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The Quirky Life of P

Humor and satire revolving around Mr P- a fictional mix of an avatar of Mr Bean and the veritable Bertram Wooster of Wodehouse fame.

Archive for the tag “DPchallenge”

To Keep the Change or Not…

Let It Be A restaurant that removed your favorite item from the menu, a bad cover of a great song… Write a post about something that should’ve been left untouched, but wasn’t. Why was the original better?- Daily Prompt

The moment P heard his sister was coming over for a visit, he had tried to put some order in the house. His sister did not appreciate P’s laid back views on life and his way of living. Every time she came over, she tried to help P and change things for him. To keep the change or not… was always P’s big dilemma. This time again when she came to stay for a couple of days, she went about moving the furniture around aesthetically and rearranging everything, to make the house more presentable. It all looked very nice by the end of her stay and on the last day P drove her to the train station in the evening and came back home.New Picture (23)

He opened the door and walked through the hallway, where now a potted plant welcomed him, instead of the usual shoe stand with its clutter of shoes. “Beautiful…” P muttered as he walked into the lounge room. The room had really been transformed and looked stunning. P thought his sister had a very good aesthetic sense and sighed at his lack of it.

After having walked around, appreciating his house, P decided to watch a game of cricket. Looking around for his old, fluffy and comfy house shoes, he couldn’t find them. He hunted them out from a bag that his sister had filled with stuff that had to go to the Salvation Army. He also brought out from the bag, other things that he was comfortable wearing and did not wish to part with, though his sister had thought them to be too old and worn out. He took them all to their previous places, and the shoe stand along with the clutter of shoes now came back next to the pot of flowers. Even to P’s eyes it looked incongruous but he shrugged his thoughts away. He needed the shoe stand with his selection of shoes right there before he went out every time.

Going to settle down and watch TV, he had to bring down a bundle of clothes that had been packed in a bag and stowed away in the attic to find his nice warm TV watching, pyjamas and change into them. Now dressed comfortably, he went to the lounge room. His easy chair that he used to stretch out on and watch TV was not there. He looked at the shiny, black, leather chairs arranged around a coffee table. Though the leather chairs looked nice, P was always happier on his old easy chair.  P went out to the verandah at the back and brought his easy chair into the lounge room and gave it its due position, moving the other furniture to their usual places.New Picture (6)

Heaving another sigh, he finally sat down to watch TV. As he stretched out his legs, he felt something was amiss. The stool where he rested his drinks and chips was not there by the side. P had to get up again. This time he had to go into the hallway and grab the potted plant that had greeted him on entering the house. He took it to the garden and then collected the stool on which it had been resting in the hallway and restored it to its normal place. There were further adjustments of the furniture, TV stand and curtains to his liking and finally, P was able to stretch out to his comfort in the easy chair and watch TV. The house looked nearly what it was like before his sister came, but there still remained some more shuffling around that had to be done. His way of having his things around may certainly not be beautiful, but to him it was more comfortable… Tired, P sighed and wished “Only if I could let things be as my sister had left them… or… only if I had the nerve to tell my sister, without hurting her sentiments, to let things be”….

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Needing experience to gain experience…

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P applied for several jobs after he graduated,

To earn a living and gain some experience;

And his experience certainly escalated

As he applied himself to the job of applying to the jobs;

His patience was tried as regret letters accumulated,

It seemed that to get a job and experience, he had to have the experience.

Oh, the Irony!

 

Waiting…

In today’s writing challenge, you’ll choose a scenario (or invent your own) and write a poem, a short story, a vignette, a scene, or flash fiction based on Nighthawks by Edward Hopper.

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Soda man: “You folks shouldn’t fret too much. His home is on the other side of the town. When he reaches his home and hunts for the house keys in the bag, he will realise that he has the wrong bag and will scramble back here in a jiffy”.

Man next to the woman: “Well, all we can do now is sit here and wait… It’s quite late already, how long is ‘jiffy’?”

Soda man: “Considering that it’s too late to get any bus, he will have to walk here and it could be another half hour.”

Woman to the man next to her: “To think that I had only gone to the powder room for a few minutes and my bag disappears… I still can’t understand how my bag could be mistaken for the gentleman’s case.”

Soda man: “That’s Mr P… Done this many times… When in a tipple and otherwise…”

The mystery man who had kept quiet till then: “Taken my case home too, a couple of times…He is quite absent-minded and … quite quirky…”

 

Ye folks who sit next to the man

In the train or bus or a restaurant,

Look out for your bag and umbrella;

Though P may not be a bad fella,

He mistakes your things for his own;

Absent-mindedness with age has grown,

He finishes your drink leaving his half-drunk for you;

Be careful he could use your tooth-brush too!

Ye folks be mindful when P is around,

A quirkier person, can’t be found.

 

Find a Muse in the Masters

Stumped by cricket jargon…

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Like other humans of the planet, let alone humans of New York, P had his faults but no one could ever accuse him of being a sporty person. The sports pages of the newspapers P bought were left, unopened and unread. However, when his neighbour Chris said he had tickets for a one day match between his hometown and a rival city, P readily agreed to accompany him as he had been cooped up indoors all during the week-end and needed to get some sunshine and his quota of Vitamin D.

They reached the grounds just in time. No sooner than they had taken their seats, P got up and left to buy some drinks and pop corn and had to line up in a queue. He could hear the crowd roar occasionally and knew that some progress was being made in the game. He was anxious to know the position of the home team.

When he returned, offering Chris a drink P asked “Any goals so far?”

