Arnab, 1999/07/31, "News Item #3"

Academic Party Names Three District Chiefs

Calcutta, July 30, - The Party for Academic Politics (PAP) launched it's election campaign today by naming three key party posts. In a press conference at the its headquarters in Rajabajar, party President Prof A.P.Shukla announced that the academically active districts of Kanpur, Calcutta and Madurai would be led by social worker Deshdeep Sahadev, mathematician Jagdish Rai and humourist Perumselva Pandiyan respectively.

Prof Shukla introduced the appointees as hardworking, intelligent men with original vision and a keen understanding of John Stuart Mill and Thomas Paine. Although completely unknown in the realm of politics, these men were legends in their own fields and commanded the respect of a generation, he said. Asked about the lack of inclusion of scientists who had risen to prominence after last year's nuclear tests, Prof Shukla curtly answered, "No prima donnas".

The appointment of Dr Jagdish Rai came as a major surprise in the city's political circles. An obviously disappointed party member called him "the absentee landlord" and "hardly a heavyweight", statements which he then refused to elaborate. Dr Rai is an acclaimed man of science who has made tremendous contributions on the understanding of Elliptic Curves and the consequent proof of Fermat's Last Theorem. After graduating Magna Cum Laude from the Delhi University he spent time at various academic and research institutes in the United States. He is currently the Dean of Mathematics at the S.N.Bose National Science Center at Salt Lake, dividing his time between work and his family at Jamshedpur.

Although not available for comments at the press conference, Dr Rai answered questions at his residence at Salt Lake. In an atmosphere of expansive good humour, rarely seen in politics today, Dr.Rai announced that he would concentrate on Freedom of Speech as the chief issue in the parliamentary elections. Efforts were on, he said, to invite the legendary Noam Chomsky for a series of lectures on topics of liberty. There was also a possibility, he confided, that popular American folk singers Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell would take the stage with Purnadas Baul and Suman Chatterjee at a concert arranged by the party in late September to raise awareness about the illegal imprisonment of Shamit Khemka.

(Page 1)

Vanka, 1999/08/02, "Rendezvous Among Rivals"

The tea-stall that graces the small snaky lane in Parnasree has always boasted of a healthy following around 5 PM. The cha and the crumbly biscuits were often interlaced with loud denouncements of Azhar's captaincy, donating blood for the Kargil soldiers and Mithun Chakraborty's latest bomb, in no particular order. It was during one such heated discussion on a warm summer evening that Prantosh looked up from the long stall bench and saw a strange sight.

Seeing a bald fat man through the window of a house in the gathering dusk can be unnerving enough. What was worse was that the man seemed to be in a state of suspended animation, holding a telephone receiver in his hands. and staring vacantly into space. Prantosh took a moment to soak it in and then blurted out : "Ki dada, bhoot dekhechen naki?"

In a nearby house, some four hundred yards away, another man was pacing up and down his living room. Bhutan's lifestyle was becoming increasingly complicated with every passing day. One of his contacts had just supplied him with some really intriguing piece of information. His sources, while invariably thorough, usually restricted their facts to the grossly irrelevant. One updated him on every joke presented in the David Letterman Show, another searched the web for sites where one could buy the Tommy & Pamela videos for $59.95. A third specialized in the powers and successes of various gurus in India and Southern California. However, this news about his boss Chope beat everything hollow. He had got irrefutable proof that Chope had been an LSD popping hippie in the '70's while he taught history at an obscure school in Ekbalpur. Bhutan had often wondered why his boss had those strange hand gestures and phrasings of proper nouns. Now, at last, some light had been shed on these.

His thoughts involving Chope's colourful past and how he could use this latest piece of information to his advantage, was interrupted rather harshly by the clanging sound of the doorbell ringing and, lo, there before him was the all-encompassing figure of Ashes Dhanna Ganguly.

