Friday, June 30, 2006

Baadhein Insha Alla

I am being scorned everyday.

I am being sworn by some one every day except Monday.

In fact though he does it internally with out a trace of annoyance showing in his face, I know it well.

The one who swear at me is Ali

His full name is Ali Jallaludin. I fondly call him Ali Thoweel.

Thoweel is the Arabic word for ‘tall’.

I call him that name because I have one more Ali here. So it becomes easy if Thoweel is added when anyone ask about him.

He is a very tall man with a warm smile.

He is my driver.

No... he is not my driver as I prefer driving alone.

He is one of our company drivers who is to drive minivans which transport the trainees.

In fact we have four drivers as we have four mini buses. One driver is spared always for us if anyone wants to use his services.

Soon after I came here on this job, I am the one who has to take responsibility of the vehicles, so naturally they have to report to me every day morning.

Initially they hated my shadow too, as I had to use a bit of rough tactics for the sake of the discipline of the vehicles.

Driver’s in general and here, as I observed, has a bad habit of a rough style in their work. Most of them don’t care about the vehicles they drive as they drive different vehicles every day. I made it a point to assign specific Vans to drive, to make them responsible.

It clicked though they cringed.I made it a point to check all the vans every Monday. It worked like magic, as ours is one of the best looking vehicles in the Company.

It had initial drawbacks. Tempers flared as I had to act like Hitler. But later when they know that I mean business and also that I care for them, they became sterling drivers.

I have gone far from the subject.

This one is about Ali Thoweel, whom I keep as the spare driver when ever I am here. The spare driver is allowed to stay away from routine jobs.

He is the one who has the responsibility to check, clean and wash my truck every day morning. In the morning when I leave, it is a sparkling white, but in the evening when I come back, my truck is a wreck. See for yourself.

Caked mud and dust covers the sides and it looks horrible.

Ali swears at me, of course not in front of me. Because it is his job to make it sterling off-white next day when I leave.

I don't blame him.

It is not an easy for me too; driving almost 150 kilometers... six days a week through the pot holed, dusty, sandy and wet roads. My back aches when I am back.

Ali must be around sixty years old with a lovely smile with salt and pepper hair. He has three daughters and a son.

He brings sweets prepared by his wife when ever he returns from vacations saying that she sent it especially for me because I am his blood brother.

He calls me his blood brother. He has a silly reason for that and it goes back to a year and a half when I was here almost eight months.

One night, Ali got sick in the middle of the night.

His fellow driver woke me up in the middle of my sleep and told me that Ali is dying.

I got scared.

I was really scared and ran to his room. He was in pretty bad shape with spasm after spasm from his stomach. His chest was heaving high and he was crying loud.

I am no doc and I suspected that he has an appendices problem.

I used the 'walkie talkie' from the training room and called the doc. He came fast and told me that he should be taken to the field hospital.

I didn’t wait for any, took him in my Prado but left a message in the desk about Ali who was taken to hospital.

He was operated immediately to remove his appendices and I waited outside the operation room.

After one hour, two docs from thr surgery room came out and asked if there was anybody with B+ blood as he lost some blood and needs to replenish.

As I am a natural B+ I went in for checks to test mine.

Thirty minutes later we were lying side by side and I became his blood brother with out him knowing about it.

The doc was my friend and he told me that everything is perfect and that I can leave with out a worry.

The time was 4 AM.

He was discharged only after three days as he had a diabetic problem. I used to visit him every day morning and evening. The second day when I went visiting him, he was sitting up in the bed and tried to get up. I reminded him that he is still sick and to sit calmly.

He motioned me to come near him and I went closer.

He held me close to him in a practical bear hug and started to weep saying a word again and again.The words that almost means a ‘blood brother’.

I didn’t know what that meant but my eyes become full.

I didn’t know what he meant by blood brother at that time, but I consoled him and laid him on the bed. While coming out of the hospital I asked the other driver who came out to see off me about the blood brother. He said that I have become his blood brother by allowing him to have my blood.

I went back in the hospital to Ali again and told him in Arabic that even with out that blood I am his blood brother.

