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Sundays

There was a time when I waited for Sunday. After a week of work, and I worked hard, a day of rest  was very welcome. I loved to sleep.  I am not an atheist, and I go to church maybe once a year for  midnight mass on Christmas eve. So I'm not a churchgoer basically. Therefore Sundays did not mean  that I was seated in the pews in church listening to the pastor's sermon.  The pastor, in fact,  would not recognise me until my sister, who goes more often to church, introduced me as her brother  after Christmas Eve mass. I also had a problem sleeping and would lie awake at nights trying desperately trying to fall asleep. I tried counting sheep and it never worked. I also tried those sleeping videos on YouTube. I listened  \ and felt bored. They were not music I was familiar with and they kept my eyelids firmly apart. Even a safe  tranquillizer that my doctor prescribed did not have any effect. The on...
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Stumble Bum

I was tripping along without a care in the world when my two left feet entwined hopelessly and I went sprawling on the ground. As I picked myself up sheepishly, I noticed a chap standing in the middle of the road with his thumb stuck out.

"Help me up," I said weakly.

"God only helps those who help themselves," he said without turning around.

"I can't ask God to help me up you know," I said trying to reason with him.

"Why not? He hears all prayers even from a stumble bum," he said looking at me.

"Are you calling me a bum?" I asked wondering if I should take offence.

"No, merely a stumble bum," he replied.

"That offensive word again?" I protested.

"Oh! Stop! I can see a lorry coming," he said his eyes squinting.

He stuck out his thumb and waved energetically at the approaching vehicle. "Ho!" he shouted.

"Ho to you," the lorry driver grinned as he swiftly drove past.

"Another bum who probably does not know where his posterior is," he said cursing.

The driver seems to have upset you," I remarked.

"So did you! I hate stumble bums!"

"I have two left feet," I confessed. "But why not use both your thumbs when asking for a ride?"

"I have to rest one thumb, while the other works. Then the other thumb takes over. It's called rule of the thumb."

"Very judicious use of thumbs," I was all praise.

He surveyed his thumbs grimly and spoke slowly to them, "Send me a ride soon."

"Your thumbs understand?" I asked in amazement.

"Does yours?" he asked counter questioning.

"Never tried talking to them," I replied.

"What about talking bums?" he asked.

"Posteriors don't talk!" I protested.

"A bum's behind does all the talking, because his brain is there!"

"The medical fraternity must be wishing to lay their hands on such behinds," I said eagerly.

"No, they don't. It's called bottom pinching and there is a law against it," he said sternly.

"But bottom pinching should be allowed for medical research," I pleaded.

"I know a few who did it citing medical reasons, but the judge did not take it kindly. They all are behind bars now," he said glaringly.

"They became bartenders you mean?" I asked wonderingly, "from bottom pinching to the bar! It is very uplifting!"

"They were high spirited bums, till the spirits ran out," he reminisced, "in twelve feet by twelve feet cell with bars."

"Oh! They allow jailbirds to tipple. And, how many bars would that be?" I asked wishing to be educated.

"You could do some research on it. You might come up with a lot of interesting facts," he suggested.

"The fact is I'm a journalist when I'm not tripping over my feet," I said brightly.

"Then tell your boss to tell the judge to send you to jail. That should fix your problem," he said.

"I will, I will," I said enthusiastically.

"You won't be for long before you trip and go bottoms up again!" He said nastily.

"I will, I will, thank you! Yikes!" I exclaimed as I tripped heavily to the ground and went out like a light.


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Location: Calcutta, West Bengal, India

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