Friday, 23 October 2009

The Ordeal Of John Suitcase

Dear readers:

Here is the middle part of yet another article that Chowq banned ('ban chowqed' is my term for it).

The title of the article is, THE ORDEAL OF JOHN SUITCASE, and it narrates the story of a suitcase lost during air travel. A Pakistani magazine, that is still widely read, published the said article some moons ago.

Many good readers ask repeatedly, "Why does Chowq ban your articles?" I guess I stole their calf (katty), that's why!

One can probably see in the following paragraphs where they might have felt the pinch, but did they have to feel this imaginary pinch?

As for the ridiculous doubts expressed about my writing prowess, by a toothless failed Chowq poet, he may remain in Kanda to send 'come hither' poems to Chowq ladies using the MESSAGE CENTRE! Can you believe this, gentlemen?

Enjoy!

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THE ORDEAL OF JOHN SUITCASE

The cargo hold was a place where they devoutly practised segregation of sexes. Only similar kinds of luggage could mix freely, meaning: we could neither party nor move about. There was loud chatter inside the dark containers once the airplane stabilised at cruise altitude. The air was thin and very cold up there, and some of the weak-hearted amongst us fainted. Either the men flying the airplane appeared to have no control over things, or the manufacturer had forgotten to provide conditioned air to the cargo-holds. Every word that we uttered instantaneously turned into an ice-cube.

Words automatically became cold and cutting. An English suitcase ordered an Asian one to provide more breathing space, “Move! You smell of garlic. Were you made by little children who never attended school?"

A torn Indian trolley-bag poked fun at an equally tattered Pakistani suitcase, “What have you achieved with your hard outer shell?"

“Don’t judge a suitcase by its exterior. Look at my interior, I’m destined for heaven!"

“And you’ll get seventy-two female attaché cases as a divine reward when you get there, right?" it insinuated.

“Who told you that; your seventy-two stone gods?"

A diplomatic mailbag, whose stars and stripes looked more like scars and gripe, intervened to prevent an all out suitcase war.

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