Tears were falling from his eyes when I left him.

He went back home in two days to his wife and children in Khartoum city.

When he resumed his work after his medical leave, he brought a big box of sweets and told me that it was sent by his wife for the blood brother. I don’t like sweets but I shared one or two pieces.

This continues till now too when ever he returns after the holidays.

He says every time, that his wife would like to meet me and I always tell him Baadein Insha Alla. ('Later on, if God willing' in Arabic)

See my blood brother Ali Jallaludin aka Ali Thoweel.

Saturday, June 24, 2006


Yesterday was drenched with rain.

In the late afternoon I saw the sun slowly peeking out from behind the clouds. A few minutes later I saw the full sun.

I was driving long distance as usual and I was tired and felt damp. As I entered my office, the drizzling started.
I kept my carry bag in the foyer, went in and washed my hands to have a cup of tea; a habit I picked up from someone.

I wanted to watch the rain again and was out watching from the platform. I was wondering where the sun had gone so soon.

There it was…

I am not good at worrying about the east or west but I know that it was on my left side, just above the camp.
It looked like a wide arc above the camp buildings. I have never taken a picture of a rainbow. It was not so clear with the dark clouds looming behind.

The rest you know

Here it is to share

BTW: May be I am silly, but I made a wish.
You can also make a wish and write it here.
Mine, I won't.

I think that I need a break.
Well ! every one needs one.

But not before giving some thing for you to laugh at the week end.

The lie clock

A man died and went to heaven. As he stood in front of St. Peter at the Pearly Gates, he saw a huge wall of clocks behind him.
He asked, "What are all those clocks?" St. Peter answered, "Those are Lie-Clocks. Everyone on Earth has a Lie-Clock. Every time you lie the hands on your clock will move."
"Oh," said the man, "whose clock is that?" "That's Mother Teresa's. The hands have never moved, indicating that she never told a lie. "Incredible," said the man. "And whose clock is that one?" St. Peter responded, "That's Abraham Lincoln's clock. The hands have moved twice, telling us that Abe told only two lies in his entire life."
"Where's President Bush's clock?" asked the man. "Bush's clock is in Jesus' office. He's using it as a ceiling fan.

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Rain drops

A spring is that I feel when you smile
A shade that cools all through the miles
When words, helpless remain a puppet
Like rain drops my tears, I better let it

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Cherry Merry Lips

A finger exploring
the skin felt alluring
a face, soft as snow
two dimples at bloom

The fingers so creepy
now playing a snappy
sketching the chin
keep sliding, within

A coveting surge
an urge on the verge
a mole on the cheek
keep twitching to seek

Two eyes turning mellow
a heart beat like bellows
a shudder deep within
the cheeks now a pink

A fragrance so dear
a breath hot`n near
a black pair of eyes
now blacked out`n dies

The cherry merry lips
now parted with thirst
by letting those lips
A tigress was born

Sunday, June 18, 2006

Getting Pregnant. (This is also for men)

Dear my readers... It is another attempt.
People complain about me that I have very wry sense of humor.
They write to me saying that I write sad and I write mad.
Well it’s true. I have to accept it.

When I started write a blog before two years, I used to scribble few lines and publish it by telling everyone that it is poetry.

But soon when I took a whirl around the other blogs here, I accepted my limitations.

I can’t write poetry. Yet people encouraged me, applauded me and what not… Monica even has gone to the limits, to write that if ever I publish a book of poems (sigh) she will be the first to buy it. I am grateful to her for being so kind with me.
As an extremely organized and systematic writer, she writes natural and versatile, who has a kind heart.
Unfortunately we had a misunderstanding which ended in our friendship being shaky and we don’t communicate now.
Now that shows my art of public relations. My sensitive nature, adds fire in some situations and calling a spade, a spade... tend to function as a boomerang on me.

Well, to continue, I was unable to write a good poem, and my next aim was to write a journal, which needs writing qualities that I lack.

So with the support of some by all time friends like Pinklady, Walker & Lisa, I selected a joke kindly send by a friend as a plot. I wrote a humorous skit called “that is how she became my mom” and it went well, as it was a joke converted to a skit.

