Summer Horror.

I am low. North india is reeling. I cant remember it being this hot ever.
A friend had warned me to never make fun of politicians or journos. They both have very long memory. Longer than baba ramdev’s beard. I didn’t believe him.
But weird things have been happening. I have been having strange nightmares. When I met him , the doctor asked me what my problem was. “ I see ghosts.” I tried my best Haley Osment voice. The doctor whispered back.,” careful. She’s my wife. She has EARS.”
He blames it on the heat. But I am sure there is something deeper; sinister. The empire is striking back.
I saw myself tied to the chair by strings of pasta and madam ( I am even scared to call her name now) approaching menacingly with a ladle of spaghetti sauce and dunking me in it with generous support from her dimpled boy. Now I love spaghetti. I have to eat it at least once a fortnight. Tony Roma on the NW 87 AVE. or the olive garden in Miami will vouch for it. But I wonder if the next time I visit I will have the stomach for it.
After I tried sleeping again, sharad pawar just rolled over me and flattened me like pita bread leaving me for Lalu to fill the stuffings. Then there was vir singhvi throwing bundles of Hindustan times on poor old me and Manu sanghvi assisting him by using his bald pate to glare sun in my eyes. I was sweating . but the torture was not yet over. There was Telecom Raja carrying 20 pages of prose he wrote in honor of the Kalaignar ( DMK president karunanidhi) and I was his sole audience. Didn’t matter which language it was . it all sounded tamil.
The doctor advised relaxation. Indulge in your favourite hobby.
Music!!!!!!!!. What could be soothing than music.
Now American idol was something I swore by. I saw Kelly Clarkson come as a nobody and later pick up a grammy. I saw Clay Aiken lose a final and yet reach the US Top 100.
I enjoyed David Archuleta’s honey dipped ‘ Imagine’ and felt the chill when he sang Dolly Parton’s Smokey mountains , every immigrants anthem.
So I was naturally excited to see that the Indian idol was about to begin. India has some great talent. I had seen some you tube clippings of sa re ga ma pa which I had thoroughly enjoyed. I read that Anu Malik was our answer to Simon Cowell, the delightfully caustic judge . the expectations were mounting.
I am a great fan of Simon. He is a great entertainer. His barbs are wickedly funny.
This was my antidote for insomnia.
Was I disappointed!
What I watched, instead, was a pot smoking monkey , jumping up and down the set . The show is almost farcical. Look likes he has been done by the heat too.

I turned to my savior, the Youtube. This is what I found. For once i was glad that MJ is dead.

The sun is relentless and there is no respite.