The Big Fat Joke Book Page 6

  I replied, ‘Some lazy people go dumb when they die. Active people like me can go on talking till they are cremated. Get me a bottle of Scotch.’

  Lakhan, being a good boy, dutifully got a bottle of Scotch and placed it by my side.

  I was taken to the crematorium. As the mourners were returning to their homes, Lakhan, who was by then in his car, saw me coming out of the cremation ground. He opened the door of his car to let me in. ‘What happened?’ he asked somewhat stupefied. ‘How did you manage to survive the cremation?’

  ‘I bribed Yama with the bottle of Scotch you gave me. He let me return to the world. Take me back home,’ I replied.

  Sardarni Banta Singh was talking to her neighbour, Sardarni Santa Singh, across the balcony. ‘Bhainjee, how have you managed to break your hushand’s bad habit of coming home late every night?’ asked the former.

  ‘Simple,’ replied the latter, ‘one night when my husband was very late, I shouted, “Is that you Inderjeet …?” He never stayed out late after that.’

  We are familiar with the witticisms written behind trucks and three-wheelers. Variations on their themes make interesting reading. For instance, there is the common one: ‘If you can read this, UR2 close.’ Amusing variation can be: ‘If you can read this, you are evidently literate. Congrats!’

  There is another one often seen on the roads: ‘Don’t come close to me. I hardly know you.’ We can improve on it: ‘Don’t come close to me—I have AIDS.’

  I have seen this one on a three-wheeler: ‘When I grow up, I’m going to become a Rolls Royce.’ Having learnt something of the way Delhi’s buses are driven, one can improve on it: ‘When I grow up, I am going to become a DTC bus.’

  For ‘My other car is a Mercedez Benz,’ we can alter it slightly to read: ‘My other car was sold to buy this one.’

  We can also convert ‘Life begins at forty; so let’s really live it up,’ to a warning against overspeeding: ‘Life begins at forty—fines begin at fifty.’

  The following words of wisdom appear in Shri Amrit Lal’s astrological column in Sunday of 12 February 1989.

  ‘A splendid opportunity will come your way this week … Problems may arise on the professional front so much so that you may even lose your job …’

  This is a true story of a correspondence which went awry because of a typing error. The stenographer working in the physics department of the university applied for one month’s leave. The head of the department agreed, and asked him to type out an application to the registrar asking for a substitute. Instead of using the word substitute, the steno put in the word prostitute. The boss signed the letter without reading it.

  The registrar, who had scores to settle with the head of the department of physics, decided to cash in on the error. He wrote back: ‘Please refer to your letter dated—The commodity asked for by you is not readily available in the store of the University. You are advised to procure the same from the market and forward the bill to the Administrative Officer.’

  Another clerk applying for leave sent the following note to his boss: ‘My wife is unwell. As I am the only husband in the house, kindly grant me leave for the day.’

  Gujaratis have a problem pronouncing the word ‘wrap’ and usually render it ‘rape’. Kannadigas go one better; they spell the word the way our Gujju friends pronounce it. A Hari Prakash of Bangalore writes of an accountant of a local weekly who, when the publication was delayed, had to hire casual labour to wrap magazines in brown paper for posting. In the cash payment voucher he entered the explanation, ‘Paid to casual labour towards raping charges’. If the work load was heavy, the entry often read, ‘Paid to casual labour towards raping throughout the night’.

  A professor was conducting practical tests for medical students. There were five male students before him, all of whom were duffers. The doctor kept a model of a woman’s womb before them and asked them to identify the organ. He gave them a clue that it was not present in him or in either of the students. After some discussions a ‘brilliant’ student got up and replied, ‘Sir, that organ is a brain.’

  An American friend resident in India vouches for the veracity of this story about the Queen of England’s last visit to India. A wealthy but not too well-informed industrialist of Calcutta pestered the then British High Commission to be allowed to shake hands with the Queen. The High Commissioner gave in and arranged for the Marwari to present the Queen with a bouquet of roses on the strict understanding that he would keep his mouth shut while doing so. When the great moment came, the Marwari gentleman could not contain himself and having made his salutation and presented the roses said: ‘Welcome to India, Queen Mary of England!’

