Thought Crimes

My Room-mate in RJB was an amazing fellow. While the rest of the wing was fainting left, right and center after hearing my latest concoctions in the kitchen of humour, he would brave it all with a straight face. It was he who got to hear the jokes first of all, and he who generally had to hear them all over again when others dropped in. I can’t really say whether it did him any good or not. Despite the tremendous bonding between us, my presence didn’t really help him much. I guess it’s difficult to study when your room-mate makes up his mind to do anything but that and spends the hours before the dreaded TS’s happily browsing through Sherlock Holmes. Everything ended happily ever after for him though. The minute we had to move to separate rooms, he began an intense love affair with his books and started performing hitherto unheard-of feats of almost hitting 9’s on the blasted CG scale. The best thing is that he remains the brilliant TT player and the fun-to-be person that I grew so fond of. As for Lefty, I’ve resolved to do well next sem, for the fourth time I believe. Let’s see what happens this time. But that’s another story.

My reputation as a master of brilliant jokes came into being not long after I had put up in R. I guess the Pink-colour Polka-dotted Ping Pong ball might have had something to do with that. It’ll probably go down in history, and those who were denied a first-hand experience of the same can lament for all I care. One fine day, however, good old, and I mean old, Raps began to barge into my terrain. His USP was ‘intellectual’ jokes, and of course, his Dino style. While my faithful lousy louts were convinced that there was no one to look up to me as far as brilliant jokes were concerned, some doubting Thomases felt otherwise. Plans of a showdown were made. I don’t know how or when. As one of the master showmen, I was spared the menial tasks of planning.

The great day dawned, or rather set. The arena was prepared. I was given the home court advantage. I forget who my faithful supporters were, but I wish them all the best in whatever they do. As for my worthy opponent’s troops, I thank God for their existence and wish them all the best in their endeavours too. The rules were simple- 5 jokes each. The person who made his opposition laugh the most would win.

I started strongly, with my brilliant jokes eliciting more guffaws than those of Raps. Halfway through, I was heading to a sure-shot victory. I could hear the victory bells ring in the distance. Poor Raps was trying valiantly to keep up but his jokes were becoming too intellectual and a tad too short. I would genially beam at him, thinking he had a long way to go, but held much promise nevertheless. But then Raps used Bombard Canons and Paladins against my Skirmishers (yes I have been playing AoE a lot these days). For the War time aficionados, he dropped an atom bomb on my tommy-gun wielding troops. To be precise in the details, he unleashed Mr. Churchill.

I forget the exact details of the Mr. Churchill joke. Raps has got a link on this page. Pester him for the same. I remember that it was a typical thing to happen to the esteemed British Prime Minister of the World War II years. But the minute ‘Mr. Churchill’ had been uttered from Raps’ ancient lips, all hell broke loose. My dear supporters, who had stoically braved the onslaught so far, fell about in fits of uncontrolled laughter. Those that didn’t were affected by this contagious collapse and suffered a similar fate. For more than ten minutes, I lost point after point after point. It was bit like that scene in Pyaar ke Side Effects, when I, the Rahul Bose of the script, suddenly started losing badly in the face of Mallika’s tears. Two God-forsaken words, Mr. damned Churchill, were enough to bring my dreams of victory crashing down to earth.

I don’t think it were the words exactly which did the damage. My troops had heard Mr. Churchill’s name before without falling to pieces. It were Raps’ gestures that spelt doom. The lethal words in question were uttered at a progressive frequency somewhere between that of a baby’s first words and a rubber doll’s squeak. You know, the kind that you have to press to get a sound out of. Add to that, a cross-legged Raps with a very Rapsy look on his face and I’m surprised if you’re not down laughing on the floor yourself by now.

Needless to say, Raps won in the end. He deserves credit. He won fair and square. But after the event I got thinking. The whole tournament had been erringly called the ‘PJ sammelan’, and as far as PJ’s are concerned, the guy who gets the least laughs should be champion, right? Guess the moral victory was mine after all. And whoever the ‘official’ winner may be, Mr. Churchill can still not compare with the Pink-colour Polka-dotted Ping Pong ball. Yippee.

# posted by Saagar @ 2:41 pm