Grills..!
Robert Clements
Sunday, October 09, 2011 - We are indeed a grill country. I’ve seen the best looking buildings converted into prison looking structures overnight when residents move in and install iron grills onto windows, front doors, ventilators and even around air-conditioners!
Why grills on air-conditioners, especially on the higher floors? I can’t imagine an AC being robbed from those heights, even if the thief be Tarzan and can swing to the ground bearing heavy machine!
But the grill is needed, because the grill man must have sighed, “Sir, don’t leave things to chance! I know in Delhi last year, a thief…”And you quickly put one around your AC on the 25th floor.
A few decades ago, somebody invented box-grills. A box-grill is not a grill by any stretch of ones imagination; it’s another room altogether. A room which floats mid-air, and floats into and onto your neighbour’s territory and view, till the only view you have from your box-grill, is another box-grill, which wouldn’t be too bad, if box grills weren’t also storage rooms. So you look out of your window and see your neighbour’s daughter’s cycle, the one she used when she was three years old, she’s eighteen now, also her tricycle and her brother’s rusty drum set. It also has some old tires and of course what is a box grill without clothes hanging out to dry.
Your own box grill isn’t any different, maybe, the only difference; it’s your son’s cycle and your own rusty drum set and your clothes, with the betel nut stain from that ace spitter on the passenger train. This grill scene is the same all over.
I dream of a country without grills: Windows, clean, elegant and beautiful and washing dried in machines made for the purpose.
And for this we need policemen who will make rogues and robbers scared to rob a house. Today because of an inefficient policing system, we are forced to do our own policing. Those grills, give out one message; that the police can’t guard. “Ha, ha, ha!” laughs the grill extending into the next building, “All I need is khaki paint and I am a cop!” “He, he, he!” giggles an aluminum one, “I look refined enough to be an inspector!”
I hear the chuckles and laughter from grills all over the country, mocking the men in uniform, then walk to the local police station and look at the doors and windows, only grills, grills, grills.
“Now who?” I wonder looking at the grills, “Are our guardians guarding themselves against?” “You!” chuckle the grills, “They don’t want you going inside and spoiling their siesta…!”
—Email: bobsbanter@gmail.com
Why grills on air-conditioners, especially on the higher floors? I can’t imagine an AC being robbed from those heights, even if the thief be Tarzan and can swing to the ground bearing heavy machine!
But the grill is needed, because the grill man must have sighed, “Sir, don’t leave things to chance! I know in Delhi last year, a thief…”And you quickly put one around your AC on the 25th floor.
A few decades ago, somebody invented box-grills. A box-grill is not a grill by any stretch of ones imagination; it’s another room altogether. A room which floats mid-air, and floats into and onto your neighbour’s territory and view, till the only view you have from your box-grill, is another box-grill, which wouldn’t be too bad, if box grills weren’t also storage rooms. So you look out of your window and see your neighbour’s daughter’s cycle, the one she used when she was three years old, she’s eighteen now, also her tricycle and her brother’s rusty drum set. It also has some old tires and of course what is a box grill without clothes hanging out to dry.
Your own box grill isn’t any different, maybe, the only difference; it’s your son’s cycle and your own rusty drum set and your clothes, with the betel nut stain from that ace spitter on the passenger train. This grill scene is the same all over.
I dream of a country without grills: Windows, clean, elegant and beautiful and washing dried in machines made for the purpose.
And for this we need policemen who will make rogues and robbers scared to rob a house. Today because of an inefficient policing system, we are forced to do our own policing. Those grills, give out one message; that the police can’t guard. “Ha, ha, ha!” laughs the grill extending into the next building, “All I need is khaki paint and I am a cop!” “He, he, he!” giggles an aluminum one, “I look refined enough to be an inspector!”
I hear the chuckles and laughter from grills all over the country, mocking the men in uniform, then walk to the local police station and look at the doors and windows, only grills, grills, grills.
“Now who?” I wonder looking at the grills, “Are our guardians guarding themselves against?” “You!” chuckle the grills, “They don’t want you going inside and spoiling their siesta…!”
—Email: bobsbanter@gmail.com
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