  The High Commissioner, red in the face, hissed: ‘Shut up! Anyway Queen Mary has been dead for many years.’

  Unabashed the Marwari replied, ‘I am sorry, my memory failed me. I should have said Queen Victoria.’

  My American friend refuses to divulge the identity of the Marwari industrialist. Any guesses?

  After the last summit meeting between Rajiv Gandhi and President Zia-ul-Haq, the two met privately for a friendly exchange of views. ‘What is your favourite hobby?’ Zia-ul-Haq asked Rajiv Gandhi.

  ‘I collect jokes people tell about me,’ replied Rajiv. ‘And what is your favourite hobby, Mr President?’

  ‘I collect people who tell jokes about me,’ replied Zia-ul-Haq.

  A visitor to the capital approached a man at a bus stand and asked, ‘Sir, will this bus go to Connaught Place?’

  ‘Ya,’ replied the man.

  Not understanding what the word meant he asked another who likewise replied, ‘Ya.’ So did the third and the fourth man. Then he approached a Sardarji and asked the same question. He replied, ‘Yes sir, it does.’

  The visitor further asked, ‘What does “Ya” mean? Why did you reply “yes sir”?’

  ‘Sir ji, an educated person always says “yes sir”. Only the uneducated say “ya”,’ replied the Sardarji.

  ‘Are you an educated person?’

  ‘Ya.’

  Question: Why do Indian men make such lousy lovers?

  Answer: They get all the love they want from their mothers and by the time they attain puberty they become emotionally impotent.

  Every time I go to Pakistan I pick up some jokes about its head of state, most of them about his uncanny ability to outlast political opponents and his sense of public relations. Zia is an Arain—a caste of market gardeners who grow vegetables. It is said that having retired from his onerous duties, Zia was looking for something to do which would add to his pension. An old friend who knew Zia was an Arain, suggested that since he owned a lot of land they would go into growing vegetables on a 50-50 basis. ‘You do the work; what grows above the ground is yours, what grows below will be mine!’

  Zia readily agreed and planted seeds of potatoes, radishes, carrots. He got the sale price of the entire crop.

  His partner felt chagrined. ‘Next crop, I take all that grows below the ground and you take all that grows above it.’

  Zia agreed. This time he planted cauliflowers, cucumbers, peas. Once more he got all the proceeds of the sale.

  The time came for the third planting. This time the landowner was determined not to lose in the bargain. ‘Whatever grows below the earth and above is mine; only the middle portion will be yours,’ he said.

  Zia agreed. And this time he planted sugarcane. The roots below and leaves on top went to the landowner; the middle portion which has all the juice fell to Zia’s share.

  Telegrams were sent out inviting members of the party to attend the Congress centenary celebrations in Delhi. Some telegraph clerks not familiar with the English language changed the word centenary to ‘sanitary’. Another variation of the word was used by Prakash Patil, son of Vasantdada Patil, then the chief minister of Maharashtra. When questioned whether his father had really met Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi, he replied in the affirmative: ‘Yes, at the century celebrations.’

  Then there w
as a member of Parliament who having spoken on the budget was correcting the transcript of his speech taken down verbatim. He lost his temper and exploded: ‘These fellows who prepare our Hansard get simple words wrong. I was talking on the baajet and they have taken it down as budget, not once but every time.’

  A husband and wife were quarrelling. The wife got up in a temper, stuffed a few saris in her bag and was marching out of the house when the husband yelled at her, ‘Where do you think you are going?’

  ‘I am going to hell,’ she hissed back.

  ‘In that case don’t forget to say my namaskaar to your parents and relatives.’

  A maternity home housed in the first floor of a multi-storeyed building had, on the ground floor, a dry-cleaner boasting of one-day service. Came a terrible dust storm which knocked down the maternity home’s signboard. It fell on the dry-cleaner’s, obliterating all of it except the bottom line. After the storm had blown over the two signboards read collectively as follows:

  Mamta Maternity Home. Delivery within 24 hours.