That was it… I couldn’t get a good plot or some thing and I was stuck, stuck with my poor writing, but managed a blog until now.

Recently I even thought of learning a bit of cooking and including a few recipes stolen from LG who maintain a very informative and delicious Indian style kitchen blog. Please check her out.

I am also restricted with a not-so-friendly server and an equally unfriendly job which I don’t want to loose.
Now this is my next attempt to polish my image as a blogger by at least making you smile, where as what I want is laugh.

This joke is the courtesy of mindinside who took pity at my pathetic writing.

Well, to put it in plain language, I haven’t done anything except editing the basic joke, here and there.

Here it is.

he he he he he he… that it self is a joke

A twenty-one-year-old girl tells her Mom that she has missed her period for two months.

Very worried, the mother goes to the drugstore and buys a test kit.
The test result shows that the girl is pregnant.

The Mother naturally was upset
Shouting, cursing, crying, the mother says

"Who was the pig that did this to you? I want to know!"

The girl keeps her cool, picks up the phone and makes a call.

Half an hour later a brand new, chauffeur driven Ferrari stops in front of their house.
A mature and distinguished man with gray hair, impeccably dressed in a very expensive suit, steps out of the car and enters the house.

He sits in the living room with the father, the mother and the girl, and tells them,

"Good morning, your daughter has informed me of the problem".
He stopped and looked at every body and continued with dignity.

"I can't marry her because of my personal family situation, but I'll provide support".

The mother was fuming and was about to speak but stopped short.

The man took out a gold bound small scribbling pad and a solid siver pen from his pocket and started to read from the book.

"If a girl is born, I will bequeath her two retail stores, a town house, a beach villa and $1,000,000 bank account.

If a boy is born, my legacy will be a couple of factories and $2,000,000 bank account.
If it happens to be twins, a factory and $1,000,000 each"

He closed his small book and with the folded pen, looked around and asked with great concern.

"However, if there is a miscarriage, what do you suggest I do?"

At this point, the father, who had remained silent, places a hand firmly on the man's shoulder and tells him

“Then you try again."

Thursday, June 15, 2006

A tag for my buddies.

This is about tagging.
What about tagging?
It is not a new thing in blog world. You have a tag; you do it and you tag some one else and it goes on and on like a cycle.
I too have been tagged a number of times.
I think Aklanta tagged me the first time and I politely declined.
I have nothing against a tag except the time factor. I don’t post daily due to my shortage of time. In my training job, I have to spend a majority of my time in class rooms and doing rounds in different stations where my trainees are located.
Well! Most of my old readers here know this and they leave me alone.
I have a new reader who tagged me last week and he is gone. Before tagging me he came here to read and left a comment. May be he is coming here daily and I dunno if he is reading this. But I have a tracker and I haven’t seen his URL in here for some time.

Aklanta is an old buddy and recently somebody tagged him and he even thought of passing the tag to me. He even conspired with shine to make me do it. Well! Shine is also my reader right from the beginning of my blog.
Now I see that another tag coming from mindinside who also remains one of my regular visitors which made me think that if I can take a tag from a new reader why not from my buddies closer to me.
Here I am taking tag from mindinside…Aklanta & Shine with out them asking me and lastly for sujay sukumar.
But I break the rules too.
I am not going to tell any one when the tag is done. He/she has to come and find it if they wants.
The tag was for six weird things I do, but as I am not tagging any one, I reserve the right to change it to six weird wishes of mine.

I am a very weird person.
I agree it here.
Some of the things that I want to do are very very weird, and I wonder if you believe me.
So here are the six weird things I want to do:

I like flying and I know how to pilot a small Cessana for that matter.
That is not that flying I mean.
I was about to join a Para gliding recently but shied off at the last moment just because I am scared of breaking my legs or angles and loosing a well paid job.
*I would like to fly like bird… soaring in the blue sky in the moonlight, with nothing above me… with out a sound from anywhere, like the pic I put up here.