Ashes : Hi - can I come in? Was just passing by and thought I would pay an old friend a visit.
Bhutan : (putting on his friendliest, 'contact-savvy' smile) Sure, sure, squeeze yourself in.
Ashes : (settles himself carefully on the sofa) Upfh! Isn't it hot today? (pleading) Can I have a glass of water? (after a pause) So how are things?
Bhutan : Fine, just fine! I've been very busy though, these last couple of weeks. (with a knowing, far-away smile) But no complaints, things have started to get interesting right about now (eyeing Ashes to see whether he has recognized the quote). Want to listen to some music? Beethoven?
Ashes : (not usually fond of these things) Uuh, accha, thik aache.
Bhutan : Soh! How is your computer thing going? (Handing out glasses of orange squash) Tell me, do you know about Lainux?
Ashes : Oh you mean Linnucks! (sip) Otar uccharon Lainux noy - Linnucks. You know, (sip) it's named after the Finnish guy who started the war against the likes of Bill Gates (sip) - Linus Torvalds.
Bhutan : (slightly intimidated by the depth of knowledge) Is he, like, related to Linus Pauling? Ha Ha.
Ashes : (whose sense of humour stopped where Linux began) How can he be related to Linus Pauling? Only their first names are the same!
(sips in silence, contemplating Bhutan with a morsel of hostility)

Linux was to Ashes what Ganja was to Satram and a bald head was to Chintukle. It was his little addiction. He had often forgetten time and place when rambling eloquently about it's many virtues. Ashes propagated the greatness of Linux with a missionary zeal.

Ashes : (replacing the empty glass on the tray) Bhutan, if you have not used Linux, then you are really missing something. It is a million times better than Windows will ever be! (banging his fist on the table, toppling a glass that Bhutan catches in time) It's open source, man and therefore, its the best! I do not know why people continue to use Windows these days. It's like listening to Bally Sagoo instead of Moz-hart.
Bhutan : Moth-zart.
Ashes : What?
Bhutan : It's Moth-zart, not Moz-hart.
Ashes : Whatever. Do you know it is available free? Remember, you used to say, "Free-te bish-o kheye nebo"? Or was it Shome Nath? You should install Linux sometime. You can borrow the Redhat CD's from me one of these days - I bought those for a hundred bucks since I didn't want customer support. (Looking straight into Bhutan's eyes) Who needs customer support? (almost daring the customer support people to come up with a name)
Bhutan : (trying to add some fuel to the fire) But, didn't you just say that it is free?
Ashes : (slightly out of steam but pleased that Bhutan has been paying attention) It is, but can you ever hope to download 1 Gig of data over the low bandwidth that those morons at VSNL provide? You'll grow old, and then they will charge you a small fortune. So I had to buy the CDs. Don't worry, you don't have to pay me a paisa - there no "single-user" license shit here.

Bhutan listened to all this with a sinking heart. His worst fears were proven true. If Ashes was so excited about Linux and Mamoni was so excited about Linux, wasn't the correlation clear enough? There went another dream.

Ashes : (not done yet) And let me tell you that Linux is completely trustworthy. It is very different from those Gates' applications which hangs up on you like that Mashi...

There was an uncomfortable pause. Neither of the participants seemed too eager to disturb the silence with any form of verbal communion. The family cat picked up the courage to examine Ashes' chappal. Beethoven chose that precise moment to reach a crescendo and sent the cat scurrying for cover once again.

Ashes : Accha Bhutan, tell me something - what is (cough) the general impression you have of Mashima?
Bhutan : (genuinely confused) Mashima? Whose mashima?
Ashes : Er, I mean Mamoni's mother, you see....
Bhutan : (a twinkle materializing in each of his eyes) Oh, you mean Mashima! She's quite ok, I think. (inspecting his pyjama) Any particular reason for the question?
Ashes : (hastily) No, no - just being curious, you know. I sometimes feel that she may be a bit soft in the head - you know, like, a little hotheaded and flighty? Maybe she's a bit forgetful?
Bhutan : (more and more curious) Yeah, maaaybe ... I never really thought about it - of course. Did she appear that way to you?
Ashes : (nervously) It's just a feeling, you know - she seems so stand-offish at times. Then she has this telephone habit of saying "just a minute" and well, just, you know, forgetting about it.
Bhutan : (intensely amused) That's strange. On one occasion she did suddenly screech out that her dal had started burning (putting a finger in his ear instinctively) - still remember that.
Ashes : (disconsolately) You know, Atanu told me that once he had gone with her to the bajaar and had been kept waiting for hours while she haggled over the price of chillies! (sigh) Maybe she tends to do that over eveything...

