Friday, December 20, 2024

Who Flung Dung?

 The other day I came across a news item that read, “Bundles of currency notes recovered from heap of cow dung in Odisha”.  The byline mentioned an amount of twenty lakhs, which, assuming it was all in hundred-rupee notes, would mean that at least one end of this cow was kept very busy with its tail pointing to north-north-east on a windy day.  This was when I decided, being sentimentally attached to all ideas that have money at the end (literally, if you see what I mean), to take the bull by its horns and watch the other end carefully. 


Since this was official breaking news, I thought of calling Ram Reddy who has kept more cows than can come home (whenever they do, that is).  I did not think of Seenappa, my farm hand at Random Rubble, because he has an IQ of 8.26 (including 18% GST) and will be out of depth in an intellectual conversation, even if it is bullshit (the topic, not the conversation.  Will you read carefully, please?).


Now, cows are ruminants and therefore grass turns into a robust dung, with a lively smell that gets rid of your blocked nose just when you wished it would stay. This is called the dung-lung connection in technical discourse (ok, I just invented it, but the point remains).  

 

To help you (and Seenappa) understand this better, here is the scientific reaction:

Grass → Dung (+lively methane exchange with atmosphere + Dung lung)

Lots of grass —> Lots of dung (+village evacuation at short notice + Increase in sales of local agarbatti) 


Yet, I never knew that a cow could do the following conversion:

Grass —> Dung + Currency notes (methane flavour)

Lots of grass —> Dung + Lots of currency notes (+village traffic jam, to hell with methane)


Following this I reasoned that 

  1. Not all cows do the above because, if they did, the Reserve Bank of India would own a dairy farm and not a Mint and we would need demonetisation once a week, along with Vitamin D capsules

  2. But at least one cow (reference, newspaper) has done it.  It is, in other words, Ms. Cash Cow

  3. Hence, that one cow is special

  4. Hence, find out why that one cow is special

  5. Or buy that cow

  6. Or hire that cow on EMI (with PayTM that will EMI anything that mooves.  Sorry, moves)

  7. Once Cow is acquired, feed cow with a bucket on both sides (of which one bucket is empty, you ignoramus).

  8. Raise Private Equity on Cash Cow, by valuing it as a Unicow, a Unicow being a bovine Unicorn, if you have been living under a rock.


You can clearly see the fiendishly clever thinking here, without doubt.  Once I had the business plan all worked out, I went back to the newspaper article to find out the location of the village in Odisha and that is when Reality struck:  apparently, the money was in a plastic bag and hidden in dung by a thief.  


I have now written a strongly worded letter to the Editor of this newspaper, asking him to fire the sub-editor who came up with the headline that has misled much of humanity.  But if you ever have this urgent, implacable, insistent desire to know about the chemical constituents of cow dung, you know whom not to contact. 


Tuesday, December 3, 2024

PH Value


The other day, I had a bit of a cough
With this thing stuck in my throat
So, I messaged the GP,
“Bad throat, rasping cough, doc, and loads 
and loads of flem,”
He replied, “It’s phlegm.  I will call you back.”
OMG! P-H-L-E-G-M?
What’s that? Where are the vowels?

So when I met a friend, I asked him what pehelegem was

And he said, ‘Search me’.

So I did.

(and found nothing, except a chocolate wrapper.  And

He found it odd, for some reason).


Then, I reasoned it out: in medicine, when

P is followed by a consonant, not a vowel,

Like pneumonia

The P is silent

And the disease is phatal

Sorry, fatal.


So, Helegem?  

My friend said, “I don’t know.  But NO,

DON’T search me this time.”


Then I asked myself,

"Why did the Doc says he'd call back?

Is it serious? Does it need him to speak in a low

and grave (pun not intended) voice?


Then, I panicked and messaged Doc.  

OMG! Was this like some African strain?

Would I pass out?  Or get airlifted to Ward 74?

With tubes  in my nose and those beep-beep monitors

And frenetic nurses and worried specialists?

Would I survive to write out a will?

(and one more book?)


And he replied, “You vacuous, fatuous

Asinine, half-witted, moronic, empty-headed,

Foolish, imbecilic, thick-headed, batty idiot

It is pronounced flem but written phlegm.

Gargle with salt, and think of your first crush.”


And I did.

I gargled with salt

And thought of the time when I first stepped on an ant

At age eight-and-a-half

(all because a pretty little girl with dimples had smiled

And I had blushed).


Methinks, it isn’t me, but that guy Roget of Thesaurus

Who is a vacuous, fatuous

Asinine, half-witted, moronic, empty-headed,

Foolish, imbecilic, thick-headed, batty idiot.


If he could come up with this many synonyms for idiotic

Why not a single one for flem?

Oops, bloody phlegm.