The second one is with a story. This is a story that goes back to 3 years when I was in Addis Ababa airport lounge, waiting for a connection flight in the early morning time. There was a group of transvestites travelling as a group and I saw that everybody’s eyes were on them including mine. I think that they felt terrible embarrassment being there among the crowd of waiting passengers. From that day I always watch people who are transvestites, to know more about their lifestyles.
*So if I get the chance, I would like to spend an evening with them and write about it.
You have started laughing in disbelief. I know that

*I want to be shipwrecked in a blue lagoon some where in the ocean with no supplies

Most of my readers think that I am a serious person.
It is true and I agree. But I also have a sense of humour.
*Weirdest of all, I want to be an invisible man for a day walking everywhere I please, especially to my own kitchen, where I suspect that an affair is ongoing between my gardener and maid. Incidentally he is 55 years old and going strong and she, a widow of late 40’s.

I am a great fan of colours like m.reza who is a fair minded person. He wears only black apparels, to be impartial to all colours and I also know that after a certain depth you can’t read many colours, like in the ocean.
*Though it is a very small fantasy, I would like to be painted in my favourite yellow colour and go underwater just for the fun of it.

* Last but not least, I want to spank a woman on her bare butts in public, who came across my life some time back, who always calls me ‘poda’ when ever she gets a chance. The funny thing is, that the little “she devil” is ten years younger than me.

'poda' means an off-hand “bugger off “ which is used only on people younger to you in age.

No ! No ! Don’t suspect me; I have never made a pass at her.

Now the tag is done, I want to know how weird am I ? Am I not the weirdest.

I don’t tag any.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

I need her

Today I need to find shobha.
Today I needed her desperately.
Yes, I know you have that crooked smile in the corner of your mouth whenever I mention a woman’s name.
Shobha is Mohan’s wife.
She is a cute, charming girl and very talkative about any subject.
Today she came to my mind suddenly.

Mohan is my long time closest friend, now peacefully settled in Sweden. His wife Shobha is a citizen of Sweden.
From the way they act nowadays, it seems that they don't know me at all.

I lost contact with him for almost six months.
Our friendship goes back long ago with my service in Shell Nigeria. He too was there and we had a great time.
I am away from the subject…sorry.

This is to do with his cute wife Shobha, who used to ask me to bring clothes for her whenever I go globe trotting.

So what is so special about it ? Listen to this.
The funny thing is that she wants them in only one colour... peacock blue.
I have never seen her in any other coloured attire.

Peacock coloured Sari, Churidar, midi, maxi or what ever she wears…all in the same colour.
She says that it become her habit, from her very early days and revealed that she was once taken to a shrink by her parents to solve this obsession.
One day I even jokingly asked Mohan if she has peacock blue underwears too. He just laughed and laughed and shoba came out hearing his laugh.

When he repeated my question, she joined our fun, finding a gap to tell me that she wanted that too in peacock blue, but unfortunately she gave up her trials after realizing the futileness.

Now turning back to the subject:

Peacock is the national bird of India too and I know that it is blue.
You all know what this colour is, don’t you ?

This unique beautiful ‘blue’ had made this bird world famous.
But not any more, after taking these pictures of this white peacock. I am dumber than a donkey some times, as I realized this after seeing a white peeacock.
After taking these pics I decided to do little research on a white peacock. You know what I got first when I typed 'white peacock' ?
Butterflies!! Now I know that there are butterflies with the name white peacock.
Yes, there are white peacocks and peafowls too, as I saw them in Malayasia.

I am still looking for Shobha to tell this.

I don’t know how she will take this news.
I wonder if she will start crying. LOL
These pictures are from Malyasia.

Aren't they cute ?

