Friday, November 14, 2008
God, an Old Lady, and the Word
I did the unthinkable last evening. I swore in a house of worship. That too on the biggest b'day bash of the year at the said house. Sort of, ummm.... because I was, partially, pissed off by a Rep of the Order. I had reason but perhaps no justification. Yes the two are different.
There is this (hopefully not too blasphemous, and certainly NOT made up by me) joke about Lord Hanuman, in which a Surdy claims that the monkey god was one of his kin, making the rather irrefutable argument that no one else would have been that eager to set his tail on fire in another man's battle against the man who kidnapped his wife. In other words, you neither get the babe nor the glory. And THAT my friends is what happened to another Surdy.
So, a security guard wouldn't let this old lady's car up the ramp. Apparently because such guards are always under orders from the powers that be to brook no resistance whatsoever from those who aren't happy with the basement parking lot, and here no distinction is to be made between kids on roller blades and tottering old aunties.
Unfortunately for the guard, while I was dutifully parking my car in the dungeon, I saw a couple of cars go up the ramp, with no distinguishing features whatsoever that indicated the reasons for this horrid man's preferential treatment, and was instantly enraged about the plight of the old old Auntyji. So even as the nasty man in ill-fitting uniform brushed aside the weak protests of the faithful old pilgrim's kin, I took it upon myself to argue her case.
Very politely. But then it got ugly. Rapidly. He shouted. I lost it. And so I turned to another man in holier uniform. Only to get an unholier shock when he told me to stop lying in a place of worship, saying that no cars had gone up the ramp (i could see them even as he spoke). Then he made matters worse by informing me that his conclusion was the only correct one and that its authenticity was based solely and surely on the fact that he was drinking a glass of "holy" milk, on which he kept his hand and swore. Yes he did. To imply that only the truly depraved would doubt such an oath, which should be treated as being purer than the cream in his rapidly cooling cup, and more unquestionable than the integrity of our politicians.
And that's when I used the 87+13-96 letter word. In my defense, it was mumbled so far under my breath that i could hear my one ear saying to the other "Eh, did you 'ear that??". (Sorry, terrible one.) But HE knows I said it. And it was HIS birthday.
I'm sorry I spoilt your party with my momentary lapse in judgement. Just don't hold it against me. I promise never to help any old, defenseless ladies ever again. Unless asked by them specifically, on a sworn affidavit signed by the Pope. I swear. Shit. Cancel that one too, please. Thanks, I do love you. And I know my way of doing that is not in any manual, but then that's why you created only one of me.
Phew! Thank heavens for that, eh? :)