Designer Tees from the House of Donatella Shenoy

Hi folks! Summer is here, which means we in the fashion industry are already thinking of fall 2021. The color is white, silly. And the look is casual. Here's a peep into what's trending.

Little known medical cases involving Bollywood personalities

Aamir Khan

This talented actor is known for going to any extent for a shot. He immerses himself so much into the role that he ends up doing things quite dangerous to himself.

In one of his films, the scene involved the bad guy forcing him to eat stones. Aamir actually swallowed some, and though the shot turned out amazing, the next morning he was in agony. A couple of the stones he had recklessly swallowed seemed to have got stuck somewhere in his alimentary canal.

A doctor was called in immediately. An experienced man, he wasted no time in scans or X-rays

"Get me a sigmoidoscope", he barked at his assistant, who got one from the car.

As it was inserted up Aamir's dorsal end, the doctor assessed the situation as safe, and asked for Aamir to be given an enema. "That should do the trick", he said and like all doctors who have looked up a fellow human's backside, asked for tea.

"But sir", said his student, "The stones seem to be pretty far inside. Almost in the small intestine. How will an enema help? Shouldn't we operate?"

"My dear chap! Small intestine forsooth! The stones are right here in the rectum, waiting to be flushed out"

"But then, why does it seem.....?" The student was puzzled.

"Ah, you youngsters probably haven't heard of it, but we of the old school have learnt the old maxim by heart"

"Maxim?"

"You know, Objects in Aamir are closer than they appear"


Author's note: I realize I'm hitting new lows here but my excuse is that it is 1 am and I am unable to sleep, because of the North Korean Situation. Please forgive me.

An Arctic Tale

The blizzard was fierce. Old Tuskegaw the Inuit hunkered down with his huskies in the little ice shelter he had rustled up. The tundra could be lethal. He knew that, and was taking no chances.

The dogs whimpered. Even for them, this blizzard was too much. Tuskegaw could sense that. He was grateful to the spirits for guarding them thus far, and prayed they would continue to do so.

For he had a mission to accomplish. A sled full of Geometry books, just imported from China where printing was the cheapest, to be transported to his tribespeople, living on the North Pole. Knowledge! Liberation from generations of battle with unforgiving Nature!

Tuskegaw looked heavenward and thanked the spirits once again for the rare honour bestowed upon him. It was not everyday that one got the opportunity to cart Asian geometry to Polar Coordinates.

Is it normal for middle aged men to go nuts?

Hi, this is Sheela Shenoy here. I've had to take over the controls from Naren on account of his showing strong signs of having gone nuts.

Now, this is not in itself alarming. Goofiness comes to Naren naturally. A bit like golf to Tiger Woods, or Kung Fu to all 1.3 billion Chinese people. But this time, I wondered if it wasn't a bit over the usual form.

It began with the Mint newspaper. It carried an article (I've added a screen capture thing above, because I just figured out how it is done. Cool!) which said that the acreage under food was shrinking. I showed it to Naren, just as a sign of the times.

Me: Saw this article?

Naren: (Peering through the wrong part of his bifocals) Um... The print is a bit hazy

Me: Naren, the lower half. You are supposed to peer through the lower half when you want to read something. The upper half is for distances.

Naren: Oh yes, yes. When am I ever going to get used to this.... Oh, Acreage under Food Shrinks....

Me: (waiting for him to say something)

Naren: What in the world is a Food Shrink? And why would someone put acreage under them?

Me: Huh?

So you see, all is not well in our little homestead, brain cell wise.

Toodle-oo

From the desk of Mrs. S.

One of Poirot's little known cases

(Discovered in the secret diaries of Dame Agatha)

The Affair of the Admiral's Rear

"Monsieur Poirot, the matter is serious", said Chief Inspector Japp, whispering into the phone.

"But of course, my dear Japp, it always is! Pray, proceed"

" We have tracked down the fiend to the Ritz Carlton but we have to treat the matter most discreetly." I heard Japp say, as I listened in on the extension. Poirot insists that I eavesdrop on official conversations, just in case he misses out something. Fat chance of THAT happening!

"Eh bien, but tell me, monsieur! There is nothing, NOTHING that escapes Hercule Poirot" my friend told him, without a trace of conceit.

"Alright, then, here's what we know. "The rapist is in one of two rooms. In one is the beautiful and charming Princess of Pomerania and in the other is the Chief of Her Majesty's Navy, Admiral Pinchingham".

"Ah! A touch of kleptomania, peut etre" said Poirot

"You misunderstand, Monsieur. Pinchingham is a name, not an affliction"

"Alors. You will forgive an old man his mistakes. Tell me, are they alone in their respective rooms?" asked Poirot

" The staff swears there is no one else in those rooms, but we can hear scuffling sounds in both."

