“The Mischievous Patels”

The rain had stopped pouring and the ominous clouds parted to let the Sun shine upon the Earth again. Mr.Patel combed his hair, picked up his brolly , made a few final adjustments to his appearance and left his humble abode to rescue his son from the draconian class teacher, Mrs. Nicole Briganza.

                                                                           ***

His son, known as Rahul from the day he was born was the most mischievous terror that ever existed in the history of their bloodline. Once he was caught emptying the medicinal powders from the capsules and replacing them with talcum powder. The pills belonged to his grandfather, a heart patient, who needed to meet a doctor every alternate day.  Though mother came up with the most fitting way to deal with him, which was to sell his mobile gizmo on Ebay, his grandmother being a traditional woman locked him in a room with her, hiding the keys so no one interrupted them, carrying along with her a wooden stick. No one knew what happened after that, even though Rahul’s cries for help left no doubt in people’s minds. Unfortunately, no hero created by Stan Lee came to his rescue.

                                                                           ***

I’ll make sure that you are suspended this time for a whole month!” Mrs. Briganza shouted at Rahul.

“But it was Nikhil who did it! I’m not at fault!” Rahul said, trying not to look guilty.

“Keep your silly excuses to yourself or I’ll make sure you’ll have to find yourself a new school soon” she threatened.

Rahul shook his head and decided to remain calm while waiting for his father to take charge of the situation.

“Hopefully your father has better manners than you!” she screamed in frustration. Her remarks were turning out to be more sardonic than sarcastic.

Fraught with distress, Rahul looked at his watch and realized that his agony had already commenced.

                                                                          ***

“I’m here to meet Mrs. Briganza.” Mr. Patel asked the pretty receptionist, who was busy on another line.

“Parents call?” She asked.

“Ah---Yes” He tried to hide his embarrassment with a casual reply.

“First floor, second door to your left” She smiled.

“Thank you”

                                                                       ***

 

Knock Knock.

Familiar with his father’s knocking behavior Rahul jumped, “I think my father is outside the door.”

“Bring him inside.” she said, her voice marking her voice tone marking the arrival of a catastrophe due at any moment.

As Mr. Patel entered the room, he was mysteriously startled as he saw the beautiful and yet very authoritarian Mrs. Briganza. Her expression was the same; cantankerous and draconian.

“Rahul, please wait outside the room, I would prefer to talk to your father in private.” She said gently, her tone softening from her usual bark.

Rahul turned and walked towards the door, feeling relieved that his father wouldn’t have to be embarrassed in front of his son.

                                                                               ***

Mr. Patel and Mrs. Bariganza remained quiet and bandied mysterious looks to each other for a couple of minutes.

“Nicole?” Mr. Patel asked with a doubt inside his puzzling head.

“Raj?” She replied with a question. “It’s---been a long time! How’ve you been?”

“I’m doing well” replied Mr. Patel with a mischievous smile. “You still look the same—the way you used to during our college days” he continued flirting.

“Oh please----“she replied blushingly. “So Rahul is your son?” She asked with deep interest.

“Yes, he is”  “He could have been our son if things had worked out well.”

“But we were too young then, and not serious at all” She explained. “And everything happens for good Raj.”

“Yes, you’re right.” He smiled. “Anyway, so when did you turn Briganza?”

“About a decade earlier.”
(The conversation continues....)

                                                                            ***

                               

After half an hour, Mr. Patel enters the corridor looks down angrily and ferociously towards his son, “Your mother is definitely selling your Play Station on Ebay this time.”

                    

FUCKING ALL THE WAY...

Thanks to Focko, the Bavarian nobleman, there exists a small village called Fucking in upper Austria. It has a special meaning for the inhabitants of this hamlet, who are “Focko’s people”; but the tourists take it otherwise jumping to their own vulgar conclusions while clicking photos in front of the “Fucking” road signs. The only crime reported here is the theft of these road signs (mostly by tourists) who keep them as souvenirs. It’s sad, but true, that the best thing about this celestial and picturesque village is, not the lakes, forests and the mountains but, only its name “Fucking”.

One evening, the whole village gathered together to discuss this serious issue. Jokkum, a 10 year old boy with chubby cheeks and curly brown hair put forward his view: which was to simply change the name. Silence fell like a blanket over the village folk. All of a sudden, the head of this little hamlet, Tomas Sorensen, barked ferociously, “Fucking has existed for 800 years now! Everyone here knows what it means in English, but for us Fucking is Fucking — and it’s going to stay Fucking!”

When the local news channel interviewed Aleksander Negaard, the local police chief, about the foreign nationals causing disorder in Fucking, he went berserk proclaiming “ We will not stand for the Fucking signs to be removed. It may be very amusing for you, but Fucking is simply Fucking to us. What is this big Fucking joke!?!”

