Features
Heard at the club
A club member who was a planter in the Morawak Korale, came all the way to Galle to consult a doctor friend. The doctor examined his friend thoroughly and prescribed some medicine and asked him to come back in two weeks to see if treatment was to be continued. Two weeks passed and since his planter friend did not turn up, the doctor wrote to him asking him to come at once. But the planter did not come. Concern for his friend took the doctor to the man’s estate one Sunday morning, where he found the planter, quite hale and hearty, playing soft-ball cricket with his children.
“Hello there, doctor,” cried the planter cheerily. “Your second prescription did me a world of good! I’m now as fit as a fiddle!”
“What second prescription?” asked the astonished doctor.
“Why the one you sent by post.”
“You damn idiot, that was no prescription! That was a letter I sent asking you not to fool around with your ailment, and to come and see me at once!”
“WHAT?” yelled the planter. “What the hell man, I thought it was a prescription. No one can read your damn handwriting, and took it to the chemist and he gave me some capsules and a mixture which cured me completely!”
***
A garage foreman was the plaintiff in a land case, and after several calling dates, his lawyer told him one day that the trial would be on the 20th of that month. Come the 20th, the foreman did not turn up in the Courts. A few days later he dropped in casually at his lawyer’s office, and that worthy angrily asked the man why he had not turned up on the trial date. “Sir, what is the use of my coming on a “trial” date? And, I thought of coming on the actual date,” answered the foreman.
***
One day a little boy came home from school and asked his father in a puzzled tone. Thaththi, what is Aandu Pakshaya? And the father replied. “Putha, Aandu Pakshaya is the Government. And the little boy asked “What is Government?” And the father replied “Putha, it is something like me. Thaaththi rules the whole house and the whole family.”
“What is Viruddha Pakshaya Thaaththi?” asked the little one.
“The Opposition. That’s your mother. Whatever I say or do, she’s against it.”
“What’s a Trade Union, Thaththi?
“That’s like your akka and aiya. Whatever I give them they are not satisfied. They always want more. Their demands are never ending.”
“Thaththi, then what am I?
“You are the Mahajanaya – the public. No one takes you seriously and when we are in the mood to cuff you and kick you, you have to take it. Of course, you are permitted to cry and yell, but not too loudly.”
***
Nearly three decades ago, a chap, then a clerk at the Examination Department, Colombo, was always pressed for money, and one day, when a wealthy mudalali approached him through a peon in the office to conduct a ‘small transaction’, he eagerly went out to meet the man. All the mudalali wanted was a little help from the mahattaya to see that his son got through the exam (Senior Schools Certificate, the forerunner of today’s G.C.E. O/Level) at the first shy. “If the mahattaya can manipulate the marks. I am willing to see to your trouble,” the mudalali said.
Knowing it was an impossible thing to do, the clerk recklessly agreed. He named a big figure, and the mudalali promptly took out a fat wallet and paid him half, the balance he promised when the job was successfully accomplished. Those days it took months for the results to be released, and the impecunious clerk forgot about the whole thing. Until one Sunday morning he was alarmed to see the mudalali’s huge limousine turning in at the gate of his boarding house. He was about to rush into the house, when the mudalali spotted him and waved gaily.
“Beaming, the mudalali got off his car and told the astonished clerk:” Hari, mahattaya, wadey hariyata hari! Everything worked out very satisfactorily. Thank you, mahattaya, thank you very much. I’ll never forget it!”
“Oh, it was nothing, mudalali,” smirked the clerk who had now recovered from his initial shock.
“No, no, mahattaya don’t say that,” said the happy father, taking out his wallet and paying the balance.
“Mahattaya,
I’ve brought you a bonus also.” The mudalali went to his car and returned with two bottles of whisky!”
***
One day, an old villager on his first visit to Colombo, walked into a multi-storey building and saw a lift in action. He watched as an old lady got into the lift and went up. The lift returned a few moments later, and to the villager’s astonishment, a beautiful young girl stepped out. Running to the post office, the old man sent an urgent telegram to his wife. “Come immediately if you want to be transformed into a young girl.
***
Watching Jimmy Carter on television a few days ago, I was reminded of an old story. When he was President of the United States, we had a sort of slogan at our local club. A member would walk in and tell our bartender, “Give me a President bite!” And promptly the bartender would pour him a double arrack (a ‘carter’) and give a plate of ‘rata-cadju’ (peanuts). (Jimmy Carter was in the peanut trade).
