“Why do you seem so ‘pissed off’, let’s start at the very beginning, then.”
Illustration/Uday Mohite
Lobo Lobo, my cable TV technician came over to see me… he seemed forlorn, he seemed fatigued, he seemed like a partially doused firecracker.
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“You seem a bit out of it, uh my friend,” I began.
“Out of it, out of it… madowot… uuuf, dats de unnerstatement of de year, men Dikuna!”
“Why do you seem so ‘pissed off’, let’s start at the very beginning, then.”
“Okay Dikuna men, dats a very good place to start, chhe! So last nite, I was returning back from Dubai, I had attended de nuptials of de daughter of my tird cuzzin from de mudders side, from Bandra side only, he boughted me one bizness class ticket so I tought chalo, for de fust time I will travel in de lap of luxury… little did I know wot fate was to befall me—anyway so de flight had hardly tekken off and dis ‘bewda’ sitting neksht to me starts demanding de drinks. Bleddy tree tirty is de afternoon, he’s knocking back de Red Labels.”
“Ah, sounds ominous, Lobo Lobo!”
“See men, de flight was one hour in de air, and it had already become one aunty’s bar… all all rough and tough ruffians men, hooligan mentality, bleddy drinking drinking, pilaoing pilaoing, one peg after de udder, dese blinking peepuls tink dis is ‘Happy Hour’. They can’t booze in dere own own houses, so dey tink, ‘Chalo free mein milega!’, we can get ‘udaoed’ at tirty fie tousand feet men. So dis one rowdy men, bugger tinks he owns de plane, first he snaps his first fingers to de air hostess, ‘Hey, hey madam... idhar aao’, and de bugger has the bleddy gall to indicate he wants anudder peg. Den one moe, den one moe, he keeps downing de drinks till he is so tight he cannot walk. All along, he is giving maa behen gaalis, den he puts on dat movie whochyouall—arrey dat one where dat fat felloe, ahhhh Arjun Kapoor’s gal men—aaah Malaika Arora, she dances one item number on dat train men. Wot de name of de song is… aahhhh Chai la…Chai la..”
“No Lobo Lobo no. It’s Chaiyya Chaiyya, not Chai la, chai la… that means bring tea! AR Rehman would kill you.”
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“Ahh dat onie, ‘Chai la’. So dis boozard gets up, he stands on de seat and begins to dance men, jezz like dat Malaika oni... all shaking hips, head trown back and all in de middle of de aisle onie, dinchak dinchak. ‘Chai la Chai la’ he’s shouting, de staff are trying to stop him, evin de pilot came out.”
“I get the picture, but tell me, uhm…uh… there’s a rather strange odour emanating, coming from you, Lobo Lobo. Tell me isn’t that the smell of uhm.”
“Yes men say it… say it,” Lobo Lobo shouted.
“Why do you smell of what can only be described as urine?”
“Yes men, it is piss onie… so dis felloe finishes his ‘Chai la Chai la’ song… den he unzips and bleddy decides to let it flow on me!”
“I cannot believe he pissed on you?”
“Yes can you believe it. When we landed, I bleddy complained, but you tink dey lissened to me, no bleddy luck. In any udder country, he would have been in handcuffs from de airport onie. In India sab chalta hai.”
“I’m sorry to hear this, Lobo Lobo!”
“Dikuna men... you know I have a name for dese ruffians—dese piddly poos, who just do de ‘leaking’ in de middle of a plane—eider dere bladder is too weak, or dey jess want to urinate on felloe passengers.”
“Okay what do you call them?”
“I refer to them as ‘Pee-dophiles’, men… ‘pee-dophiles’!” Lobo Lobo concluded.
Rahul daCunha is an adman, theatre director/playwright, photographer and traveller. Reach him at rahul.dacunha@mid-day.com
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