  A devout old Christian lay on his deathbed. Instead of a priest, he summoned his lawyer and his doctor and asked them to stand on either side of his bed. ‘Why do you want us beside you at this time?’ they asked. Replied the dying man: ‘I want to die like Jesus Christ on the cross with two thieves on either side.’

  An income-tax officer (in-charge of administration) in Calcutta often faced the problem of late attendance of staff. With a view to finding out the reason, he added a column in the attendance register: ‘Reason for late arrival’. It did not improve matters. The staff got into the habit of inventing excuses for coming late. If the first latecomer entered against his name: ‘Delayed due to late arrival of local train or traffic jam’, other latecomers simply wrote ‘Ditto’ against their names. One day a lady stenographer arrived late by twenty minutes and wrote, ‘Went to consult lady doctor for maternity problems’. Other persons who came late that day dutifully put down ‘Ditto’, ‘Ditto’ …

  A Sardarji farmer had saved up a lot of money to buy a car. But when he had the required sum, instead of buying a car he bought a buffalo. ‘Sardarji, you were always saying you wanted a car to drive to the mandi. And now you have gone and bought another buffalo. Won’t you look ridiculous riding a buffalo to the market?’

  Quite unabashed, the Sardarji replied, ‘Wouldn’t I look more ridiculous trying to milk a Maruti?’

  A biology teacher was dissecting a frog. Having explained the inner features of amphibians, he asked his students, ‘What would you expect to find if you dissected a human being?’

  A bright lad replied, ‘Sir, I would expect to find myself behind bars.’

  A visitor having tea at a restaurant complained about the quality of the tea.

  ‘Sahib, we have got this tea from Darjeeling,’ explained the waiter.

  ‘Is that why it is so cold?’ asked the customer.

  A dhobi won the first prize in a lottery and bought himself a small, electrically-run laundrette. Since he had spent his entire winnings on the machine, he retained his donkey for collecting and delivering clothes. Unfortunately, due to some fault in his meter, the dhobi’s first electricity bill was so huge that he had to sell his donkey to pay it.

  A short while afterwards, someone asked the donkey as to who was responsible for his master-of-many-years selling him. The donkey replied, in a loud, angry bray: ‘DESU! DESU! DESU!’

  A Muslim couple arrived in paradise and approached Allah for permission to have another nikaah performed. Allah asked them to wait for some time. After waiting for some years, they again approached the Almighty with their request. Allah took them to his office and showed them a pile of thousands of pending applications asking for permssion for a repeat marriage. ‘You see, I can do nothing till some mullah is allowed to enter paradise; there hasn’t been one for many decades.’

  A delegation of Sikhs called on the former Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi. ‘The police always makes us Sikhs stand in the background at your public meetings. All other communities are given VIP treatment and allowed to stand in front,’ they complained.

  The former Prime Minister reassured them, ‘Don’t worry, as soon as we have a war on our hands, I’ll see that you Sikhs are put in the front of all other communities.’

  Trying to show off your familiarity with foreign languages can land you in difficulties. There is the well-known case of a British minister on a visit to Moscow who, in order to please his hosts, mugged up a short speech in Russian. On his way to the banquet he realized he did not know the Russian for ‘ladies and gentlemen’. He stopped his car near a public lavatory and took down the Russian equivalent. His speech did not get the kind of applause he expected. Afterwards he asked one of his colleagues what had gone wrong. The colleague replied, ‘Your speech was excellent. But why did you have to start with “Male and female urinals”?’

  This anecdotes relates to Maulana Shaukat Ali’s close association with Mahatma Gandhi during the days of the Khilafat agitation and their subsequent parting of ways.

  Gandhiji often addressed meetings from Khilafat platforms. Audiences which were largely composed of Muslims wanted to know why a Hindu bania had taken up the cause of the Caliphate which was entirely a Muslim affair. Being a tall and stout man, Maulana Shaukat Ali would have a dig at Gandhiji: ‘He is a small man; I have him in my pocket.’

  Later Shaukat Ali quit the Congress and joined the Muslim League. ‘Where is that Mahatma Gandhi who had promised to get us Muslims our rights?’ Maulana Shaukat Ali would ask at every public meeting. The Mahatma replied to the question at one of his prayer meetings: ‘The Maulana wants to know where I am. He used to say he had me in his pocket. Let him look inside and he will find me.’

