Musings of an Octopus Vulgaris

It is possible, all these years you have seen me only on National Geographic, observed my meeting and mating antics over a bowl of freshly popped corn or pushed a dead meat me around with a fork in your seafood salad. A few decades back, James tried to Bond with me over a reel of Octopussy. I was quite unfairly made the villain of the piece. Now, in the first decade of the 21st century, I am back with a crash and bang sending the world into paroxysms with my soothsaying capabilities. Hi, I am Paul the world’s most famous Octopus Vulgaris. I don’t suffer from two left feet, I have eight. I am big headed but not pig headed. I have never kicked a football in my life, yet my psychic powers have squished the air out of many a ball.

They say, I am more famous than all the footballers put together. The global talking point, I am the most written about, the most hated and the most loved celebrity in the world. The other day a sensational Indian channel “Aaj Tak” featured me as “Baba Paul, Samundar ka chamatkar Jyotishi”. They say Baba Ramdev, an Indian Icon has now gone into deep melancholy and was last seen sipping “Lauki juice” at a local bar.

The Spaniards call me “El Pulpo Paul” and are begging me to emigrate. Of late, I have been getting a lot of fan mail from Octopuses in Spain. Thanks to me, they are now leading longer, fuller lives. The Germans are octo-pissed. They all want a slice of me fried, steamed or otherwise. The Spanish PM is deeply concerned about my safety and wants to send in a team to protect me. I have asked him to just chill with a glass of Sangria.

Bookies are learning to speak “Octopussese”. They have stopped laying a bet on football teams and are betting on what Paul will predict instead. Steve Job wants to rename I Pad to Octo-pad. PETA wants to liberate me from my cramped tank in Sea Life Centre. . They are now pestering Larissa Riquelme to spearhead their “dump your cellphone for a cephalopod” campaign. She will be posing in the buff of course with a floppy me on her head.

I know, at four I'm too young to think of career options. But I can’t be making football predictions all my life from that dreary tank. And I am so bored of picking on mussels. This is not me. I want a change of direction; I want to lead a more meaningful life. Nope a boring 9 – 5 will not do for me, I have grown too used to the limelight. I do have a lot of business proposals though. Lucrative contracts from German TV stations. Greece wants me to forecast the outcome of their financial crisis. They want me in Iraq to predict election results. Market analysts have been eyeing me with new found respect and are hedging their reports with a “unless Paul says differently”. Sigh, I will soon be needing a tax consultant, a PR team, a legal eagle to help me build my empire. I already know what I will call it – The Buoyant Clairvoyant Corporation”, BCC not be confused with the rogue BCCI.

But is this what I really want? The lifestyle of the rich and the famous, cruising in my yacht at Cannes, partying with Paris Hilton, constantly hounded by the paparazzi! Last night I finally made a decision. Yes, I finally know what I want and am at peace. I have decided I will be following my heart and not let my big head do the thinking. I am emigrating, not to Spain but to Paraguay. Ever since she dumped her cellphone, Larissa Riquelme has been looking for a replacement. I want to spend the rest of my life nestled close to her heart, predicting the rise and fall of her assets.