A stunned Chris replied “This is cricket. There are no goals but runs and wickets!”

“OK”, said P perplexedly. “I know “run” and I know “wicked”, but what is a wicket?”

“You see those stumps at both ends with those bails on top? Those are wickets”

“I get it”, said P with an intelligent nod. “Have we made a good score?”

“Well”’ said Chris, “The run rate is pretty slow… Look’s like this is not a batting wicket”

“What do you mean?” asked a flummoxed P.

Chris looked at P and saw the confusion which only escalated as Chris explained “You know, by wicket, I mean the pitch or that piece of ground out there”

Just then there was roar from the crowd and Chris returned his eyes back to the game.

“Oh Sendulkar has been caught behind!” he cried, putting his hands on his head.

P looked at the field. He could not see anybody holding onto anybody’s back. He saw only a man walking back to the pavilion with his bat while other players in the ground seemed to be rejoicing at something.

P was simply bamboozled!

“That was an important wicket that has fallen,” Chris continued despondently.

P looked at the stumps and sticks on either end of the ground in the middle. They were still out there standing erect like soldiers on a parade. None of them had fallen or were lying on the ground…..

“But those wickets are still upright over there,” P pointed out to Chris.

“A wicket has fallen in the abstract sense”, Chris tried to explain.

P tried to absorb the idea of a wicket falling in an abstract sense….

He was simply stumped! All the cricket jargon made no sense to him. His common sense sent his attention back to his coke and popcorn chicken.

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Curve Balls

Overload alert

P Forgets His Umbrella!

Full Tanka- Daily Post Weekly writing Challenge

This week, explore haiku’s meatier relative, the tanka

 


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To hide his bald patch

His hair brushed into a spike

With whistle and smile

P strolled out to meet his date

But reached with rain plastered pate

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Full Tanka

Manifesto for the feline…

New Picture (4)I write a manifesto on the duties of a good neighbourly cat

For I am tired of cat poo and the occasional dead rat

Adorning my yard, garden and even the porch;

The smell so bad, sets my anger to torch.

 

If neighbours keep cats, please get them potty trained

To use cat litter, no matter if it shone or rained;

Any cat to my home welcome, if this pact was kept,

To which I now add some more to accept.

 

The Felis catus should not filch my fish

Nor scare my lovebirds, that would be churlish!

Nor wake me in the in the middle of the night

With mating howls or sounds of cat fight.

 

Don’t look me in the eye with sly disdain;

Wagging that tail in anger, please refrain

When I try to protect my tuna snacks,

Or when I surprise you in your tracks.

 

If these points, you sincerely abide by,

I’ll come to love you by and by;

With you I’ll then share my milk and prawn

And rub your back for a purr, if you keep your claws withdrawn…

Manifesto

A Secret Memoir…

The topic ‘Memoir Madness’ sent P careening down the memory lane. It was fairly a long time ago that P had first attempted writing memoirs. It had been while he was studying in a boarding school. The school insisted that all the kids kept a school diary. P had only reached the country from overseas a month ago and had joined the school as a new student. He had never been exposed to the concept of school diaries before. P still remembered the book with the midnight blue cover that he was given. No sooner had he received the book than he had written down what he really felt about some of the classes and teachers. He had shown this to his peers and his new friends then told him that school diaries would be routinely checked by the teachers to see whether the students were indeed writing down reminders and tasks for home work. P had been flabbergasted. He then had taken a lot of effort to convince the warden that his diary was lost somehow and that he needed a replacement. He had finally succeeded and had ended up with two look-alike books…..

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P had been pretty amused and thrilled with what he had written down in his first diary and felt he needed to continue writing his thoughts, poems and his inner feelings. He particularly enjoyed waxing sometimes lyrical and sometimes satirical about the food at the boarding school, the home works he was given and the classes and teachers he liked and disliked. This was maintained as his secret diary while he used the second book for the purpose for which it was really meant and was submitted to the warden routinely every Friday morning.

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Weeks had gone by before the day that would always be engraved in his memory dawned. P remembered it had been particularly chilly that fateful morning and he had not felt like leaving the warmth of his bed and blankets. He got up late and was in a rush to go to his classes after a hurried breakfast. While he was picking up his bowl of corn flakes in the dining hall, he saw that his room mates who had already finished theirs were walking out with their diaries in their hands. P realised it was a Friday morning and he had forgotten to bring his diary down. He asked his friends if they could do the favour of grabbing the book from his room and submitting it to the hostel warden along with theirs while he finished his breakfast.

The day’s classes had gone well for P but he was glad to reach his room in the afternoon. He was feeling a bit sleepy, probably because of all the poetry writing he did at night.

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As he was climbing the stairs, he had come across the warden who seemed to have a glint in his eyes. P remembered wondering whether his friends had not bothered to pay heed to his request in the morning. He had scurried to his room. His roommate had reached there earlier and was unpacking his schoolbag. P had gone to his study table and was putting the books down when he saw his diary there.

“I knew it!’ he had exploded. “ You did not hand in my diary today, did you?”

His puzzled friend had then assured him that his diary was indeed handed over. He said that he had known exactly where P kept it as he had seen P put it under his pillow the previous night and so had not wasted any time locating it and taking it to the warden!

P now remembered how he then had taken the real school diary and had walked on jelly legs to see the warden who still had the glint in his eyes. “Well, well, well! It looks like we have a budding poet here with us!” That had been his only comment!

P remembered with fondness how the warden, his lips quivering, trying to stifle mirth, had then taken his school diary and had handed back to him his secret memoir.

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Memoir Madness

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