  Agha Shahid Ali, a Delhi-born Kashmiri, is almost unknown as a poet in his homeland. He deserves to be taken seriously. I give two samples of his composition. This one is entitled, ‘Today, Talk is Cheap. Call Somebody …’ I called Information Desk, Heaven, and

  asked, ‘When is Doomsday?’

  I was put on hold.

  Through the hallelujahs of seraphs, I heard the idle gossip of angels,

  Their wings beating rumours of revolts in

  Heaven.

  Then I heard flames, wings burning, then only hallelujahs.

  I prayed, Angel of love,

  Please pick up the phone.

  But it was the Angel of Death. I said,

  ‘Tell me,

  Tell me, when is Doomsday?’

  He answered, ‘God is busy.

  He never answers the living.

  He has no answers for the dead.

  Don’t ever call again, collect.’

  In another poem ‘Language Games’, has witty-macabre lines like:

  You challenged me to charades.

  I agreed. This would be my syllable-cure.

  Tableau One: I licked a saucer of milk.

  You cried: CAT!

  Tableau Two: I was stubborn as a mule.

  You cried: ASS.

  Tableau Three: I gave you my smile, like

  a prize.

  You cried: TROPHY.

  You cried: CAT-ASS-TROPHY?

  There is an interesting episode on Nehru’s life recounted by J.K. Galbraith who was the US ambassador in Delhi. A much-married Hollywood filmstar called on the Prime Minister.

  ‘Well, Miss Dickinson,’ Nehru said, ‘when you are featured in a movie that takes two months or more to film, I suppose you become deeply involved in the role you are playing. Does that have a lasting effect on your character or personality?’

  Nehru was delighted with Angle’s reply: ‘In my last three movies,’ she said, ‘I have played the part of a woman of questionable morality. I hope that has not permanently affected me.’

  A poor man sat outside a temple begging for alms from worshippers: ‘In the name of Bhagwan give this hungry man some paise to fill his belly. Bhagwan will bless you.’ But the people went to pray in the house of God, gav
e the beggar so little that he never had enough to buy daal-roti. In sheer disgust he quit the temple and sat outside where people came for their evening shot of country liquor. ‘A few paise in the name of Bhagwan,’ he whined, as people came out in high spirits. Instead of paise many dropped rupee notes in his begging bowl. The beggar gave thanks to God in the following words: ‘Hey Bhagwan truly inscrutable are Thy ways! You give one address but live in another place.’

  Signboards on highways:

  Mountains are a pleasure; only if you drive with leisure.

  Drive with care, make accidents rare.

  Your hurry may cause my family worry.

  Always alert, accidents avert

  Keep your nerves on a sharp curve.

  Drive on horsepower, not on rumpower.

  Darling I want you but not so fast.

  A Haryanvi peasant who was charged with theft went to engage a lawyer. ‘How much money have you got to pay my fee?’ asked the lawyer.

  ‘Gareeb aadmee hoon, sahib—Sir, I am a poor man. All I have is a tractor,’ replied the peasant.

  ‘If you have a tractor, you can’t be very poor. You can raise money on it and pay me,’ said the lawyer. ‘What have you been accused of stealing?’

  ‘Sir, the tractor.’

  There was a Punjabi couple who were connoisseurs of good food. They were invited to a dinner party by a friend. The man knew some English: his wife none at all. On their way back home after dinner the wife made disparaging remarks about the quality of the food in Punjabi: ‘Palak-paneer was thud (third) class. Even the Gajar ka halva was like kicchad (mud).’

  Her husband agreed with her opinion. ‘Nothing was good except the catering.’

  ‘Accha,’ replied the wife, ‘Oh tay main chakkhia hee nahin—I didn’t so much as taste the catering.’

  A minister was the chief guest at the finals of a football tournament. After giving away the prizes, he was requested to say a few words. He said, ‘It pains me to learn that this year only two teams could make it to the finals. When we have hundreds of football clubs in the country, we should endeavour to see that many more teams reach the finals next year.’