Bhutan was of course painfully aware about Mashima's views about Ashes. He was the first one she had called after her conversation with Daluboudi. For a quarter of an hour she had levelled various accusations at him for not having told her of Ashes' past. No plea of ignorance had satisfied her and only the burning dal had saved him in the end. But Mashima, even in ranamurti, had only so much influence on Mamoni's descisions. If Mamoni liked Ashes, as the Linux thing indicated, wild horses could not prevent the marraige. This was a chance to find out more from the horse's mouth.

Bhutan : (as if suddenly remembering an important point) Oh, so how are things on your marriage front? When is the auspicious date?
Ashes : (whose mind had drifted into a posh ice-cream parlour on Park Street) Uh? Oh, soon, soon. Actually Palashbabu is very busy these days, he works seventy hours a week, so things are a bit slow - but things are more or less settled.
Bhutan : (with a knowing smile) Great. So where are you going to treat us? You know the traditional stag party? Shall I arrange it for you?
Ashes : (terrified) No, no, I mean, not yet. Let's settle the details and then, of course.
Bhutan : Mamoni is really a very nice girl - very interested in a lot of things.
Ashes : Yes. I met her yesterday. She was talking about you too.
Bhutan : (alarmed) Me? What did she say about me?
Ashes : Oh nothing. (smirks) She apparantly likes to tease you a bit, does she?
Bhutan : (quite upset) Oh yes, she is a perky girl. (grinding his teeth) Got a nice sense of humour. (suddenly) So, are you, like, helping her with Linux and stuff?

Ashes was a slow thinker and the information he had obtained about Mashima had depressed him quite a bit. But even in this unfortunate state of his mind, a ray of light was gradually filtering through the dark clouds and registering in his consciouness. Maybe the suddenly calm chorus in the background was also helping his thought processes and alerting him to vibrations that were floating in the back of Bhutan's mind ... Ashes firmly believed that while some extremely smart people might be able to fool him all of the time, people of Bhutan's calibre could only fool him for some of the time. The guy seemed a tad too inquisitive about this Linux business. Bhutan had always been completely disinterested in computer related stuff before. Now he was eagerly pumping him for details and asking him all manner of pointed questions. It was like Mamata Bannerjee suddenly stopping in the middle of a speech and mewing like a kitten. She would never do that unless there was very good reason for it. Hmm. Maybe that insufferably inquisitive Bhutan had discovered his relations with Seema Travels or the Academic Party and was sniffing for details. The slimy bastard!

Ashes: (speaking very deliberately, enunciating every word Clintonesquely) No, I am not helping that girl, or anyone else, with Linux or anything else. You know, though I would love to spread the word about Linux, I simply don't have the time. Life as a teacher in Higher Secondory School is so tough, one hardly gets any time for oneself. See, right now I have to correct hundreds of ICSE papers and have no time to even see the latest cricket matches on TV - leave out helping people with computer stuff.
Bhutan : (surprised at the turn the conversation is taken) Er, yeah, of course, of course, no doubt. Just being curious, you know.
Ashes : (ominously) Be care, Bhutan, be care. Curiosity has killed many a cat. Take my advice : instead of finding out things that should not interest you too much, you should spend more time watching cartoons and cooking Maggi. Those are harmless, enjoyable pursuits which will always give you great pleasure . Don't dabble in these waters.

