Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Dementia, now!

Snippets from the morning meeting:

Someone: So, what's behind this big ban on all these militant outfits by Pakistan?

Someone else: Just Punjab...Blah blah blah... the US has... blah blah... bad-ass Taliban... blah blah....(some one says, "but where the hell is that Zardari?")... blah blah.... Sharif brothers... blah blah blah ... Tehrik-i-Taliban... blah blah blah....after Benazir... blah blah...the son...blah blah...Sindh... Punjab... blah blah

Another person: The son? I think he might have much trickier issues to deal with beyond what's going on in Pakistan. BTW, does anyone remember this (biographer/ hack/ someone) *guy* who once interviewed Benazir? Apparently, (and, of course, like some of our meeting anecdotes, this can neither be confirmed, nor denied) Bhutto told him that she was rather worried about her son prancing about the hall in a tutu and ballerina shoes.

Person busy with a phone smarter than mine: Huh? Benazir Bhutto's son, that Zardari boy, uh, Bilawal chap? Are you serious?

[Now, what we just love doing in our meetings (NOTE: only after we have finished debating loftier issues of national importance, that is), is to up stray comments a notch...]

That person: Yeah, I can just imagine the headlines: "Baluchistan Bolshoi", starring Bilawal Bhutto.

This person: Umm, not Baluchistan, Sindh.

The same person: No, no. It doesn't have the same ring to it... you know, the alliteration appeal?

The other person: Ah yes, and what might it be called?

Me: Swat Lake? (and, with a flourish) "The Baluchistan Bolshoi presents...Bilawal in Swat Lake!"

[You see what I'm doing here. Taking credit. I thought it sounded good. Even a little funny, perhaps?]

Someone who's had enough of the Bilawal groupies: So, tell me, how did the Court really decide who George Fernandes should go home with? I mean, he's got Alzheimer's, for God's sake. He couldn't have been all that competent to choose between lady-who-wants-to-wash-the-dog-while-demanding-her-furniture-back and lady-who's-locked-him-up-in-the-house-and-won't-let-his-brothers-see-him, can he, now?

Someone other than me: I hear they had a Konkani lawyer present, something to do with regression therapy or some such thing, thinking he might regress enough to start babbling in Konkani or something. The judge said he wished to "know his mind".

[Good luck with that, Horatio.]

Still another person: Well, I guess that didn't work. I mean he's 80, suffering from both Alzheimer's and Parkinson's...apparently he appeared confused and disoriented and when asked how many brothers he had, might have mumbled "six".

[He has three, poor thing. I mean this is the same guy who visited Siachen, at the age of 70, no less. It makes me sad. Still...]

Me: It's just as well the Judge was smart enough not to ask him how many wives he had. That could have gotten ugly.

[There. I did it again. Even though I felt sad, I just couldn't help myself.]  

Context: Most of our meetings seem to follow a similar path after the day's business has been dealt with, eventually waltzing into every-man's land of nonsense -- a ten-minute warm-up for the rest of the day, over truly awful coffee.

Explanation: The inane keeps us sane amid the mundane. (I just can't help myself!)

Against better judgement:  It ain't no crime to rhyme.

Inner Voice: Oh, please do stop, get on your paws and beg for mercy.

POSTSCRIPT: I just hope that when I lose my mind, there's no judge willing to lead a treasure hunt to find it. I'm just saying.

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