"Mais oui, they play the game of love in their respective rooms, young and old alike, do they not?", remarked Poirot, with a hint of a smile.

Japp made a disgusted grunting sound, which we both interpreted as the affirmative.

"Why do you not barge in then, my friend? The Scotland Yard is not known for its delicacy in these matters" asked Poirot

"Oh no, Monsieur P. That wouldn't do at all. If we barge in and find them in a compromising position with a friend, instead of the rapist, there will be hell to pay. A diplomatic incident. The Foreign Office will have my head should I embarass the Princess, and the Ministry of Defense will flay me alive should I dare to be indiscreet with the Commander of the Fleet . No, we have to be absolutely sure. And there is no time, if the fiend is in there with one of them". The urgency in Japp's voice was unmistakable.

"The rapist is from Prague, did you say?"

"Yes. Yes, I believe. But what does that have....?"

"Then storm the poor Admiral's chamber and rescue him from a painful fate" said Poirot.

"Thanks a million, old chap", said Japp, at the flat later in the evening. "I don't know when I've been in a tighter spot. But how on earth did you know the rapist was rodgering poor Admiral Pinchingham? I had a strong feeling it would have been the Princess. She is supposed to be devilishly beautiful, you know"

"My dear Japp, but you do not use the little grey cells", said Poirot, his green eyes gleaming like a cat's. "The moment I heard the rapist was from Prague, I knew that he would be with the Admiral!"

"You said that before" I said "What does THAT have anything to do with it?"

"Ah, Hastings, mon ami, have you not heard the quaint little phrase?"

"Which quaint little phrase?" I asked

"You know, the one that the insufferable Americans use all the time"

Realisation dawned! "Oh, I see now!" exclaimed Japp. "The Czech is in the Male"

What to do, no time pass only

The plot to assasinate Hitler

A little known plot to kill Hitler has recently come to light.

General Wolfgang Hoffenstrotengrottenstrader of Hitler's Northern African command devised an ingenious method of doing what he felt was the only solution to the madness in Germany. His plan was to let loose wasps or bees to attack Hitler, the idea being that the poisonous stings would kill the fuhrer, he being a total wimp, and even if they failed, no one would know.

In the secret discussions leading up to the plot, the eminent biologist Ludwig van Borstencroftrendstrhratthenburg pointed out that bee stings might not be strong enough and proposed that European Hornets, vespa crabro, were the best choice because they were the most toxic and aggressive. However, Hoffenstrotengrottenstrader refused to heed his advice and the Fuhrer escaped with a few stings at unknown locations (Ms. Braun was heard to ask the Fuhrer if he had coconuts in his pockets or was he just happy to see her, but historians have refused to draw conclusions)

Anyway, children, the take home message here is that Hornets is the Best policy.

The week in review

The week went pretty well. I had a near death experience. Yes, you guessed it. I nearly got dragged to a screening of "Kambakht Ishq".

The technique was stealth, as usual. The missus, who was Sun Tzu in an earlier life, manouevered us to the multiplex on the pretext of eating at the food court in Inorbit Mall (claim to fame - more people hanging around than at Churchgate Station on Monday morning). We 'accidentally' happened to find ourselves outside the box office where the missus suddenly got a brilliant idea

"Hey! How about watching 'Kambakht Ishq'?

My older son, Vyaas, who is such a yes man when it comes to the powers that be that he could walk into the Congress Party without question, immediately said 'yes'. He is also an Akshay Kumar fan. In fact, when we went to Goa earlier this year, he insisted on going to Anjuna beach (a crappier beach than which I have yet to see, and I have seen all the beaches in Bombay) because Akshay Kumar has a bungalow there.

But the younger son and I are made of sterner stuff. And luckily, there was a Harry Potter playing on another screen at almost the same time.

"Oh, look. Harry Potter!" I exclaimed, theatrically, whereupon younger son, promptly taking his cue said

"Wow! Annie, please can we watch Harry Potter?"

And thus, saved from a fate one would not wish upon one's enemies, Gautham and I toddled off to watch Harry Potter and the Half Blood prince.

Gautham was in his element.

"Half blood? What's the other half? Petrol?"

Petrol? Why Petrol? But his thought processes are difficult to fathom. And when I tried explaining that Half Blood usually means mixed parentage and blah blah, he had already vanished to the popcorn stall. Kids. You can give them a complete force-fed meal with the usual 'my stomach is bursting' protestations and twenty seconds later they will ask for popcorn.