And with these parting words, Ashes, gathered himseld carefully and exited the house, leaving a somewhat startled Bhutan open mouthed behind him.

Som Nath/Anindya/Vanka, 1999/08/12, "Royal Bengal Tigress"

The rain had let up and the sun was breaking through the clouds when Robin entered Harkata Lane, a dirty waterlogged street near Rajabajar, on a hand-pulled taana-riksha. The high spirits in which he had left home were dampened successively by the torrential rain, by standing under the dripping chhauni of Bombay Cycles, and by the overcrowed 204 nunber bus.

A couple of dogs yelped miserably from the doorstep of a yellow house. Three naked children were floating paper boats and splashing the occasional passerby. Robin found his rusty tube-well landmark which, according to Anita, was perpetually encircled by a dozen Taraka Rakhkhashis but the flooding seemed to have curbed their water-lust. He paid the rikshawalla and knocked on the green door of 42/1A Harkata Lane.

After knocking for about five minutes the door was opened by a thin short lady with kacha-paka chul, clad in a sari which was probably donated to her by Gandhiji during the Swadeshi Andolon. But her face reminded him of Ma Kali in ranomurti, about to chop a few heads.

Mrs Sen : Bhor shondha bela zalaton, salesmaner por salesman!
Robin : I-I am R-Robin
Mrs Sen : Be you robin, be you crow - you get out!
Robin : (scratching his head with a vigour that would have made Chintukle proud) You misunderstand. I'm no salesman. I am Robin, your daughter's ...
Mrs Sen : (Tongue out, reminding Robin of Ma Kali after she stepped on her beloved Sheeb) Oh, you are the boy! (loudly) Ei je dekho key eshche? Putul-er Canadar bondhu. (to Robin) Esho esho, bhetore esho. (Referring to the packet his hand) Oshob abar ki niye eshecho? Putul, mane Anita, pathiyeche naki?

With great manly courage Robin succeeded in entering a small room graced by two chairs, a small table and an easel. There were a hundred colourful leather wallets on the floor, Seven nearly identical dancing dolls with enormous bosoms graced a showcase. There were wads of plasticine all over the table presided over by an enormous mallet. A nervous looking man with a shock of white hair stood in the middle with a very confused look.

Mrs Sen : This is Mr. Sen. My husband. He is the arts teacher of Tirthapati Institution. Please excuse the mess.
Mr Sen : (shaking Robin's hand with vigour) Thank you, young man, thank you.
Robin : (alarmed) Why? What did I do?
Mrs Sen : Sit down Robin. Let me bring you some Glucon C.

Robin fell upon the chair and was immediately met by a much emboldened and inquisitive gaze of Mr Sen.

Mr Sen : So you are from Canada. I think Makar Shankranti Rekha passes through Canada. There must be a lot of earthquakes.
Robin : Earthquakes? What is the Makar ... Rekha?
Mrs Sen : (from somewhere within) Opf! Abar oshob shuru korecho? Putul likheche na je oder okhan diye kono rekha-tekha jaye na? (comes in with a tray) Ta, how is Putul?
Robin : Oh, she is doing very well. She sent you a letter (fishing inside his bag, bringing out the letter and handing it to Mr Sen), these hair-dyes and cosmetics for you (hands a package to Mrs Sen) and this box of paints for you (hands a box to Mr Sen, who is still trying to open the letter). She will come next month after her exams.

An extended pause ensued as Anita's letter was read by the couple and the presents were examined. Robin finished his Glucon C.

