The Brolly Story

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.