Torture devices for the modern woman

True story. So once I was - fancy place name drop alert - in this train travelling across Austria, minding my own business. I looked out the window at the lush green pastures and the big fat cows, felt a strange peace come over me, and said to myself: no cows were harmed in the making of this blog post. So serene, so austere was the whole situation, that when I looked across the aisle and saw this woman pulling out a torture device from her purse, it took me a few minutes to get to the panicking and shitting bricks stage. (By the way, austere in Austria, get it? Khi khi)

The woman looked harmless enough, dressed in a skirt and a top and a jacket. And yet there she was, brandishing a diabolic device the size of a small alarm clock. It was dark and metallic, and looked like a cross between clippers and scissors of the garden variety (literally). Oh wait, also a cross between a comb and a particularly effective murder weapon. Yes, it was that dangerous an object - a cross between FOUR things.

I was desperately trying to translate the word 'Help' into German in my head, when suddenly, without warning, the woman took the device and turned it upon herself. She raised it up, and I wondered how she was going to stab herself with the blunt end, when she raised it up even further and took it to her face. Maybe, I thought, it is just a very primitive microphone or something and she's going to break into a song. But then, she raised it even further to her eye, and I was so stunned, even the translating in my head stopped.

Next, she poked the device right into her eye and started what looked like plucking her eyeballs out. I let out a silent scream and clutched my eyes in horror. But you know how it is with horror movies. You HAVE to take a peek, right? And so, I looked. The woman was now giving a good work over to her other eye, and I began furtively looking for blood and empty sockets. To my dismay, a few minutes later, the torture ritual was over and the woman looked unperturbed and exactly like she looked before.

WRONG, said my female travel companions. She looked WAY different, even if I couldn't see it. You see, now her eyelashes were curled.

Secret Un-admirers

Waqt ne kiya kya haseen sitam...

The Case of the Panting Panda-man

It was the kind of morning Mumbaikars from world over will fondly remember from their childhood days. You, standing on a railway platform with roughly 63 X 10^38 other people. Bodies that feel like sponge dipped in oil, and smell like..well, sponge dipped in other unpleasant substances pressing against yours from all directions, including up. Temperature that's only a few degrees above the sun's.

While I was waiting to receive the great DDD, I recalled that I'd never seen a private detective before, and i'm pretty sure noone ever has. Because the only known detectives are characters in novels, and the others have done a pretty good job of protecting their privacy.

"Shh.. password?" said this balding coolie with a goofy smile who owned the body pressing against me from the west.
"Luggage nahi hai" I replied.
"Damn. Wrong password again. Where the hell is this chronicler guy !!?"
My heart stopped beating. "Hey. You are Detective Deboo Dubey!!? I'm Dr. T. My function is to follow you everywhere and act dumb enough to make you look smart."
"Yes, yes! thank god.. i was tired of this sneaking up to people and asking for the password."
"What password?"
"The pass.. damn! I forgot to tell you about the password on the phone. I always use it in covert operations. Anyways, people here are really rude. Some even gave me alms! I'm offended. In Darbhanga, they treat you like any honest, upright man should be treated. They beat you up and kidnap your kid and YOU get to give away money."

I was finally face to face with Detective Deboo Dubey from Darbhanga! What smart a man he must be. You'd expect a detective to have an imposing personality, a beaked nose, wearing a hat or beret or something. But Deboo managed to disguise himself as a withering, balding dirty 40-year old coolie. Though why he was disguised I wasn't sure. When i asked him about it, he murmured something about the art of dejection (I think he meant deduction). But i'm pretty sure that was another ploy of his to mislead his dangerous foes. When he finally took off his makeup, I saw what he really looked like.. a withering, balding 40-year old coolie.

Back home, when I was thinking hard about what i can write in his praise, he sprung out of the bathroom after his shower and rushed towards me.
"Rise, my dear friend. It's time we start work on our first case. Can you lend me a 100? Thanks. So, i was saying.. our first case is called 'The case of the murder'."
"Deboo, can't we have a more interesting name? What is the case about?"
"Not very sure.. I think the lady mentioned robbery on the phone, but i may have misheard. But she did mention she'll pay us some fee. Pay me some fee, I meant. You'll bloody earn royalty on the chronicles anyways. "
"Fine, whatever. But I want to give it a better name. I'm calling it 'The case of the Panting Panda-man'."
"Good man, there's no time for small talk. Let's rush out now."
"Aren't you putting on clothes?"

And so we were out of the apartment in 2 minutes, on our first case.
"Wait." said Deboo, on the pavement outside. We're forgetting something very important.
I waited with bated breath for whatever he was about to say. My first brush with genius!

"I think i left the latch key inside the apartment. Damn."

(to be continued)