Robin : Anh, did Anita mention something about our plans?
Mr Sen : Yes, yes. We are looking forward to the trip to Shantiniketan.
Robin : No, no, the plans about, uuh, us getting married ...
Mrs Sen : Yes, she told us yesterday. (her voice taking on a stern tone)
Mr Sen : (sadly despondent) Aajkalkar chele-meyera gurujonder kotha kothaye shone. Aamra aar ki bolbo bolo? Ta tumi pon chao na to baba.
Mrs Sen : Look here Robin, Anita must have told you that I am a lawyer, a divorce lawyer. I see one hundred bad marraiges every week. Ei tomra nije-nije dekhe shune biye koro aar amader ghare jhamela chape.
Robin : (slightly emboldened) That is why I came here today, to secure your approval. We are very responsible ...
Mrs Sen : Chop! You young fellows have a tendency to argue with elders. Tell me, what do you do for a living?
Robin : I am a marketing consultant ...
Mrs Sen : Ki? (thundering) You are a salesman!
Mr Sen : (quite taken with the box of paints) These are very good paints. Very good. Robin, do you sell these?
Robin : Please, please, I am *not* a salesman! I do not go from door to door selling stuff. My job is to study the market data and analyze it. I specialize in computers and accessories. There are supermarkets who hire us, even Safeway. Please don't call me a salesman. (his hurt feelings lending eloquence) I am very well paid. Have a car, a nice apartment. Anita knows that. She even lived with me for a month when her apartment was burnt down (cuts himself short realizing the bombshell he has just dropped).
Mrs Sen : (to Mr Sen, in a very shrill jhograti voice) Ki? Ki bolechilam? Meyetake Canada jete diyo na. Tokhon ke amar kotha shone. Bap-meyete mile ki korecho dekho. Meyeta ekta bador toiri hoyeche. Amader bollo, Kiron bole or ek bondhur barite utheche. (to Robin) Look you Robin. I will not have anything to do with you. If you did something wrong, God will give you punish.
Mr Sen : Look Robin, take my advice, don't get married. Chobi aako, Robin, chobi aako (looking at Mrs Sen) mon bhalo thakbe.
Robin : (making a last ditch effort to save the day) I am sorry for the misunderstanding. My behaviour was always impeccable. I've been been employee of the month twice. I was considered a model teacher when I was in St Thomas'. I even got the Best Conduct Award many times as a student.
Mrs Sen : Chop! You look exactly like a rowdy ruffian. Taking advantage of my daughter! Get out now noyto matha phatiye debo (inching towards the mallet). Ashuk Anita, dekhacchi moja.

Robin suddenly found himself on the street, his ears ringing, sweat dripping down his collar. He didn't know what he was doing there, nor did he remember where he was supposed to be going and he felt extremely hungry. Only two names buzzed about his brain "Anita", "Putul", "Anita", "Putul". He wondered who they were. There was a group of women resembling Taraka Rakhkhashis sitting around and fighting over a tube-well. He walked up to them to ask for directions.

Arnab, 1999/08/01, "A Peek In The Mailbox"

Hi Rupa,

Today was a very special day in our house. Jagdishkaku came to visit us after two long years. Jagdishkaku is now a big politician. He came in a new air-conditioned Ambassador with dark windows and a stereo system. He has a driver and a bodyguard who stood outside our door the entire afternoon. All the boys of our para came and stood in front of our house, trying to get a glimpse of Jagdishkaku. From time to time I watched them from behind the curtains - it was so funny. Ganesh tried to talk to the bodyguard but got a scolding instead. Kirondi said there were some reporters there too. They asked her who daddy was etc :-)

Ganesh was indeed quite snubbed. He had been sent to meet Jagdish Rai by Manada, who was now home but still pretty immobile. The situation was urgent. The Academic Party had taken advantage of his indisposition and cut deep into his territory. Their local comittee member, a goon named Satram, had started offering protection to the local hawkers and half his cadres had already defected to his side. This was not right. On paper, the CPM and the Academic Party were friends. They had even allowed the Academic Party to contest the general elections from Jadavpur - his home constituency - but understanding and goodwill were sorely lacking. He had called up the Academic Party office countless times but was put on hold before someone asked for his name and number. No one had called back. So Ganesh paced the pavement for two hours before retiring to the party den to play carrom deep into the night.

