Queen’s land..!
Robert Clements
Thursday, August 23, 2012 - Sir? “Yes?” I asked irritated at being woken up, mid flight. “Sir, are you a journalist?” “Yes.” I said, staring at the pretty air hostess, “why do you ask?” “Standard procedure sir on every flight to Kolkata! I will have to ask you to lower the shades sir, and not look out of the window, standard procedure sir, for any journalist entering the Queen’s Land! And sir?”
“Yes,” I said, now wide awake. “Could you please deposit any pens you are carrying, your laptop and writing pads with us?” “Standard procedure for any journo entering the Queens Land?” I asked. “Yes sir. And could you please sign here, before we take away your pen?” “Disembarkment form?” I grinned. “What does it say?” “That you will not write anything or draw ant cartoons that will hurt the sentiments of the Queen of Kolkata, that at any point of time you see Her Highness, you will not look directly into her face but prostate yourself on the ground and allow your nose to touch her feet.”
“Very ticklish,” I said. “Please do not crack any lewd jokes about Her Highness sir, or I will have to have you arrested immediately. “Ticklish for my nose,” I said quickly, “not for Her Highness’ feet.” “Thank you sir. And sir”“Yes?” I asked. “Here is your report sir!” “My report?”
“Yes sir. Her Highness has already written the report you need file in your paper sir.” “Ah!” I said putting on my reading glasses. “The Queen’s Own Country is a land of milk and honey. Milk and honey!,” I exclaimed trying to look out of the Airbus’s window.
“Sir do not pull up the shades,” “Okay. Okay,” I said, “you don’t have to arrest me for trying to see whether the Hooghly which flows through Kolkata is overflowing with honey and milk instead of the muck that normally floats in it.
Let me continue reading. This land of milk and honey is ruled by Her Highness, a most fair and gracious queen.” “Sir, I will have to place you under arrest.” “For what?” I shouted. “Your tone.” “My tone?” I asked, “What’s wrong with my tone?” “Her Highness finds it very derogatory.” “How would Her Highness know?” I asked. “She has never heard me?” “Arrest him,” shouted a woman wearing rubber slippers sitting in the seat in front of me. “Sir!”
“Yes?” I asked looking up into the face of the pretty air hostess. “Sir, I’m sorry I woke you up, I think you were having a nightmare.”“Yes,” I whispered. “Where does this flight go?” “To Delhi sir,” said the puzzled airhostess. “Thank God,” I said, “I dreamt I was on a flight to Kolkata..!”
—Email:bobsbanter@gmail.com
“Yes,” I said, now wide awake. “Could you please deposit any pens you are carrying, your laptop and writing pads with us?” “Standard procedure for any journo entering the Queens Land?” I asked. “Yes sir. And could you please sign here, before we take away your pen?” “Disembarkment form?” I grinned. “What does it say?” “That you will not write anything or draw ant cartoons that will hurt the sentiments of the Queen of Kolkata, that at any point of time you see Her Highness, you will not look directly into her face but prostate yourself on the ground and allow your nose to touch her feet.”
“Very ticklish,” I said. “Please do not crack any lewd jokes about Her Highness sir, or I will have to have you arrested immediately. “Ticklish for my nose,” I said quickly, “not for Her Highness’ feet.” “Thank you sir. And sir”“Yes?” I asked. “Here is your report sir!” “My report?”
“Yes sir. Her Highness has already written the report you need file in your paper sir.” “Ah!” I said putting on my reading glasses. “The Queen’s Own Country is a land of milk and honey. Milk and honey!,” I exclaimed trying to look out of the Airbus’s window.
“Sir do not pull up the shades,” “Okay. Okay,” I said, “you don’t have to arrest me for trying to see whether the Hooghly which flows through Kolkata is overflowing with honey and milk instead of the muck that normally floats in it.
Let me continue reading. This land of milk and honey is ruled by Her Highness, a most fair and gracious queen.” “Sir, I will have to place you under arrest.” “For what?” I shouted. “Your tone.” “My tone?” I asked, “What’s wrong with my tone?” “Her Highness finds it very derogatory.” “How would Her Highness know?” I asked. “She has never heard me?” “Arrest him,” shouted a woman wearing rubber slippers sitting in the seat in front of me. “Sir!”
“Yes?” I asked looking up into the face of the pretty air hostess. “Sir, I’m sorry I woke you up, I think you were having a nightmare.”“Yes,” I whispered. “Where does this flight go?” “To Delhi sir,” said the puzzled airhostess. “Thank God,” I said, “I dreamt I was on a flight to Kolkata..!”
—Email:bobsbanter@gmail.com
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