capital G. I have been named Goddie (with a capital G) by that bugger of a guy who thinks I have some supernatural powers. I would prefer a name like Alan or John or even Gulaab Singh from Jabalpur but this is something I cannot control. Besides, according to the latest survey one out of every five people is dissatisfied with his/her name. Three out of ten names in this world don’t have a logic behind them. It could have been worse.

I am far more intelligent than any dog and many humans I have met or heard about. I have an IQ a notch above the average Scandinavian’s, the logical abilities of 7 X Neumann and ingenuity only slightly less than that of Jesus Christ. I also am as curious as a hundred cats (I am not proud of this, but it helps).

I like Garry Larson‪ for breakfast, Calvin for lunch and different bits of Fry and Laurie for dinner. I don’t relieve myself in public and I do it standing up just like the bugger, I avoid scratching myself unless absolutely necessary, I don’t indulge in frivolous displays of affection for people who call me ‘cute’ nor do I sink my teeth in human flesh. I don’t know who my dad was, but my mom was quite possibly British.

But none of this has anything to do with these powers I possess. What makes me really interesting is my ability to see through walls, disappear and re-appear at will, change appearances, morph into anything I want (from table to talc to tacos to Madam Tan) and a secret spell that makes me irresistible to bitches. I enjoy using all these powers as you will realize soon.

The reason I am here is because the bugger asked me to. Seeing that he himself has had ample web space for voicing his frustrations and pathetic views and that he has failed remarkably in producing 'literature' even by standards of a loser like him, I decided to go public myself. It’s only fair that a paranormally gifted being like me is allowed to advice, critique and opine once in a while.

So welcome all ye who have well come to the brink of literary extinction. Unlike the bugger’s melodramatic ideas, this space will host practical and real-lifey stuff. Making good use of my gifts, I will mingle with the crowds, see what they think, think what they see, converse, discourse and predict. I might bump into you one of these days and you may not recognize me (just don’t say “cookies”. It blows my cover every time).

I will write in third person. It makes me feel very accomplished.

I am not God. I am Goddie with a capital G. Thank you.

P.S: On second thoughts, I reckon I too have the right to name the bugger who gave me this stupid name. I will call him Bugger (with/without capital B).