Ma and daddy talked on and on about Jamshedpur and their schooldays. Jagdishkaku repeated the famous story about daddy being locked up in the school toilet and breaking down the door. He laughed so loudly that the bodyguard came in to ask if everything was alright. Ma started crying when they talked about the woods where Jagdishkaku, ma, daddy and chotopishi used to have picnics after bunking school. I think Jagdishkaku had a crush on chotopishi. He kept mentioning her. Jagdishkaku is still not married.

Poor Mamoni. If only she knew that Jagdishkaku and her chotopishi constituted only the tip of the iceberg. Beneath the nostalgic conversation of these three schoolmates, lay the bitter-sweet memories of those "picnics" and other mosti. Of course they didn't go to the same picnics all of the time. Mashima for example had been to some pretty naughty ones at Dalma Pahar with a guy called Bholanath. But that was before she met Palashbabu. Palashbabu on the other hand had never been lacking in company in the days when his fists and physique attracted more attention than his hairline. The boxer had had quite a time escorting some remarkably uninhibited females to the uninhabited banks of Dimna Lake that lasted well into the nightly news. Jagdish was, sadly, the unluckiest of them all and it was not for lack of enthusiasm. It never helped being tagged as a nerd in a suburban school. Only Palashbabu's sister Parna seemed to show him any "bhav" at all. He had, on several occasions, taken her out to his personal hideaway at the Dairy Farm by the Subarnarekha river. However, she invariably seemed to develop a strain of homesickness by the time the sun went down. Infact Jagdish had never had a lucky evening until much later, when the greatest prize of 'em all had melted in his arms. That one rash evening had tangled up his life so badly that he had developed a phobia for all things intimate.

Jagdishkaku is always so nice. He brought me a beautiful watch as an early birthday present. It is a Rolex or something like that. Ma has locked it in the vault - what a drag. He kept asking me about my future and how I was doing in school. He became very excited when daddy told him that I had got good marks in computers. I showed him my computer but he seemed a bit upset when I told him that I had installed Linux on it. Ma kept butting in with comments about my marraige and how it was difficult to find a decent boy these days with everyone having dark secrets in the past. Jagdishkaku was so upset by this that he dropped his teacup.

It was a good thing that names weren't mentioned during the conversation. The Ghoshal family would have learnt that Jagdish had spent the morning being overwhelmed by an uncharacteristically eloquent Ashes demanding the installation of Linux on all the computers at the Academic Party headquarters. Jagdish, on the other hand, would have appreciated the "Fundamental Interconnectedness Of All Things" had he learnt that the Don Juan who had so offended Mashima's sensibilities was none other than the same sorry genius. However, the glare that Palashbabu had given him when Mashima mentioned "dark secrets in the past" had addled his academically brilliant criminal mind. "Even Laloo", he said to himself as the teacup began it's journey from hand to floor, "would have wilted before that". There was little left for him to do but make another appointment with his spiritual guide, the venerable Maharshi Vankananda of Ranchi, and go home to Jamshedpur for the weekend.

I was forced to bring out my guitar and play a few songs for him. It was so embarrasing. I tried to play a "Ambulance Blues" but I had to pause after every chord and made a mess of it but everyone clapped. It reminded me of that line Pandiyan had written - "slapping on thigh leg and saying good, good". Jagdishkaku asked me to play a hindi song but I didn't know any so I sang "Purano Shei Diner Kotha", for what it's worth. Then Jagdishkaku told me that he was trying to get Bob Dylan to play at Rabindra Sarobar in August and he asked me if I wanted to meet him. I am so excited! He said he will let me know once the whole thing was finalized. I can't believe my luck! Don't worry, I'll get you in too. Robert would kill me if he knew about it and I didn't take him along.

Well, Mamoni wasn't exactly a Bob Dylan fan. It was just something that had rubbed off from Robert. Her musical taste encompassed Shyama Sangeet and Bhangra and she was known for dancing maniacally to the drums at the local puja pandal. Why she had chosen to play "Ambulance Blues" is one of those things we'll never know. Whatever the reason, the performance had left quite an impression on Jagdish - especially the line "There ain't nothing like a friend / Who can tell you when you're pissing in the wind", which reminded him of his last visit to Ranchi when Vankananda had urged him to give up his evil ways and do something constructive.

