It's been almost a month since I last posted; even longer since I have seen a movie. I have spent this time merely getting myself to function. I feel like a rather tired Phoenix. Note that I haven't
yet risen; just struggling to do so. It's nice to be back. It's nicer to
know I was missed. :) Thank you.
Like all things in this world today are outsourced, I decided that in my absence, my husband could pitch in to keep my blog going.
He had come back from India a couple of months ago, and had regaled me with a very vivid tale of how my aunt, with much hand waving and emotional angst, had told an interested audience (that included him, his mother, and my mother) the sad story of her trials - with an umbrella. My husband said he was enthralled as much by the way she told it, as by the story itself. Once he ended, and I had stopped laughing, he thought it deserved to be put into verse. (Of course!)
Before we get to the versification of the tale, here is the tale itself:
My aunt's niece (no, not me; her sister's daughter) brought her a very colourful umbrella when she came down from Sharjah. (Yes, I know it smacks of bringing coal to Newcastle, but that is subject for another post.) Aunt was thrilled; until, she found that, once opened, it promptly shut. It didn't matter how much she tried; the button wouldn't work, and she couldn't keep it open. After much sweat and toil (and no cursing... my aunt is a lady!), she gave in, but did not give up. However, she knew that was not the end of the matter. How on earth was she going to get to use this wonderful umbrella if it wouldn't open and shut at will?
My husband attempts to tell the tale of what happened next, as she strove to find a way to bend the umbrella to her will. Who won? Who lost? Read on...
The Umbrella
(and how it affected my
wife's aunt and other people)
I
hope this tale will not haunt
(You
know I wish my readers well)
But
a tale I will tell of my wife’s aunt
and
the umbrella -- from hell.
It
came to her from Sharjah, that place
where
the Indian cricket team
has
often preferred disgrace
to
bolstering self esteem.
It
was given to her by her niece
And
of her, no more shall be said
Like
old soothsayers who speak their piece,
she
played her part, and fled.
An
umbrella that was so glorious
it
came carried by the wind
(Err…
actually in an A320 Airbus)
to
a bustling part of Hind.
To
a place where all was green,
Everything
a verdant hue
Not
another colour to disturb the scene
Not
even the water was blue.
At
this point my friends, I decree
I
will change the rhyming sequence
from
ABAB to AABB
(Good
people, I crave your indulgence.)
The
umbrella was met with cries of delight
My
wife's aunt said, "This is just so right
I
can use it to ward off the rain
And
fight people off getting into a train.”
And
so she picked it up and lovingly pressed
the
button, on the handle that she guessed
would
open this wondrous, amazing creation
But
to her shock, horror, consternation...
The
umbrella shot forth with violence
as
if propelled by some malignance
Then,
quivered for a moment, fully unfurled
and
snapped back, closed to the world.
"My
word," said my wife's aunt admiringly
"These
foreign machines are built so powerfully,
and
though I shrieked at its violent action
I
am amazed by the strength of its reaction.
“But
can I handle this instrument
even
after ten eggs and a stimulant?
Is
this umbrella too much for me?
Would
keeping it be an exercise in futility?”
"Plus,
it does not remain open, it closes,"
said
watching relatives. "So we proposes
that
to get it to work, you must first repair
it,
so you can hold it up in the air."
My
wife's aunt said, "That is so true
I
guess that is what anybody would do
However,
let us give it one more chance.”
The
closed, sinister umbrella resembled a lance.
She
pressed the button on the handle one more.
The
umbrella leapt forth as if to gore
a
passing relative, nephew, mother...
If
it couldn’t get this one, it would settle for the other.
And
then, alas, it closed itself shut again.
My
wife's aunt hurriedly sought some champagne
To
steady her nerves. (It should be said
she
never drank alcohol if she could have tea instead.)
She
hastened to the centre of the city
where
sat a repairer of great felicity
'twas
said the worst umbrellas he could repair
While
lesser competitors gave in to despair.
In
some places umbrellas are serious things,
and
you know their ’not workings’
can
fester and cause great pain
in
a land of much, much, and more rain.
So
she marched up to the repairer and stood in queue
‘til
and finally when he came into view
"What
can I do for you, my lady?" he said.
On
seeing the umbrella he fell as if dead.
They
revived him with slippers and onions,
Tickling
him repeatedly on his bunions
And
when he awoke, as white as a sheet
he
covered his eyes and gazed at his feet.
