JUST come back from a fishing trip! No, I
didn’t have to go far, nor did I go to a lake
or river. I needed no net or tackle. All I had was a spoon which I dipped into a pickle jar which said Prawn Pickle, and my spoon went swish, swish inside, up and down, again swish, swish left to right feeling for the telltale knock of a pickled prawn: There was none.
Lots of masala, or whatever it is called, lot of little bludgeoned leaves, lots of prawn flavor, but no prawns. I looked at the bottle, it was one of the best looking prawn bottles I had seen, squarish, and the label it had was professionally, artistically done. All the packaging was right, but the content was wrong, because there was really no content. A few weeks back while walking my dog I’d bumped into a youngster who had shifted next door as a paying guest. We got to talking and he told me he played cricket and would I introduce him to the local youngsters who played cricket every weekend.
He was a strapping fellow, absolutely model material and I felt if his cricket prowess matched his looks and physical fitness, he would soon be a catch for whichever team he played for. It was a few weeks later I met the captain of one of teams, “How is the chap I introduced you guys to?”
I asked smiling, “Whacked you fellows all over for a six, didn’t he?” “Did you introduce him to the teams?” the captain asked me. “Yes,” I said happily, “I know a good guy when I see one!” “No, you don’t,” said the captain, respectfully of course, “The boy is a cheat! He tried to field a ball going for a four, it hit the boundary, he was next to it, but he said it hadn’t. Everybody saw it had!” They didn’t have to fish much to find he had nothing inside: Polished, handsome, tall and well built, it just took one match to find he had no character. Not enough to tell the truth. I look at the prawn jar, get some wrapping paper, take it outside and walk to his house, “Hey you got something for me?” he shouts looking surprised. “Thought you’d like some prawn pickle!” I tell him.
“Thanks,” he says and takes the bottle from me. “How is the pickle?” he asks. I smile and mutter, “Like you, all masala, no prawns!” I don’t think he understood, but are we like him? All masala, full of rhetoric and rubbish, all personality and no content or character? It’s just a matter of time before people find out. Don’t be all brawn, no prawn..!