***
A friend of mine who is very fond of the bottle was given a lift one day by a business tycoon. This businessman was well-known for his great and impressive acts of charity and for his devotion to religion as well as his services to it. On the way, the tycoon, who was quite familiar with my friend and his ways, castigated him severely for his intemperate habit, telling him it was sinful, harmful, and senseless and holding himself up as a man who practised moderation in everything except religion.
“Where religion is concerned,” bragged the businessman. “I go the whole hog. I observe the Five Precepts to the letter. I give freely to religious and charitable causes. Yes, I practise selflessness,” and so on and so forth.
About fifty miles from Colombo, the tycoon told his driver. “Martin, you must be tired; let me take the wheel.” The tycoon had driven only a few miles going quite fast, when taking a corner, he hit a pedestrian, injuring the man fatally. “Quick, quick, take my place,” said the agitated and very frightened tycoon to his driver. A huge crowd had gathered by now, and a policeman made his way through to the spot. The cyclist had succumbed to his injuries and after a few preliminaries, the policeman asked the tycoon, his driver, and my friend to accompany him to the police station and make their statements.
On the way, the tycoon whispered to his driver, “Now, remember, Martin; you were driving!” He then turned to my friend and whispered, “And you too, don’t forget to tell the same story, that Martin was driving. “You bloody rogue,” shouted my friend who was quite “high” (he always carried a bottle with him on ‘long trips’) “You and your bloody religiousness. True, I drink, and drink heavily but that’s about all I do wrong. But you, you bloody rascal, you are willing to put this innocent driver of yours in serious trouble to save your own filthy skin. No…Chih! You are a contemptible swine, and I’ll be damned if I make a false statement implicating this poor fellow.
I shall tell exactly what took place, you sanctimonious hypocrite!” And my friend, who told me this story, added that to his dying day he would never forget the look of gratitude and relief that the driver, a married man with two children, gave him.”
***
An executive attended an office party. It was such a jolly one, that he completely lost track of the passage of time. When midnight struck, he gave a start of surprise and dismay, and told his hosts he had to go. Two female stenos asked him for a lift, and the three of them got in the car. He dropped the girls at their homes, and when he reached his own house, his irate wife came up to the car and angrily asked him what kept him so long. To avoid a lot of explaining, he decided to tell a white lie to his wife. “I’m sorry, dear, there was a miss in the car and that’s what delayed me.” “A miss in the car, eh?” screeched his wife. “And I suppose that’s the s…’s handbag in the rear seat!”
***
A member was married to a caring, hard-working housewife. They had three children. The man was a dedicated clubman, and went to the club every evening. And every evening, as he dressed to go to the club, his wife would turn nasty. Despite having three children, she prided herself on her youthful good looks, and as he left the house, the man would retaliate by shouting out, for the whole neighbourhood to hear, “Goodnight, mother of three!” She stood this for several days, and one day, when he said this, she called out loudly: “And, a goodnight to you too – father of one?” He stayed home every evening thereafter.
***
A few years ago, when the picturesque inlet at Closenburg, Galle, was a favourite retreat of foreign tourists for sea-bathing and surfing, a German tourist decided to have a dip in the sea. Placing his clothes, wallet and wristwatch carefully on a rock he got into the water. As he was romping among the waves, he suddenly noticed a suspicious looking local standing where his clothes were. He came out of the water, and questioned the man. The man stood his ground, pointing out in broken English, that, as a free-born citizen of Sri Lanka, he could stand wherever he wanted on public property.
At this the foreigner began berating the man. Guessing that the German was using obscenities, the man decided to give him in kind. “You!” he said, pointing his forefinger at the German. “You, one mother, two, three, four, five, fathers!” That was his English version of “a son of a whore”.
***
A club member was thoroughly drunk one day. Then he staggered to his car, to go home. After a few minutes, the members heard his outraged cry that the steering wheel was missing.
Some of his friends came out and solicitously helped him out of the rear seat to the driving seat, but he was not allowed to drive.
***
Sam was a popular club man. And, when he walked into the club one evening, his friends who had heard the dreadful news, gathered round him sympathetically. “We heard that your wife left you, Sam,” they said unhappily. “So, let us help you drown your sorrow.” “Sorrow?” grinned Sam. “Boys, there is no sorrow to drown!”