Telegraph Calcutta

But Where Is that Kaimraa?

The one that does not lie. But the one that can be lied to. It’s a thing to be used. Or abused. It is used to that. Being put to use and abuse. Happens all the time. Just ask the Kaimraa.

It does not lie, but I can lie before it. I can do things to the Kaimraa that the Kaimraa has not yet been able to imagine. Just normal things. Normal days. Normal time. Nothing special.

You know. I am not trying to tell you anything that is out of the normal. This is normal only. This is the way I speak only. But I wanted to tell you things are normal only. Look at me. This morning. How normal I am and how normal things around me are. I am wearing my sombrero. As I always do. I am in the two-piece of the three-piece which is my normal, the third piece of the three-piece is on the clothes horse. Normal only. I am seated under a leafy plane tree, on a grassy lawn. Plane trees are the normal. They grow normally all over the place and it is normal for them to be marooned in rolling pools of grass. We live in such a grassy-green country, peace be upon us. Normal only. There are ducks waddling around me. Ask them, they are in their normal habitat. Hear them going quack-quack, those loveable rascals, they do their best to ruin my morning reading. Of the Classics, you know. They are all piled up beside me, their leather spines and their gilded lettering all conveniently angled for the Kaimraa to get a full and wholesome view of them. The Kaimraa does not lie. I read the Classics amidst the quack-quack, seated under a plane tree with my sombrero on my head. All so normal.

But there are times I do not want the ducks around. Too much of an infliction on concentration. And I don’t bother with the Classics either. Too much knowledge; a man can take so much and no more, the excess of everything is bad, it causes indigestion and that has consequences. I don’t like smell around me, surely not the smells of the excess of knowledge passing through me. Not a nice smell, if you ask me. There are times I wish to be without. Alone. By myself. With nothing other than a Kaimraa. That’s essential, the Kaimraa, for how else will the truth be told? The Kaimraa does not lie, and so the truth gets told, and that is how things should be. When I am absolutely alone, like in some cave, meditating, I am with a Kaimraa. In the interest of the truth being told, nothing else. I check. Once every while: Kaimraa hai ki nahin. I wink, I keep half an eye, in the interest of truth. I do it so diligently that it has often been used as some sort of an allegation against me — that man is always looking at the Kaimraa. Allegations are normal only. The truth is that the Kaimraa keeps its eyes on me more often than I keep my eyes on the Kaimraa. It has to do its duty.

There are always these koschans being asked about why the Kaimraa is looking at me and why I am looking at the Kaimraa. What is the Kaimraa to do? It is there, exclusively assigned for me, so each moment I discharge in the service of the people can be captured. That is the job of the Kaimraa. Do you think the Kaimraa travelled all that distance to take photus of peepuls in some hospeetal ka ward or whatever it was? Who would pay the bills? And why would those hospeetal peepuls have photus taken? The Kaimraa went with me, on my plane, free of cost, meaning, I mean at your cost. And the hospeetal peepuls got those photus because I was there. The Kaimraa was on me. That is the job, see. And I was on the Kaimraa because I wanted to ensure that having travelled all the way on public money, I mean your money, it was always on me. That is my job, and I take the job seriously, especially when the Kaimraa is around. Otherwise it becomes a waste of your money.

So I told you about the angle
Look before the lens you dangle
Your neck I will myself mangle
If just the pose you can’t wangle.

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