Too much of chapatti is good for nothing

Dear Ma-hinder

I am not averse to a masala wadai and an itly dipped in rasam dearie. Of an evening you may even find Thellie closely watching the likes of Bipasha Basu on telly. I may not turn down the gift of a Satya Paul or the sounds of Ravi Shankar at a candlelight supper but I'm darned if I can get accustomed to this constant political dalliance with our neighbours.

If that's neighborhood geo politics why do the insignificant infusoria that inhabit pockets of Thellie's immediate neighbourhood fail to consult me when they decide to dump their kitchen and bedroom refuse at a location in such close proximity to my own dwelling that I'm beginning to imagine I'm in Kiev.

And in keeping with the dump-as-you-will policy adopted by SAARC nations and perfected by the Paradisians, from dumping messy diplomutts to messy parippu on our door step, no wonder we are called Motherrrr India's back yard.

You may have found in the alley ways of Medamulane just as much as I have found in the byways of Battaramulla that there is a certain sector of Paradisian - and considering the vim, vigour and vitality with which you tend to get about your business without so much as a moment's pause for the next chap, you may even belong to this select group - who bundle up their left over kukul mas katu and bandakka neti not to mention the carcasses of dead cats in a siri siri bag and throw it over the wall into Asilyn nona's back yard.

And short of having that chap Karunanidhi in Tamil Nadu darting through Chennai corridors like a crazed mustang or tolerating the antics of Vaiko as he circles around like a circus horse, the best that could be done I suppose was for you to set up a chatty meeting or two with the turbaned fellow Singh up north over a peppery pappadam on how to deal with the situash.

And if ever there was a situash that needed dealing with darling then this situash is that situash.          

And what's with the eastern fellows sweetheart? There's Pillayan saying that our chapatti munching neighbour is forcing a ceasefire and a political package on us. There's everybody's favourite 'terrorista' Karuna, flexing his under developed biceps saying the cyanide chaps can be defeated - and soon.

But that's not all from the eastern quarter. Amidst at least 20 from the Karuna party being snuffed out by suspected cyanide types these past few months, the TNA chaps hailing from the east are doing a bit of a number of their own. First, what's his name Nehru then thingamabob Moorthy are warning those at the Diyawanna Oya area that the cyanides can never be defeated, will never give up arms or funnily enough and quite irrelevantly something called Eelam - Thellie must check with her ethnic Chef Rudra, but this is probably a type of spicy chapatti dipped and/or fried in sesame oil and seasoned with a special herb from Karainadu. As for giving up arms I can tell you dearie it would be with much sadness and a sense of heavy loss that anyone would be talked into giving up arms.

It was only the other day I was trying to explain to my general factotum Rosalyn who as usual was looking for a helping hand, that she would find one at the end of her arm.   

I've heard tell of some silly fellows giving an arm and a leg, but if you must know Thellie is not inclined to readily give up either. One would be foolish to expect those in the north to do so without a bit of a huff and perchance a puff.

And mind you it was this Moorthy fellow who claimed his rellies had been abducted in the east during last year's budget debate and declined to mark his attendance for the crucial vote out of fear of reprisals involving his blood type.

And there you are in India darling even as the east is getting geared up for a bit of a spat to croon a few soothing words into Singh's turban covered ears so he could reassure his political life line - the chaps in the Naad that all is sort of well, at least till the general election is over.

Not of course that the fellows in the Naad have been dealt all the bally picture cards either. The Thala Thel issue is of equal importance to them in their own constituencies. After all in these cholesterol high times, it is only prudent to use Thala Thel in the kitchen. 

And back home it is again the kitchen that is in focus with paradisians saddled with a budget scribbled on a wet Sunday perhaps by the army big wig Fonnie as he burnt the midnight oil and scratched his oily pate wondering what to do next.

Dearie so are we scratching our less oily pates these days wondering what to do next.

Odd bodikins m'dear even Thellie is finding the going tough. Grenadine has gone through the roof, a maraschino cherry is out of reach and no olives in the market. The up shot? Singapore flung and Martini hung.

Ta ra for now.

Thellie Bellie