I met Ashes (the bald guy) the other day on Park Street. He was so nice - bought me icecreams and all. These days I am so confused, I don't know what to do. But as long as everything is wonderful, I'll just have fun. Call me as soon as possible. Tell me all about Anindya and your "romantic get-away" to Digha.

Take care,
Mamoni

Anindya, 1999/08/12, "Frustrated Jawani"

The sultry afternoon in the squalid corner of his small apartment made Robert curse the present political senario in Calcutta. How could a government not provide even the basic amenities - electricity and water. He had already drained a gallon of sweat but there was nothing to replenish this aquatic loss. He sat down with a paper to write down a aetel kobita in the manner of Arnab. He didn't know why he was doing this, it just seemed like a good idea at that point of time. Caprices do overrule practical sense sometimes.

The sudden doorbell surprised him and he cursed himself to find the fan switched off. The doorbell rang again and he rushed to find the postman with a clipboard and an important looking letter.

"Registered letter. Robert Pal ke?", the postman quipped. "Ami". "Sign right here".

Having finished off with the formalities, Robert wondered who could have sent him a registerd letter. A close examination revealed that the sender was North Wind Publications. His adrenelin started flowing fast, his heart thumped hard. Had he the Mask like Jim Carey, he could have demonstrated it to everybody. Did he have it or did he not? The answer was simple but he did not want to know it. He preferred to live in a world of ambiguity. He had seen the regret letters which Anindya had received from the US universities. The poor chap could not make it, apparently lost his wit and turned into a pro photographer. What, thought Robert, would he do if he didn't get the job. He had no interest in photography, nor did he have the money to buy an expensive camera which Anindya had luckily received as a present. But, of course, there was no reason to be pessimistic. Why would the company spend any extra money to register a piece of trash which meant nothing to the company nor to the person concerned?

The bus was overcrowded as usual. Robert barely had enough space to stand and he swayed to the random brakes. Without the support of his fellow passengers, he would have been rolling on the floor by now. The humidity was terrible and channels of sweat dripped from his nose. He felt a tickle and trying to scratch his nose his hand went and struck the person standing next to him.

Passenger : Ei je dada - eshob ki hocche? Gharer opor ulte porchen, pa maracchen, ekhon abar chor-thappor marcchen? Chohk-guloke ki pockete pure rekhechen?
Robert : Sorry.
Passenger : Sorry bollei shatkhun maap?
Robert : (utterly disgusted) Hathe ki chokh acchay naki amar. Sorry bollam, pochondo hocchae na? Guto-guti sojjho korte paren na to bhir bus-e uthechen keno?
Pasenger : (surprised) Maney?
Robert : Maney abar ki? Chup chap dariye thakun, na parlay taxi te giye chorun.

When the Jadavpur Purbachal mini bus reached Tallygonj Phari it was already ten minutes past six in the evening and he doubted whether he could still make the show. He ran towards Pradip to watch the latest Jawani movie. The hall shows only two five minute clips of blue film in each half of the film and he has already missed the first.

As Robert sat down to relieve his frustrations, the fatal words echoed again: "We regret to inform you that inspite of your excellent qualifications we are unable to accomodate you in our firm at this time. We wish you success in your future endeavors"

Vanka/Arnab, 1999/08/14, "Posts And The Pandiyan (A Newsgroup Discussion)"

