<p>When middle age sneaked up on me, sprinkled some grey paint on my jet-black kiss curls, I realised half of my life was over. <br /><br /></p>.<p>Late that night I was woken up by my Inner Voice and a firman was read out to me: “Thou Shalt Not Waste a Minute Hobnobbing With Those Slobs in the Military Codgers’ Club (MCC),” it commanded me, “And the Hours Thus Saved Shalt be Devoted to Creating Hilarity & Satire.”<br /><br />The slobs were my gang which tippled regularly at the Silly Point bar located close to the MCC’s cricket nets. The naughty bartenders had given us codenames — Gin & Ginger Juice was Colonel Chalky Menon; Double Large Whiskey went to Captain Tinky Mehra; Brandy & Hot Water to Wingo Ramesh Babu; I, ex-Navy, was given Rum & Soda, and Vodka on the Rocks belonged to Major Mani and soon to join us was Bloody Mary. <br /><br />Jettisoning them wasn’t going to be a cakewalk but sinister plots were already playing ping-pong inside my skull. I needed an accomplice, even an unwitting one.One morning, I was parking my Nano near the club’s gate when a plucky Maruti zoomed in and parked perilously close to me. As I switched off the ignition, a hairy hand came in through the window and its owner Jai-Hinded me. I was tempted to poke a pin but realised that the limb belonged to Major Panna-Pande; Mr Know-All of the MCC and a user-friendly bloke. I startled him with a hug.<br /><br />Just then a minor galata was in the offing at the gate. A tall, good-looking damsel in smart trousers and tuxedo was being denied entry by the security guard for lack of identity papers. <br /><br />“Who might that be?” I asked Panna-Pande. “Squadron Leader Lilly Nanda, Sir. Ex-Air Force dentist; pulled out the milk teeth of an air vice marshal and got sacked; freshly divorced. No kids,” data poured out of him double quick, “Ex-MCC Hyderabad. Here to transfer her membership. Favourite drink Bloody Mary...” <br /><br />That was sufficient for me. I walked straight towards her with a May-I-help-you-ma’am offer, signed her in as my guest and escorted her to the club’s office.Spectacles were adjusted as we two walked majestically into the Silly Point. I introduced Lilly to the gang and ordered a Bloody Mary. “Wow. How did you know my favourite drink?” she was delighted. My comrades whispered to me that she and I would make a good match, and soon, Lilly and I were going steady. I told her all the juicy stories about the gang.<br /><br />One day, she suddenly popped the expected question, “Aren’t we going to exchange the rings, JK?” I nearly rammed the Nano into the pole. “No way, Lilly. I prefer being single,” I replied, reversing. She sulked. <br /><br />But after a while she relaxed and joked about the gap between my front teeth. “JK, why don’t you drop in at my new clinic? I’ll fix it,” she offered. “Sure you would. But no, thanks,” I said, and from that day Lilly did not return my calls.<br /><br />She was not seen around for some time. One day, I noticed her at Silly Point with the gang and I knew that the balloon had gone up. She snubbed me. “Chalky, Sir,” she piped up, “JK was telling me that when you were the ADC to the President, you were asked to arrange Bismillah Khan’s shehnai recital for the visiting king of Togo.”<br /><br /> Chalky’s moustache drooped. “Yes, yes,” he interjected, “And I am sure this rascal must have also said that instead I flew in a nadaswaran team from Tamil Nadu without warning. That nadaswaran is 20 times more powerful than its younger sister, the shehnai. And that when they started, the king fainted. Utter rubbish.” He banged the table.<br /><br />“What about you, Wingo?” Ramesh Babu was her next target, “JK told me about your bombing raid on Pakistan in 1971; your bailing out of a burning Canberra is a cock ‘n’ bull story. You were shot down by our own artillery.” Babu closed his eyes and downed a double large brandy. And as Lilly trained her guns on Captain Tinky Mehra and mentioned his Veer Chakra and Kargil, the gang wanted to wring my throat. Like all brave men, I vamoosed, invaded the busy cricket pitch and saw the enraged umpires joining the chase. <br /><br />Sadly, the voice has no ears. It has never heard the phrase ‘Voice proposes, pen disposes’. Since my great escape from MCC a year ago, I have not been able to write a single funny or unfunny sentence. It’s a bug perhaps; they call it the writer’s block.<br /></p>