The movie started the usual Harry Potter way, which is 'way over my head'. Gautham, who seemed to have heard the story from someone, kept telling me what was happening.

Somewhere halfway through the movie, I found him snoring gently, asleep on my shoulder. I watched on for a while and before I knew what was happening, I had crashed out myself.

I am thus unable to report if the movie had sustaining dramatic interest. When the lights came on at last, a kindly usher woke us up and we shuffled out of the movie theater satisfied which, as you all know, is the mark of good cinema.

The missus and Vyaas, on the other hand, were not so lucky. You could see from the wild, hunted look in their eyes that they had recently had their blood curdled.

"Nice movie?" I asked.

Silence. Perhaps they didn't hear that.

"Nice movie?" I repeated

"Can we go home please?" asked the missus, in a strained voice, indicating that the subject was closed for discussion.

And even now, several days after the viewing, we do no talk about it.

If Voldemort is the wizard whose name must not be spoken, Kambakht ishq is the movie about which None Shall Speak.

Have a great Sunday.

Random rant

I'm generally a peaceful man. One who can leave things alone. When North Korea launched that missile, I did not say word. A hint of a smile and a wry "Kims will be kims" and my lips were sealed. So with the Uighur rebellion. Not a peep. But when the auto guy wriggled past me and stood ahead of my car at the signal, the Nelson Mandela in me gave up. The time for peaceful coexistence was over.

It was not just the injustice of this territorial infringement. When the light turned green, the auto driver in question just stared at it, trying to process the information.

"The light is green", his eyes told his brain.

"Wow! So it is! What now?" said the brain

"Search me", said the eyes. "I think green is the color of the season"

"No, no!" The brain was screaming "I know there is someting else...something much more significant....more urgent...something to do with the fact that all the cars behind me are honking their asses off..... Ah, I got it! Green means go!"

This, dear reader, is the thought process of the average Mumbai auto driver. And by the time his diligent neurons fire their message to the muscles that control the throttle of the auto, the light has turned to red and yours truly is reduced to a slobbering wreck at the wheel. For the auto guy has managed to slink away, escaping a well deserved kick on the backside.

Apart from that, the weekend was pretty good. I of course went without the customary fresh water and ice with a drop of Scottish agricultural produce that I usually have over the weekend, owing to missus' shoulder injury. I am holding, apart from my usual position as chief secretary of Madame's office, additional charge as comber of her hair (since she can't tie her own ponytail). One does not drink on duty when one is occupying such high office.

By the way, here's a good one from my ophthalmologist. I went to him to have my eyes tested and found out I need bifocals. I got a pair made from the guy down the street. He gave me the regular ones and told me I should get something called variable lens which does not show the tell tale line of the bifocals and communicate to the general public the important message "Hey look! I am young! I am not a bifocal wearing loser!". Now this is more expensive than the regular bifocal by a factor of 3, so I went back to the ophthalmologist for advice." What do you think,doctor? Do you think the variable lenses are worht the extra cash?"

He told me that they were both useless. He himself has one regular bifocal, one variable lens and one pair of glasses to look for these two.

Awright then, have fun.

The Week In Review

A lot of things have been happening this week.

First, I got my eyes tested and found out I needed bifocals. Just got me a pair. I'm officially old now.

Just as I was lamenting this sad piece of news and trying to figure out how to mourn it (the answer is "with scotch"), the missus reported a bad shoulder. She had been complaining of pain for a few days now. This morning, she awoke practically unable to move her right arm.

I know what you're thinking. One less arm to hit me with. So did I. But I couldn't bear to see her in tears.

I rushed her to the orthopedic surgeon and an X-ray and sonography later, he told me it was tendinitis, nothing to worry about. Just rest the arm and pop these pills. She'll be fine in no time.

Which means wife is currently lording it in the Shenoy Manor and orders me around like I was her serf or something, which, I realized, I am.

Michael Jackson's death has made him very popular in my house. My kids and their mother can listen to no other. The younger one's even learning the moonwalk, which I shall try to post a video of.

Infact, I've got a little football video of his which I think I'll post. This is under my watch, we were supposed to be studying Science for the Unit Test. I was explaning to him the chapter on Bio-diversity.

But I digress. I was talking about Michael Jackson.

My mother said "He's that man who sings childrens songs doesn't he?"

"Childrens songs?" I didn't seem to recall any.

"He keeps saying My Baby, My Baby. I heard him just now"

"Mom, the baby in that song is not his child. It's his girlfriend"

"His girlfriend is a baby? No wonder he had those child molestation cases against him"

It's no use arguing with mom. Especially where it concerns popular culture.