> In article <19990808164520.26091.00009798@boson.bose.res.in>,
>  arnab@boson.bose.res.in (Arnab Majumdar) wrote:
>
>> This is hilarious - Arnab
>>
>> --------------------------
>>
>> Scratch-Man Strikes Kambli : Cricketer In Hospital
>>
>> Calcutta, August 14. - India's star cricketer Vinod Kambli has been
>> admitted to the Calcutta Hospital following a vicious attack by the
>> madman popularly known as Scratch-Man outside the Kalighat temple.
>>
>> The cricketer, who has recently returned to the national side, was
>> on a goodwill mission in the red-light district, distributing condoms
>> to the sex workers and raising awareness about AIDS, late into the
>> night. He was ambushed near his car and was severely bruised before
>> admirers and friends reached the scene. An eye-witness described the
>> assailant as short, pale and middle-aged. "He wore a dirty kurta, did
>> not appear to be very well off", she said.
>>
>> Vinod Kambli is the seventh reported victim of Scratch-Man. Calcutta
>> Police Psychologist, Dr. Biswapesh Chattopadhyay, said that it was
>> impossible to catch the man unless caught red-handed. "So far all he
>> victims have been bald, emotionally unstable and with long reaction
>> times. It is quite possible that we are dealing with a fetishist of
>> some kind," he said. 
>>
>> Reacting to the news about the assault on his close friend, Indian
>> skipper Sachin Tendulkar expressed his shock and disgust. "My
>> sympathies lie not only with Vinod but with the all the victims and
>> their families. It is a sad state of affairs when an entire city is
>> terrorized by a degenerate lunatic," Tendulkar said. Later the master
>> batsman launched the "Scratch-Man Victims Benefit Fund" to help the
>> victims with their medical expenses.
>
>
> Kembli is going to bad place and doing bad stiff. He has lost mustache
> in public toilet and also he is giving head hair to Tirupattu, Killigut
> and other such crow palace. He is wearing ear-ring and singing  
> Maharashtri song in female-Manglescar type voice. He is putting drama
> and crying for fellow crow on father's death. Geekwad and other Brahmin
> type fellows are saying good good, and putting Kembli for Azharudden in
> team. Kembli is wearing sari at night and doing bad things with Laila,
> Geekwad, Dangerpoor and other crows. Now he is making people cry by
> putting false drama and lying in white sheet bed and saying "I am
> attacked saar, I am attacked saar" Like that he is saying. He is
> getting Brahmin crow and family cat to scratch the head and is putting
> marks with comb. He is doing super centrevertessy and crying on
> sattilite, plane, Zee TV ,Doordardeshan, and other such place. Everybody
> is saying poor boy he is getting attack and they are sending him money
> and flowers. Don't do drama saar. Evil man will go to dark place and
> not get it up.Openly I am saying that Kembli will not get it up and get
> rice in dark place by drama.
> 
> Jamadaram type fellow - you are putting news in the group and making
> play on drama. How much Kembli you know? Go to white house and see
> Kembli on white sheet bed with the comb marks saar. See the comb marks.
> 
>	    	 Yours faithfully,     
>   		 Perumselva Pandiyan
 

If there is any proof required to show that this man is insane, here it
is. While the whole nation is grieving over the unfortunate attack on
Kambli, this man makes inane and ugly comments about him. Not only are his
comments in very poor taste, they also show how degraded his way of
thinking is - witness how he makes the ear-ring worn by Kambli an issue to
make Kambli look like a member of a male escort service! It is disgusting
indeed and only goes to show that the this Pandiyan fellow has no humanity
in him and is a heartless fiend who should be banished from the country.
Though I still believe that this is the handiwork of a Pakistani agent, I
will not be surprised if that madman who attacked Kambli turns out to be
Pandiyan himself.

At this hour of crisis, we should all stand by Kambli. The nation needs
him to not get shattered by this ghastly incident and go on to recover and
to achieve higher heights. We are all with you, Kambli. I exhort all
members of the newsgroup to generously contribute to the Scratch-Man
Victims Benefit Fund. All these attempts made by Pandiyan sympathisers and
Pakistanis to create havoc and uncertainty in the Indian Team will lead to
nothing. Be forewarned.


---- Atanu [down with the Pandiyans of the world] Chatt

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