<p>When middle age sneaked up on me, sprinkled some grey paint on my jet-black kiss curls, I realised half of my life was over. <br /><br /></p>.<p>Late that night I was woken up by my Inner Voice and a firman was read out to me: “Thou Shalt Not Waste a Minute Hobnobbing With Those Slobs in the Military Codgers’ Club (MCC),” it commanded me, “And the Hours Thus Saved Shalt be Devoted to Creating Hilarity & Satire.”<br /><br />The slobs were my gang which tippled regularly at the Silly Point bar located close to the MCC’s cricket nets. The naughty bartenders had given us codenames — Gin & Ginger Juice was Colonel Chalky Menon; Double Large Whiskey went to Captain Tinky Mehra; Brandy & Hot Water to Wingo Ramesh Babu; I, ex-Navy, was given Rum & Soda, and Vodka on the Rocks belonged to Major Mani and soon to join us was Bloody Mary. <br /><br />Jettisoning them wasn’t going to be a cakewalk but sinister plots were already playing ping-pong inside my skull. I needed an accomplice, even an unwitting one.One morning, I was parking my Nano near the club’s gate when a plucky Maruti zoomed in and parked perilously close to me. As I switched off the ignition, a hairy hand came in through the window and its owner Jai-Hinded me. I was tempted to poke a pin but realised that the limb belonged to Major Panna-Pande; Mr Know-All of the MCC and a user-friendly bloke. I startled him with a hug.<br /><br />Just then a minor galata was in the offing at the gate. A tall, good-looking damsel in smart trousers and tuxedo was being denied entry by the security guard for lack of identity papers. <br /><br />“Who might that be?” I asked Panna-Pande. “Squadron Leader Lilly Nanda, Sir. Ex-Air Force dentist; pulled out the milk teeth of an air vice marshal and got sacked; freshly divorced. No kids,” data poured out of him double quick, “Ex-MCC Hyderabad. Here to transfer her membership. Favourite drink Bloody Mary...” <br /><br />That was sufficient for me. I walked straight towards her with a May-I-help-you-ma’am offer, signed her in as my guest and escorted her to the club’s office.Spectacles were adjusted as we two walked majestically into the Silly Point. I introduced Lilly to the gang and ordered a Bloody Mary. “Wow. How did you know my favourite drink?” she was delighted. My comrades whispered to me that she and I would make a good match, and soon, Lilly and I were going steady. I told her all the juicy stories about the gang.<br /><br />One day, she suddenly popped the expected question, “Aren’t we going to exchange the rings, JK?” I nearly rammed the Nano into the pole. “No way, Lilly. I prefer being single,” I replied, reversing. She sulked. <br /><br />But after a while she relaxed and joked about the gap between my front teeth. “JK, why don’t you drop in at my new clinic? I’ll fix it,” she offered. “Sure you would. But no, thanks,” I said, and from that day Lilly did not return my calls.<br /><br />She was not seen around for some time. One day, I noticed her at Silly Point with the gang and I knew that the balloon had gone up. She snubbed me. “Chalky, Sir,” she piped up, “JK was telling me that when you were the ADC to the President, you were asked to arrange Bismillah Khan’s shehnai recital for the visiting king of Togo.”<br /><br /> Chalky’s moustache drooped. “Yes, yes,” he interjected, “And I am sure this rascal must have also said that instead I flew in a nadaswaran team from Tamil Nadu without warning. That nadaswaran is 20 times more powerful than its younger sister, the shehnai. And that when they started, the king fainted. Utter rubbish.” He banged the table.<br /><br />“What about you, Wingo?” Ramesh Babu was her next target, “JK told me about your bombing raid on Pakistan in 1971; your bailing out of a burning Canberra is a cock ‘n’ bull story. You were shot down by our own artillery.” Babu closed his eyes and downed a double large brandy. And as Lilly trained her guns on Captain Tinky Mehra and mentioned his Veer Chakra and Kargil, the gang wanted to wring my throat. Like all brave men, I vamoosed, invaded the busy cricket pitch and saw the enraged umpires joining the chase. <br /><br />Sadly, the voice has no ears. It has never heard the phrase ‘Voice proposes, pen disposes’. Since my great escape from MCC a year ago, I have not been able to write a single funny or unfunny sentence. It’s a bug perhaps; they call it the writer’s block.<br /></p>
