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A Weekly humour coloumn

A Weekly humour coloumn

#humour #KitchenFisasco #BachelorsLife #WhyPigsHaveWings #DifferentTruths
Here’s an interesting account by Soumya, a humourist, on cooking. We are introducing his humour column, beginning this week, on Tuesdays, exclusively on Different Truths. I am a foodie. My girth hints at it. I take a keen interest in the creative process of cooking too, but all strictly theoretical. I also enjoy cooking as a spectator sport. The glamorous cooks on television make it look so sexy. [ 933 more words ]

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The Return of Gussie Fink nottle

The Return of Gussie Fink nottle

Return of Gussie Fink Nottle
Some of you may have my earlier adventures in Gussie’s avatar when I gave out the prizes in a village school we had adopted as part of our CSR activities. For the newbie, here is the link
https://soumyamukherjee8.wordpress.com/2015/07/26/giving-out-the-prizes/
Now once again I had an invitation from a school to attend their literature day as a chief guest.
It happened like this. The principal of an international school is a loyal follower of my blog and has actually read almost everything that I have written. She has also read my book and admired it greatly and has shared her opinion and appreciation of the book in particular and my writing in general on the social media. Totally flattered on having an intelligent articulate attractive young lady fan, we were in touch through social media.
Incidentally, a great many more women read than men, and they also comment and express their appreciation, often getting in touch with the author. This is one of the major perks of writing and a superb incentive to aging nerds like me.
Her school was celebrating a literary week where they invite an author to give an inspiring speech, and decided to invite me this year. Thrilled at the prospect of being recognised as a writer, I gladly accepted.
I anguished over what to wear, and remembering gussie and the split trouser theory, I gave ethnic wear a miss, thus avoiding entertaining the students with wardrobe malfunctions, as dhotis and churidars have a nasty habit of unravelling at inopportune moments; and stuck to sober casuals.
Fortified with plain orange juice I landed up at the impressive sprawling premises of the residential school, a little way outside the city. As I was ushered to the principal’s room, the memories of being sent up to see the principal came surging out of the unconscious, creating flutters in the stomach. There were a few young thugs waiting outside the boss’s lair, but they seemed unperturbed by the imminent interview. Perhaps the ubiquitous cane having been eliminated from the proceedings have resulted in such sangfroid.
The principal’s room was huge, much larger than mine, but it was not manned by a fire breathing ogre nine feet high in a cassock and a front to back collar; but a petite demure lady in a sari, whose rimless glasses were the only severe aspect and kept me from being flippant and flirtatious.
I was taken around the campus on a tour. The boys’ hostel evoked strong feelings of nostalgia. I even entered that place I had often dreamt of visiting in my misspent youth; the girls’ hostel. Needless to say, the children were in class and not in the dorms. A couple of boys were flushed out from under a tree outside the girls’ hostel and sent packing, after hearing their lame excuses for their presence there. My heart went out to the poor blighters.
I then inspected some kids dressed as literary characters and looking miserable, all except mowgli, who was prancing around in his briefs and happily living up to the role of the wild jungle man cub without fear of reprisal from the teachers.
We proceeded to the auditorium and a surprise awaited me. There, among the decorations with literary themes, were three larger than life drawings; at the centre of which, flanked by Shakespeare and Wordsworth, was a replica of my book cover. I felt like the golf crazy Russian poet in one of plums golf stories, who thought that only Tolstoy and Shakespeare were any good, and comparable to him, and Wodehouse was tolerable, and the rest were rubbish.
Thoroughly pleased and embarrassed, I stoically sat through the performances of the much suffering volunteers, and the student body suffered them glumly, with bored clapping appreciating the end of individual bits. Only glitches were loudly appreciated.
Finally the dreaded moment came, and I had to earn my lunch. As the final item, the patience of the audience was stretched thin, and I had to tread cautiously, armed only with coconut water pick me ups.
Once again, forewarned by Gussie, I steered well clear of motivational talks. Instead, to give credence to my status as an author, I told them a story. To ensure total comprehension, I requested the vernacular language teacher to translate along in the local language, using all colloquialisms.
I made the story as politically incorrect as I could get away with, keeping the students happy, with a hidden message of tolerance and inclusiveness which would mollify the teachers. I acted, pranced, made animal noises and generally played the fool. Soon, the roars of laughter and appreciation that would be a match to the reception of Gussies speech came as music to my ears, and I could see the teachers smiling too.
After the speech I had a photo session with the kids and there was a mad scramble to shake my hands and take my autograph. A young lady wanted me to sign her shirt, but I dissuaded her warning her of her mother’s reaction, when she persuaded me to sign her hand.
This was my five minutes of fame promised to every citizen in this century. I briefly knew what rock stars feel all the time.
This is the story I told them, although altered to suit the mood.
https://soumyamukherjee8.wordpress.com/2014/03/07/beauty/

 

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Video promo of Memories a Novella

 

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HOW DO I UNWIND — AN ODE TO WODEHOUSE

How do I unwind        An Ode to Wodehouse

In response to a prompt on project 365

After a horribly hectic day

(The stuff we do to earn our pay!)