In
a voice so faint you could scarcely hear
he
said, "Take that contraption away from here,
I
will have nothing to do with that foreign thing.
if
you had any pride you would not, it, here, bring.
“These
alien things are of terrible manufacture
They
do not work, but still they enrapture
our
people. Oh, how can we rid them of this evil?
Pray
take your umbrella and consign it to the devil.”
For
though a Marxist, you see
he
still believed in Swadeshi
Ideology
may be imported
but
foreign products must not be supported.
Then
my wife’s aunt’s mood was buoyed by the news
that
was imparted to her by a kindly muse
“There
is a Deepam Kuda1 at the edge of town.
They
can build umbrellas from even used nightgowns.”
At
Deepam Kuda, she explained her predicament.
She
dwelt on the obstinacy of the instrument.
"It
won't open," she said, “it only closes,
even
if I try it in different poses."
To
demonstrate, she went through the action,
Pressed
the button and watched the reaction.
The
umbrella jumped as if propelled
by
RDX, TNT and other materials as lethal
It
nearly swept a laptop to the ground
and
all the ladies who sat around
cried,
"Ente Yesho2, that terrible thing
is
possessed by some evil being."
Then,
the umbrella refused to close.
It
remained open, quivering, daring those
to
shut it at their own peril.
As
if, if they did, it would do them some evil.
"Josetta3,"
people cried in accents of despair
and
from the workshop under the stair
came
a person with a mien indomitable
who,
in a forbidding tone asked, what had roused the rabble.
"She
said it does not open, only closes;
But
that is not true, we swear by our noses
It
does what it wants when it feels like it
Can
you take it down and fix it in the pit?”
He
picked up the umbrella and looked it up and down
and
on his face there appeared an intense frown
He
disappeared into the depths from whence he came
My
wife's aunt wondered if this meant he could tame.
But
he came up from below with a look on his face
Shock
and anger written all over the place
He
held the umbrella at the end of his arm
as
if to ward away some perilous harm
"Madam,"
he said, "it is all your fault
We
tried everything down in the vault
to
open and close it on command
by
the press of a button or on demand.
“We
tried every ruse, methods unorthodox
Both
Nuclear fission and injections of botox
Non-linear
algebra and synthetic biology
And
the dark art of inversional chronology.
“Yet
this umbrella, it will not yield
and
much though you may try to keep it sealed
I
think that it is plain to the eye
The
fault of its malfunction lies with you, not I.”
Saying
this he thrust the umbrella at her
And
hastened backwards to make his departure
He
headed away, that tormented soul
And
left her holding the parasol
But
my wife's aunt was made of sterner stuff
She
decided to call the open umbrella’s bluff.
Seized
the thing and disregarding the danger,
Beat
it closed with a passing coat hanger
Then,
using needle and thread she stitched it so fine
Bound
it tightly with thread and with twine
Then
she stood sternly to attention
Looked
at the crowd with an earnest expression
“An
umbrella it will not be, it does not function
I,
however, will have no compunction
to
make other uses of it, and with this trick
I
will present it to my mother as a new walking stick.”
After
that, she went to the centre of the city
Where
sat the repairer, mentioned earlier in this ditty
“Ah
madam,” you have found your way out of the fix
Now
for you a local umbrella, wonly Rs. Three twenty six...”
So
now she walks without a care
the
new umbrella up in the air
And,
when the centre of the city she passes
The
repairer smiles through his 'Made in India'4 glasses.
The
'walking-stick’ can now be seen, hanging on the wall
Of
my wife's aunt's mother's house's hall
People
come to look at it and admire
The
manufacture, the design, the very attire
Of
this thing that was transformed by an act of will
By
the wisdom, strength and a woman's skill
And
so ends the story that I felt I must tell
Of
my wife's aunt and her umbrella from hell.
1.
Deepam Umbrellas
2.
'Oh, Jesus!'
3.
Brother Jose
4.
Shameless plug.
I
always get my glasses made in India
For
to help the local industry I do what I can
Who
cares if the frame is from California
And
the lenses from Japan
©Sadanand Warrier 2011
ps: Based on a true story. (operational word 'Based')
pps: Any similarity to characters and situations is deliberate and exaggerated.
ppps: Any fallout from the publication of this 'pome' shall be visited on the author and not on the poor blogger (ME!)who merely introduced the pome and gave it a public platform.
