The Quirky Life of P

Humor and satire revolving around Mr P- a fictional mix of an avatar of Mr Bean and the veritable Bertram Wooster of Wodehouse fame.

Archive for the tag “Blogging”

Life is not a level playing field for P

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P had never considered life to be a level playing field. Some people had all the brawn and the good looks and some people had all the brains. And then there were the groups with loads of both while there were some with little of either. Any amount of deep thinking could never clear P’s doubts as to why the Creator indulged in such biased and uneven creations.

Only the previous month, P had discovered a few grey hairs on his crown and had rushed and got his hair dyed black. He had been feeling happy with his looks soon afterwards but his calm was shattered a couple of days later. He was bewildered when he looked at himself in the mirror and discovered that the uneven skin tone on his face had worsened. His forehead, nose, cheeks and chin were now blotched with dark brown pigmentation. “Life is indeed full of ups and downs but I am not going to be defeated by it,” P decided. So he set out to try all sorts of remedies to improve his complexion from witch hazel toner and kumkumadi oil to more prosaic things such as turmeric powder, sandalwood paste, lime juice, honey, milk etc.  The skin tone did not improve with anything though and blotches of dark patches lay unevenly on his face. P then had to seek the expert opinion of a dermatologist.

“I think your skin is reacting to something. It must be some allergy”, concluded the doctor.

P then had one of his ‘Eureka’ moments! “You know what! It could be the hair dye! It all started after I used the hair dye”, he exclaimed.

“Then leave it be, P, stop using the dye,” the doctor recommended and P gladly obliged.

Without colouring his hair further, P’s complexion improved!

But ….

 

Life was never a level playing field

Though P struggled not to yield

Age caught up with him and his hair

Even though he took utmost care

He dyed black to hide the greys

And was quite happy for a couple of days

Till black blotches tainted his skin uneven

He tried all remedies that were proven

The doc then suggested and he complied

The dye to his hair he no more applied

The blotches vanished, his complexion improved

His allergy to henna and the colouring thus proved

But life is just so full of ups and downs!

It still left P with worrying frowns

Because……

While the blacks disappeared from his face, the whites got his hair!

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It’s what is inside that matters…

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P had been invited to a party that evening by the local youngsters and he had wanted to turn up looking young and good. Looking at himself in the mirror as he was brushing his hair into spikes, he found a gray hair peeking out. He parted his hair with his fingers to grab and uproot the culprit when he found that there were a few more of those whites scattered on his crown. He was devastated. It looked like age had finally caught up with him. He could only blame all those “Oh come on …. Grow up!!!” comments he often received from his friends and family. His body must have started listening to them perhaps, he thought.

He peered at himself more closely in the mirror. His heart fell as he saw tiny lines on his forehead, around his eyes and mouth. “Wrinkles” P muttered in shock! A few gray hairs were alright and might even be welcome. It could give him a dignified, salt and pepper look. As for the wrinkles, he decided that some skin renewal had to be done urgently…..

P made several phone calls to friends to find home remedies for blemishes and fine lines. Scanning through a lot of information, he finally picked chick pea flour, eggs, turmeric powder, lemon juice and honey. He closed all the window blinds and curtains to give the impression that no one was home. He did not want to be surprised by any visitors with his vanity treatments on. Gathering all the needed stuff from his kitchen,he made a paste according to the directions he had read, applied the pack on his face and sat down to do the daily crossword.

Quite soon, there was a knock on the door and P walked to the window and peered through the curtains. It was only his neighbor who had come to collect his garden shears that P had borrowed. Hastily P gathered the shears and opened the door.

“What the…..!” words choked in the neighbor’s throat in fright at the sight of the masked being coming at him with the shears…

“Oh, it’s only me” said P.

“What happened to your face?” asked the neighbor anxiously.

P then had to explain to his neighbor  about all his troubles with his looks and how he was worried that he may not get a girl friend or a wife and so on…

“Don’t worry too much about your looks P,” comforted the neighbor. “It’s what is inside that matters.”