A wise man used Fucking’s name to his advantage. He opened up a small boutique selling t-shirts with the catchword “I like Fucking in Austria” printed on them. This business venture turned out to be quite profitable for him. Unfortunately it had to be shut down when he started receiving death threats from his own people. The Fucking citizens are very patriotic!!

Few years back Fucking hosted the “Festival of the Fuck Bands”. Forget about U2, Backstreet Boys, Bon Jovi and Greenday. The four bands who performed live were Fucked Up, Holy Fuck, Fuck and Fuck Buttons. What a Fucking way to introduce Fucking to the entire world!!

We’ll I’ve made a little effort and joined fucking hands with the Fucking people to promote Fucking to a certain degree. So next time when your friends or enemies throw profanities at you like “where the fuck are you?”, “what the fuck”, “don’t fuck around with me”, “get the fuck out of here”; you don’t have to take out your gun and shoot them. Instead, just take them on a Fucking trip!!  

                                                                                                                      

I CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT ___________ !!

Everyone is familiar with fungus growing out of the walls but we never tried to find out how it gives birth to itself. Well, I’m not going to throw the blanket of boredom over you explaining the history but Michael, my Dutch uncle tells me it has something to do with high humidity, condensation and water leaks. Just google it if you readers want to know more about this weird and silly issue!!

You can ignore the first paragraph, it’s not really important.
Let me introduce Peter, the dirtiest man alive on this planet who also happens to be my friend, unfortunately. Why dirty?? You will know soon!!
Patience!!

If there is anything I can’t live with in this world, it will be my wife, Mary. For Mary, it’s not me, but shopping. For Peter, it’s MUSHROOMS!!

Back in schooldays I remember Peter bringing fried mushrooms almost every other day. Well, we all stayed away from him. None of us really liked mushrooms in those juvenile days.

In college, he was kicked out of the rugby
team. Why?? At half time ‘hungry Peter’ was starving. It was Tuesday. Peter knew his special was cooking in the canteen kitchen and knew where he was supposed to be. The college never saw him back on the pitch again.

Next was his marriage reception where I had to taste five different types of mushrooms. I think that was the last time I’ve ever had mushrooms in my life.

My official trip to Copenhagen for a couple of days helped me to meet Peter after four long years since I stay in Rome now. He has a beautiful, country-looking house. Since I was so tired, I went to take a shower straightaway. To my surprise, something was waiting for me ‘down’ there. Guess what?? I saw “MUSHROOMS” growing out from every corner of the wall. I rushed out with only my towel on.

“Did I just see mushrooms going in your bathroom”?
“You know I can’t kill them”
“Are you insane?”
“Sshhh…Just a couple of weeks more and then I’m going to cook it myself”.

FACEBOOK DIARIES

The number of morons proliferating in ‘facebook’ is ridiculous. Yes I’m one of them too. When asked by my economics teacher to define the word ‘need’, she was taken aback when she heard what my answer was. It was facebook. It wasn’t a definition; instead it was what I actually needed. Well, the outcome wasn’t quite surprising to me. Two tight slaps and two weeks of detention from Mrs. Parker. That’s her name. She is the ugliest woman I’ve ever seen during my lifetime and her queer looking face makes me puke all the time. Her most noble asset is her moustache which I’m sure she has never trimmed since she was born. Somehow I felt she loved flaunting it.

Just like a man cannot survive without food and shelter I can’t survive without ‘Farmville’. I don’t care how much pocket money I get from my folks but I make sure I have enough ‘farm coins’ to harvest my crops regularly and systematically. I’m highly respected in my school among my peers for having the foremost and the finest farms ever made on facebook. My dad, who acts like a loser, wants me to be a cytotechnologist. What is that?? Whatever it is, it sounds profoundly boring. I’m seriously taking farming as one of my career options. Switzerland looks like the best perfect location. But I wonder whether I should take up farming courses after graduating from high school or the knowledge I’ve gained from Farmville is more than enough. My folks are going to freak out but it’s indubitably going to be FARMING and in Switzerland beyond any doubt.

I’m very unpunctual when it comes to introducing me. I’m Wesley Beckham. Finally I’m proud of my parents just because they’re the ‘Beckhams’. It feels like I’m a born footballer but in reality my football skills sucks. It really does. Once we were playing against Reading high school and just after half time I had a wonderful solo run with the ball from halfway chucking and nodding everyone including my own teammates, as if the combined spirits of Messi and Ronaldo is inside me, finally beating the goalkeeper to score an astonishing goal. I wanted my celebration style to be very special. I took off my jersey to flaunt my naked chest to impress the pretty ladies with my sporting aggressiveness. I was already famous. Beer, parties, women, and playing for Manchester United were all in my mind. I was sure the Reading fans were looking at me with disgust and despising me like hell. As if I cared?? It was I who scored not them. All of a sudden I actualize I’m not the only one celebrating but my arch nemesis were too. Guess what? I just scored an own goal. What I forgot was to switch sides after half time. I was immediately substituted and a lifetime ban to play for Kingsley Highland. I think I hung my boots after that match.

