The Discriminant of The Iota

And Miles to go before i reach.......

before i reach! -"Un"Frost ;)

The groom is sittin tall, heart pumping in anticipation, and in all this chutzpah( babblu and pintu wondering why they are chugging on a mare, and everyone around, breaking a muscle). Yet the top numbers are being belted out from what was supposed to resemble some grand carriage( and ended up looking an advertisement of Gemini Circus), by a singer who has no clue where was rhythm chopped and where were lyrics dropped( this is the same guy whose numbers your auto-wallah plays as you pray for the torture to end).And the best part is the torch-bearers who carry those enoromous chandeliers( so much for our bolly-obsession) as they illuminate path sans streetlights( bhabhiji mind your leg, you know that the maternal aunt of the third cousin of guptaji got a sprain in the marriage of the fifth cousin of his paternal uncle!)So as the juggernaut marches along sweeping with itself the urchins around, a bigger story is unfolding in the background( yeah in the immediate back and definitely on the ground).

So here is everyone swearing under breath( not me! ,i am shouting like crazy)wondering if marriages are made in heaven why doesn't the groom go there and wind up the nuptials! So as we gently honk the horns( as we get late for our very own baraat, of some......)Suddenly everything is at halt, and before anyone realizes why the ground shakes( P.W.D just paper finished the road( gosh my dad will kill me if he ever reads this))(aaj mere yaar ki shaadi hai.....ponk...ponk..drum..drum) resonates with(honk...honk, abe marega kya.. road baap ki hai kya( was that a pun on me???)) But let us identify the most happy person in the melee( the groom, wrong answer!!) it is the petty cycle-wallah( the guy we just dont want on road)as his chest swells with pride as he steers like a piranha in a school even as we cry road ethics( we seem to know them all when we are stuck, look at that bike-rider, goodness look at his audacity, or that car how he swerved to the other lane, without bothering that you just try to outsmart the car-rider in the right and pat the back of the car driver for taking you out listening all the way, him swaggering about his feats in a remote U.P village).

And when everyone is finished trying his own at that intersection( dil ka mamlaa hai dilbur.....)and his tired of hurling curses to every immovable, the hawaldar walks in. ( sporting a cane, he is expected to take on the challenges of society,so much for our gandhi obsession???) after procrastinating on that dilapidated bench of the chai-wallah( what is the probability of finding them at an intersection? 1) and he wields like a conductor is about to conduct an opera, so the question in his mind, how to control this mass of humanity that swells around him( and he his "trained" to handle all of this, hail Indian Police)how he wished that he instead of DIG should have had been selected to go "phoren" to study traffic systems!! yet the clean-up starts couple of shoves( few smashed indicators and bruises, more chaos). and even as (bhangra paale aaja aaja) there is no end to the plight, with kids eating head and the affable radio announcer names of "hot-shots" for telling you to avoid the road when you are doomed to keep on moving in that direction. So what happens next..... well the story of getting out??- it is as stupid as this ending.......isn't??? Too unrealisitic..... and far too absurd to be repeated......... yet it happens...... hope the same fate awaits the blog as well............

Haapy Jammin( RIP: all those PCRA advertisements that fell flat on ears impaired by me-too honking of horns)