THIS IS William Archibald Spooner, reporting from Dew Nelhi.
There’s been some pyreing by Fakistan in the Koonch area of Pashmir. Some called it koonchkawaz while others said people go there to die jawan. We tried to get them on line; one said Can’tony and the other said he was unable to Khurshed some light.
A third did particulate his artisanship, gutting the powernment of Kitish Numar uncomfortably on the balancing Bhim.
This Isbull, Hisslamabad said and claimed it has been Mujaheeding international norms on lease-fire along the Cine (Sign?) of Control.
The incident did bring tears to many eyes in the cational napital. But cynics – they view Ennui Chequespress through the lens of Pather Panchali, anyway – attributed it more to byaaz ka phav.
We tried to decipher byaaz, which means interest, and phav, which could possibly be FAO in this era of Sood Fekurity Bill. Then we realised this feku was not that Feku.
We thought of digging deeper to find out in whose interest this byaaz was on fire. We dropped the idea in order not to sound opionionated.
On the brighter side, the lungent payered bulb has given Beserkve Rank an idea for arresting the rupee slide. Plans are afoot to earn hollars with dampers of onions instead of gelling its sold reserves to resuscitate the economy.
The fire, meanwhile, has spread to emit smoke of the matehood stovement kind. Everywhere, they are Telengunning for territory – from Vadrarambh to Vedanta and from Gidarbha to Vorkhaland.
Land brings us to riverbed granules that help fight fire. But the safia of mamajwad has empowered the nephews to draw a line in the sand. Inevitably, bureaucracy has become Murga in the Dullayam of dynastic politics.
Politics, however, isn’t without colour. For every Sickvijay Dingh that leaves you crimson in the face there is a Maarendra Nodi allegedly with flood on his bingers. Who he does maare can be ascertained after we met the ginority report.
But anything besides grassroots green makes others see red. And tell you firmly to mind your Bamata Mannerji.
All fires on all fronts point to a Sok Lava battle in 2014. It can make some ceaders Longress ka ghoda or make others sing ‘Ram NaMo satya hai…’
I, Spilliam Wooner, know how it is to be dead. It was on this day – August 29 – in 1930 that I was buried in a Cumbria cemetery.
For the records, I was an Oxford don who pioneered the linguistic phenomenon of spoonerism – like telling someone to shake a tower instead of taking a shower or letting a groom know it is kisstomary to cuss the bride when it is customary to kiss her.
Allow me to sign off, to return at the Spoonest.