Saturday, June 10, 2006

"Sithe Shai"

I am back in the field on Monday after my vacation.
Wednesday was a rainy day here with the sun coming up occasionally for a few minutes and going out again and the drizzling continued until noon. I had to do my duty rounds what ever the climate is.
I chose the road in front of the hospital, as the rain made a mess of the roads. My Prado is withdrawn from the roads, and a pick up was given to me in place. At least it is 4x4 drive, so that I can safer from the slippery mud.
I drove slowly through the road in front of the police station and the hospital, took a right turn to pass through the army camp and now the road was straight.
I increased the speed a little to get a grip on the road as a test. At the small junction that is a truck parking area, the bright yellow colour of the rain coat came in my view.
Yes, it was a man or a woman in a coat asking for a lift in my car. It was raining and thought I will not stop to prevent mud in the car.
As the face become clear, I recognized that it was Lila, the health worker for the nearby village.
I met her in the hospital a number of times. She stands beside the road when ever she has to go a bit long looking for our company vehicles as she know that she will free from harassment. She has traveled with me many times before too.
She must be going back to her home after her work. I stopped and she came to the driver window to peer at the me . I know that she won’t take a lift from a stranger. I rolled down the window and smile and wished her good morning. She recognized my face and asked if I can drop her in the next junction. She climbed in with water dripping from her coat and hesitated and said a curt ‘malish’ (sorry in Arabic).
I encouraged her by saying a never mind.
She told me that she went to the village where she had a boy with symptoms of Malarial fever and that she is now going to the trucker’s camp where I have seen last time that a lot of makeshift coffee shops has come up manned by women. They are called ‘Rakhoba’ in general. ‘Rakhoba’ literally means built with grass and wood or a temporary shelter. In the rainy season the area will be flooded and no one will be there, the sheds all gone in water and people shift to elevated regions. They say that in old times the area was under water in the rainy season and mosquitoes as big as your fist threatened all, including thick skinned cattle.
The junction was a ten minutes drive and she asked me to stop near the small coffee shop on the right so that she can jump in the shop with out the rain bothering her.
She thanked me and was half out of the car when she asked me if I have been in any small coffee shops before. I shook my head in negative and she invited me for a hot tea.

I decided to see how it looks like to be inside one of these shops.
The shop was made with four walls of dry grass and a grass thatched, with water dripping here and there. The woman who operates it is nor normally called a sithe (Mrs in English) as they are normally married, The shop is well known chatting place for and the truckers, where the woman will also join you in chatting and gossiping. The shop itself is called a ‘sithe shai’ (shai is tea in Arabic)
The woman in the shop got up to wish Lila and me and I was introduced by Lila.
We sat on plastic chairs scattered around with a table in front. I heard Lila telling the woman to make it quicker and to clean the glasses in boiled water for me.

Lila told me that she has to visit a woman, who was as old as one hundred, in one of the near by shops. She had bronchitis and Lila brought her some inhalers from the hospital.
In five minutes the woman brought a tray with two steaming cups of black tea, spreading the aroma of spice and dry ginger.
When I asked Lila if I can take a pic of her, she shied away saying that she is a government worker and she wants no problems. I obliged her but I have some pics of the shop with Maraba, the woman shop owner.
Lila unfortunately is not in the pictures so I should be describing her. Lila is a twenty five years old girl faced thin woman and she speaks very poor English. She is very charming indeed with her short hair.
Behind the display of an array of Hubly bubbly’s also known in Arabic as Hookah, sheesha or Nargila (smoking water pipes) is my Toyota 4x4 pick up.
Take a look !!!
Aside from my blah blahs, I wish you a nice weekend.

Thursday, June 08, 2006


This to wish a belated Happy Birth day to Gem. Her birthday was before yesterday, the 6th of June.
Unfortunatly I missed the date and I am so sorry. She is some one I care, who remains one of my formost readers.
I had no server until now.

I am a devil, who do mix up all dates
I am an evil, who plays
with your minds
I am some one, who hurt all who shares
Apologies to you and others
And I think I need a break.

Saturday, June 03, 2006

A mere touch.

There are some days that I feel so senile
There are sometimes that I care not
to smile
There are those times
I need just a touch

From some one who share,
From a hand that does care,

Knowing that dreams remain dreams all along
Knowing that hopes are just lies all along
Here is my song that is played
at the 'soh'

Here in this window... I open my soul.


* P.S :- For those who don't know, the word 'soh' is related to music. It is the fifth note of a MAJOR SCALE