“Wesley ‘faggot’ Beckham is a disgrace for Kingsley Highland. If I ever see him again I’ll make sure his nose is worse looking than Owen Wilson’s.” That’s the latest facebook status update from Gary Chadwick. To be very frank he’s a monster, a fiend. The body he has manufactured from his daily workout in the gym terrorizes fear among his classmates, principal, and also his parents. I don’t think I need to explain any further whether I’m scared of him or not. But he’s never ever going to catch hold of me. By the way I forgot to mention that he was in the team too. I still remember how he was craving and yearning for a pass, and how I turned deaf hears to him (on purpose), when my eyes were set on a mission to score the wonderful solo selfish goal, which turned out to be a catastrophe eventually. As the final whistle blew I took off like a jet plane. I just ran and ran till my lungs got tight, knees got heavy, eyes got dizzy and I was out of breath. The joy and happiness, when I was safely back home, was priceless. Priceless my ass!! I left my bicycle back in school. It was couriered after a few hours but, not quite surprisingly, in broken fragments.  

The only question I get quite a lot by strangers is “Hey are you related to ‘David Beckham’ by any chance?? Reality check, I’m nowhere related to David Beckham. He doesn’t even know I exist in this planet Earth. But for a stranger David is my cousin, who hangs out frequently in my crib, gifts me season tickets, takes me out to the lavish and luxurious football parties which consists of handsome football stars, renowned managers, and sensuous supermodels. Then I realize the stranger wants to be my best friend. I promise them when David is home I’ll give them a call. Hence these strangers give me a ride back home or treat me my favorite Burger King’s special. I keep a fake facebook account for these strangers.

Well last Christmas was the best Christmas I’ve ever had. My folks, who are pretty weird anyway, wanted a warm Christmas. What’s a ‘warm Christmas?’ Were they expecting the Sun to kiss England? I don’t’ know. Actually they were invited by Aunt Olivia to celebrate Christmas in Melbourne, Australia. I was still perplexed about the weather in Australia. My dad tried to explain to me why it is warm in December and summer instead of winter. He said some shit about the Earth’s axis…northern hemisphere…and the southern hemisphere. What is a ‘hemisphere’ by the way? I didn’t bother to ask him. I was just nodding my head like the way I do in Mrs. Parker’s class.

My best friends Jeremy Coyle, Warren Campbell, Rupert Holland and Frank Southcott are all freaking bastards. I had to spend my Christmas with these bastards instead of my parents. But I prefer these bastards over my boring folks. Every Christmas my mom would prepare this roast turkey followed by a social gathering consisting of only senior citizens. What am I going to talk to them? Not even their hot daughters turn up. And if u think I’ve got a fetish for old women you’re wrong. I was sure this Christmas had loads of surprises for me. Since my folks are gone, all the responsibilities were on me; like the lights, paintings, food and the Christmas tree. Thanks to my friends who were always there. I found my old camera. Thank God it was still working fine. This Christmas was going to be special. I wanted to capture each and every moment of it. This time when I upload my Christmas pictures in facebook, I’ll make sure that my album is the best among my friends and it is  I who enjoys Christmas, the most, like hell!!

One of my photos got 273 likes and a million comments. It’s not in my Christmas album but in Frank Southcott’s album. He’s the eminent bastard out of the four. 273 likes and a million comments! It’s amazing right? Amazing my ass!! In the picture you can see its snowing outside through the window and just beside it is the beautifully lighted Christmas tree surrounded by gifts sent by my relatives. And beside the gifts someone was lying down unconsciously on the floor naked with only his boxer shorts on. No surprises! It was ME. I was wasted. I totally passed out. I don’t know whom should I blame; Carling, Strongbow, or Jack Daniel’s?

Nightmares struck like lighting right after New Years’. Firstly, I faced detention at home. My pocket money was cut down, was not allowed internet for two months which meant my Farm is going to rot. Poor vegetables! My poor cattle!  No more respect back in school. And bye bye Switzerland! Secondly, I felt sorry for my strangers. They can forget about their rendezvous with David Beckham for at least a couple of months. As if it’s ever going to happen! Last but not the least; I had to go through detention for a month in school. Mrs. Parker somehow found out I used to make fun of her moustache. She caught me red handed. Her moustache shenanigan was one of my facebook status update. In spite of the fact that I had my spies around just like James Bond how did she come to know about it? Eventually I found out it was Gary Chadwick, the fiend, who complained Mrs. Parker about it. Somehow he took his revenge. It was a sweet one!