Pidi, The Poodle!
By- Pamarty Venkataramana
Pidi, the poodle sulked at her little old master and crept behind the sofa set whining away non-stop. Her master’s voice was almost incomprehensible as he chuckled aloud on a hands-free smartphone and in a more than usual drugged voice yelled-‘ Gulam maamoo, Baboomiyan uncle’s brainwave was a tremendous hit! It paralysed all life on social media circuits today .. the doggies and their yoga class made such a clever punching bag for me today!’
Pidi’s master was ecstatic and drooled on-‘ you know they actually tacked their billion brains to make out why I tweeted that pic of the jawan doggies and what was the message I wished to convey to him whom I love more than I hate – ohh, his army of yes-men made my wink more famous than that Mallu-gal’s wink-shoot-wink !
And, the guffaws from the other side of the speaker only irritated poor Pidi, the poodle so very much that he came out of his hiding place leapt on to the Italian statue besides her notoriously famous Master and with a twist of his tail, splashed the wine cup on to him.
But her master was in a jolly good mood and the old fellow only let the red wine drench his tee-shirt and dimples cheeks winked at his Pidi now!
Oh, but why was the little poodle upset?
Her Master had forgotten to hand feed him this evening and was testing out various yoga-postures. Not bad for a lazy and spoilt bumpkin but it was sheer terror when the besotted Master was pulling at cutie pie Pidi to get him to do yoga as well! Through his pebble-like eyes, Pidi glared at him and tried to escape from his clutches but her wily master had managed to tie her tail to the bar-cabinet door and was forcing Pidi to hang upside down and to flap his lovely dwarf ears to the beat of Michael Jackson’s-‘ beat it’ !
Arghh..the torture lasted a full forty five minutes before the phones started ringing and both man-pidis and woman-pidis rushed in to bow to the master and dawn over him as he gloated over the big deed of the international yoga day.
Never a loser. Ever the winner. He got his extra bowl of porridge and bones . His Master sure had guts. He could ramble on and on about anything under the sun. He would stomp around trees like those Bollywood characters in moonlight and under cover of darkness. With unknown starlets and aspirant brides in waiting.
Pidi was in no mood now to sing the glory of misdeeds of the defeated winner. He was angry. And, he scowled.
So, he leapt on to the other couch and bit the mother of all monsters of corruption. But she did not scream. She was in a drunken stupor and was counting all the keys in the bunch dangling from the old treasure-chest…
Pidi is the only loser. Not her master. Not her mistress. Nor, the detractors.
{ ps- jest in reality }
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Great