“Oh? Are you sure?” asked P. “I don’t think I have much inside as well!” he said after a quick glance, inwards.

“Well, then that’s what you need to work on. You need a good person to be your friend or wife, and to such people, definitely it will be what’s inside that counts”, said the neighbor.

P stood stunned at his doorway as his neighbor collected the shears from his hands and left. Gathering his wits about, he walked back into his drawing room and looked around, more thoroughly this time. He rushed out into the porch and managed to catch his neighbor just as he reached the gate.

“Hey! Do you know any  good, interior decorators?” he shouted.

P’s confidence was in tatters,

His looks brought him to tears;

‘It’s  what is inside that matters’,

Is often what one hears.

Yet these words brought no solace,

He couldn’t help feeling inferior;

Though he worried less about his face,

He had to redo  his shabby interior

P’s tears flow….

P had a box of tissues handy to wipe his flowing tears. P’s heart was breaking, looking at what was going on…..

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P felt he needed some dope,

Or he wouldn’t cope;

Though not end life on a rope,

He would sit around and mope;

For answers he might grope,

But he couldn’t see any hope!

Could he change the situation? Nope!

For how could he alter things in a TV soap?

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P gets stuck with a P…… word

P had nothing to write on the daily prompt;

This one word had him stomped;

For words with the meaning of plunder,

He was determined to keep asunder

From his life, simple and quirky

And even from his vocabulary!

 

P’s neighbour: “Hey P, it’s good to see you tending to your garden. What’s up?”

P: “Well, the Daily prompt today was a word that I don’t gel with and I decided to give it a miss. So I had some time on my hands…”

P’s neighbour: “Good! At least now you will be able to get rid of all those overgrown weeds. They are not only sore on the eyes but the pests and vermin they harbour come over the fence and pillage my herbs and sprouts…”

P rushes back inside his home even without a goodbye, to turn on his laptop and go to his blog….

Oh, to be a Poet………..

(Thought I’d do a hand-me-down post and reblog one of my earlier posts in answer to the Daily Prompt:-Hand-Me-Downs)

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Mr P was excited! He looked at the weekly writing challenge on Daily Post and the theme was Poetry. You had to either compose a poem or write on the topic of poetry.

“Easy Peasy”, thought Mr P.

“What distinguishes poetry from prose?” he wondered as he took up a pen and paper to jot his poetry down.

He racked his brains, and apart from identifying that the lines in poetry were short and rhymed, he could not find many differences. Even with rhyming – (Mr P remembered how he had wandered into a library by chance and had browsed through a modern poetry book) he had not found any rhyme in those poems – let alone reason.

Thirty minutes down the track, with not a single word written, Mr P realised he was stuck. He probably had writer’s block, he thought. Mr P could not pinpoint when it could have started as he could not remember when he had ever written a poem before. “I could have been born with writer’s block!” he presumed.

Despite his frustrations, a few hours later Mr P was proudly reading out his poem, over the fence to his neighbour.

I tried to write poetry

And honestly did I try:

Through the window in front of me,

For inspiration, I eyed the tree;

It was not my Bodhi tree,

Enlightenment didn’t flow in spree.

I looked for answers in the sky

Where a wad of clouds floated by;

No thoughts, no words came wafting down

And I was left looking a clown;

I ogled and googled, all in vain,

Miss Verse was averse, it was plain.

I sipped a glass of drool of moose

And shut my eyes and sat to muse;

I nodded off and fell on the floor,

Knocked my head and back, still sore;

Then Poetry gushed through in galore!

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“Don’t you think I write as well as Shakespeare?” Mr P asked his neighbour who now stood with a deeply pained expression.

“I would think that this would make the Bard of Avon cringe in his grave”, said the neighbour.

“Bird of What? Who is that?” wondered Mr P.

 

Time for poetry

Hand-Me-Downs

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