When the minds quite boggled out

And all good cheer’s quite up the spout

The milk of human kindness has

Quite curdled up, and in a flash

I might go up, in flames and smoke

I get some help, from a quiet bloke

He shimmers in, and calms my mind

Perks up my mood, helps me unwind

And takes me to a Wonder land

That doesn’t change or age or wan

In this world stout butlers butt

And men in spats try out the Putt

Where Lords keep pigs, which are their bane

And Aunts aren’t all Gentlemen

Where every problems solution

Is the Gentleman’s personal Gentleman

Whenever the world looks glum

To cheer you up, there’s always Plum

Escape into his magic land

Where words cast spells, and Puns abound

But first get into something loose

Throw out the tie, kick off the shoes

A frothing mug, a cup that cheers

Put up your feet, forget your peers

And Ring for Jeeves, he’ll take you there

Let guffaws thunder everywhere

JEEVES AND BERTIEJEEVES

 

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DON’T MISS

.clown

DON’T MISS THIS

Jesus met the Wise Men of the East in his infancy and look where it got him!!!!!

Don’t miss your chance, meet the Wiseguy of the East

You will find him in WordPress, Indiblogger, Project365, Scriggler,  Blogadda, or on the Social Media, especially in gatherings of unsuccessful wordsmiths

Look for Idyll Dreams of an Idle Fellow

It’s for idle minds, idealistic fools, and all subversives!

Vellas of the World Unite (& read my blog)

You have nothing to lose but your Ennui

You have my Readership to Gain!!!!!

Statutory warning: You may get crucified too

Written in response to a prompt asking for a promo for my blog

For Project 365

 

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A – Z A 26 line alphabetical piece in Rhyming couplets

A – Z

Another due date is approaching fast

Blogging is short term, the passion won’t last

Can you believe it; I’m still at it now!

Dabbling in verse too, that calls for a WOW!

me, trying to write this piece

me, trying to write this piece

Everyone believed it’s just one more fad,

Friends are quite certain, it will drive me mad

Going on at it for six months on end!

Have I gone crazy, am I round the bend?

Inference drawn is that I am a shirk

Just drawing wages and doing no work

Knowing how laidback I always have been

Last thing I believed that I will be seen

Managing to find time to sit and compose

Nonsense and gibberish and limericks and prose

Often I wonder, why do I go on?

Perhaps it’s therapy, but  mostly it’s fun

Question is, why on earth did I choose THIS?!

Rhyming A to Z, a masochistic wish!

Should be a challenge, and that will be fun!

That is what I thought; now I am someone

Uselessly trying to find rhyming words

Verse is for madmen, prose is for nerds

What will I do now? I’m at wits end!

Xcuse me readers, I’ve gone round the bend

Yaaay! It’s all over! The last line is here

Zapped you! Did I not? Oh my reader dear?

 

I did think that selecting that attempting to write a poem in 26 lines with the letters of the alphabet in sequence as the project 365 wepostdaily prompt demanded would be fun, and it was, to write at least. Whether it is fun to read as well, you will be the best judge. You will find this at

 

 

wepostdaily.wordpress.com

 

 

 

 

 

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SINGULAR SENSATION

SINGULAR SENSATION
the change catalyst I wanted to be

the change catalyst I wanted to be

what I actually achived

what I actually achived

SINGULAR SENSATION A guest prompt on Project 365 I have chosen to discuss if a blog of mine were to create a life change what would it be? It can be viewed at  wepostdaily.wordpress.com

I always wanted to write the great Indian novel and change the world. Sashi Tharoor stole the title but wrote something else, (which also bdw I had intended to write, damn him) and a couple of Yankee college drop outs changed the world, again, not anywhere near the way I intended.

I now write blogposts read by a dozen odd folks and change TV channels, that too as my intellectual spouse and children shun it as the idiot box, although it’s a flatscreen and not a box, and the idiot is in front of it, watching.

But what if……. ? The kind admins of 365 have allowed me to dream. I haven’t written this piece yet, but if and when I do, this is what it will achieve. It will go viral among the youngsters of our country, who will be inspired and guided by it. This article, called the Inquilabi Manifesto, will be a blueprint for change, having extracted the essence of Chanakya, Chomsky, Che and Chaitanya, and transformed them by my unique interpretation, to provide the answers we are looking for. This will start a movement which will first transform India into the Utopia that we have dreamed of.

Ulikely perhaps, but, dear admins, you have allowed me to dream..

So what can actually happen? Perhaps the editor in chief of a Random House comes across my Growing Up, or Karan Johar reads my Getting Married, and I’m approached for that lucrative contract for a full length novel or a blockbuster film, and there’s no looking back after that.

This time, the life that will be changed will be mine This should happen, but I somehow doubt that it will. But I can dream, dear admins, can’t I?

Then what will? A sensitive bureaucrat reads my Idiosyncrasies of an Administrator and decides to be of service as his cadre demands, and thus touches thousands of lives in his career, making them better.

This, as per the comments made by one such gentleman, has happened. And, if my ramblings can do this, I am ecstatic

. But most of all, the readers I would love to touch with my blog are my kids. If they feel proud of their dad on reading any, the blog would have been worth it’s while. Let me dream on

 

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