In search of Popat

I wiped off my cheeks in disgust. Stupid Frenchmen. The borrowed scooter was parked outside. It was an objet d'art.
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The seats had long vanished. The headlight hung precariously; it was the result of an unfortunate accident with a cycle rickshaw.
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The brakes didn't work either. It gave me a maximum speed of 30 km/h, which was okay with me.

I said to him, "Sit properly, and firmly, and do not hold on to me. I am going to drive really slow." "I am eussed to thees."

And he sat delicately, behind me, for he was still wearing the lungi. And he was proudly showing off his Hare-Rama vest.

Popat took his baths behind trees, always wore silk lungis and dyed his hair bright green every second day
So, we started off.
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The place I used to live is a long, peaceful road. It was a beautiful evening, but the children had stopped playing, and were looking at the creature behind me, with curious eyes.

His mohawk was dry now, and was parted in the middle, because of the air, and it must have been looking like a parrot about to take a dump on his head, because the two girls I occasionally ogled at gave us a horrified, disgusted look.
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"Can you please keep quiet?" "Eh...you no like the song?" "No, you remind me of the time when I heard Anoop Jalota for the first time, and was constipated for two full days." "He ees gutt? I weel git tapes."

The booth guy's mouth opened in an O, when he saw Popat and remained like that throughout. "I wunt to call Marseilles. Eees gibe the code?"

His mouth still open, with the drool forming around the corner of his lips, he silently handed us the code-book.

The guy with the still-formed drool came scurrying out too.

"Bhaisaab ye kaun hai?" "He is a Christian. He is the President of the famous WPCO World Parakeet Conservation Organisation."

"Wow! What is he doing here in Jaipur?" "He believes he was a parakeet in his previous life.

He is on a world mission to free imprisoned parrots, love-birds, cockatoos. This is his first visit to India, and the most important."

The Popat lived with us, for a good 10 days. Each day was an adventure. He still took his baths behind the tree, always wore beautiful silk lungis, and dyed the hair a bright green, every second day.
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I even got around to showing him off to all my friends.

He suddenly left, on the eleventh day, leaving this note behind: Forgive me, beautiful people. I am in search of knowledge. I shall return someday. He left his hunting knife with me.

I am still looking for him. Popat!

Shubir Rishi is Chief Sub-Editor, MiD DAY