No Country For Old Men.....

Courtesy : TOI

A certain Buddha in Bengal is not smiling.   All the old fogies in Writer’s Building, who spent a lifetime sipping endless cups of chaa and chain-smoking Charminar plains, while rejecting applications for new projects,  are feeling dejected.   Oest Bengal will no longer be a bhillage.   It is ghor kalyug, they murmur – a bhodromohila with a penchant for histrionics and badly in need of sandals has ousted us.  Kee je jontronaa.  All these years we protected Bengal from the clutches of dirty capitalism and now these ungrateful ones are branding us as the new age Mahishashur and Didi as Durga.  Dekhaa jabe, what poriborton she brings. And aren’t we the Bandh specialists!  Cholbe naa....cholbe naa...

The painters have just arrived with gallons of green paint.  Writers building will no longer be red. 

In Chennai, ugly K with too many wives and children with strange names like Alagiri, Dayanidhi, Kanimozhi, Stalin(?) is furiously writing a script for another dud movie.  For the title, he is torn between Aiyyo Amma and Po Po from Poes.  The plot will be simble.  Amma in her cloak is the evil one who flies around the city on her broomstick causing destruction.  The hero, Rajni Anna abducts her and hand delivers her to the Martians.

Courtesy :

blogs.hindustantimes.com

J & K are the proverbial Tom and Jerry.  They spend considerable time and energy in masterminding witch hunts and sending each other to jail.  This time K has requested an advance booking at Tihar.  He wants a cell right next to his “prodigal son”.  They will watch G-rated movies together and practise voodoo magic. 

Meanwhile in Kerala, an outgoing octogenarian CM’s dreams of spending his ninth decade in office just got dashed.  But Achu is having the last laugh – the Amul babies went down like nine pins in the Assembly elections.  Only a Mallu knows the true worth of golden oldies.  See even the new CM, Oomen is touching 70. 

The troika of oldies meet at Talli club to drown their sorrows with Bacchus for company.  They peer at each other through their bifocals and exchange notes on medical ailments.  Buddha sighs...I wish I had a sandpit in my backyard, where I could bury my head.  I don’t feel like facing the world anymore.  For the time being I will bury my face in this ashtray.  Ugly K rasps ....I hear Madamjee has invited Amma for tea.  Looking at her girth, do you think she will be happy with just one measly cup of tea?  Buddha in an ominous tone says...Even Dids is on Madam’s speed dial.   Achu shakes his head in exasperation.  With chappal Didi in the east, cloak dagger Amma in South, handbag Behenjee with no Maya in North, Madamjee with Sheila babes in Centre and Tai on her charpai in Rasthrapati Bhawan – this is no country for honourable men like us. 

Buddha suddenly lifts his ash smeared face from the ashtray.  I heard Behenjee ordered a bonfire of revolting farmers in Bhatta-Parsaul in Noida.  Boys let’s organize a bandh and do a Mamata on Maya!  It will be such fun!  Achhu and K glare at him - We’ve already booked tickets to Bangkok to celebrate our well deserved retirement, won’t you be joining us?  Buddha buries his face in the ashtray again. 

Source : My fertile imagination