The Protagonist

So I was just helping out one of my rather overworked friends write an essay for her course and the she told me that I had to come up with a humorous story that involved a very talkative person as the protagonist, well this is what I came up with, which to my surprise managed to fetch her some decent marks. :)

Whenever someone mentions a talkative person, the image that very easily comes to our mind is that of a very peevish person who tends to go on and on with his ramblings. A person who wouldn’t shut his ravings until you are forced to be outright rude and point it out that a little silence would be appreciated. Somehow when a person is described to be talkative, this is always what comes to mind.
Ralph on the other hand, was quite the exception to this stereo type. He was as talkative as it could get but au contraire to being pesky he was rather a delight. Standing at all but six feet high from the ground with that clean shaved face that had a jutting roman nose to it, Ralph was a charm that even other guys couldn’t resist chatting up with.

He would jabber away till the end of the world, and if you added to that a pint of beer on the table, well God save you. But unlike any other talkative fellows Ralph always made conversation that made the other person smile, you sort of could never say no to him. And that smile, oh that smile, thrown in-between the long conversations with the precision of a surgeon ensured that Ralph became a ‘lex orandi’ in his own right.
Ralph was a lawyer by profession and I was a businessman but thanks to some fortunate coincidence I had the pleasure of being acquainted to him through a bunch of mutual friends. We both were pretty well established in our respective fields, even accomplished one might say. When we met however, we never discussed anything to do with our respective work fields. It was always something tangential, completely out of the blue.
 It was early that Sunday morning when Ralph had asked me to meet him in Mays Diner for brunch. It wasn’t like him to go such downmarket diners, he was generally a person with rather cultivated tastes. The fact that he had called me to Mays meant that he didn’t want others to recognize him around the block and that the matter to be discussed was one that would be discreet and to be kept under the racks.
I went rather half-heartedly hoping that this entire affair would get over before the evening. It was uncanny of Ralph really but then again I had never been invited to a place like Mays by him ever before, it was usually more of a Leopold’s or La ’Gourmet.
Ralph waked in ten minutes after I had come and seated himself next to me. There was a very noticeable furtive manner about him. I just waited with a very blank expression, hoping he would be quick in his manner to spill the beans.
He asked for a steak which I found to be very surprising. It was an abomination for a man of such cultivated tastes like Ralph to not only come to Mays but have something like a steak from their menu. I stuck to having a golden buttered toast and a regular cup of tea. The food arrived within the next five minutes. A lot of harrowed looks were being passed by Ralph. After a long time I finally leaned over my plate and asked him what the matter was.
He didn’t seem to be quite himself, talking his way to glory. In a much unexpected jittery voice our dear Ralph whispered, “My old boy Johnny, I think I’m in love”.
 I was rather amused to tell you the truth, at how our very outspoken Ralph had turned into this submissive mouse. He told me that her name was Jane, of their growing love and finally reached a point where he said that Jane and he had now decided to marry.  I stood up jubilant and congratulated him, but he still seemed to have this morose expression across his face. He explained how Jane’s father was a certain Mr Ambrose and he needed my help. That was enough for me to change my jubilant smile to a look of pure shock and despair within seconds. See I was rather respected in my company and this Mr Ambrose he spoke of happened to be my boss. Ralph, the ingenious mind that he was, actually wanted me to talk to my boss for his daughters’ hand. The part that made this worse was that Mr Ambrose had developed this hatred towards lawyers, being cheated by one such advocate early in his life.  
I was stuck to choose between the lesser of the two devils. Here there was my good chum with his puppy eyes expecting me to help him out with the love of his life and on the other hand I could hear the death knell of my professional career.
The following morning I finally administered to courage to go and talk to Mr Ambrose. As I opened the door of my cabin, just in the nick of time, the phone rang. Jane Ambrose had got to hear from Ralph of this ridiculous idea and had spoken to her father this morning itself before I got the chance to put my career at stake. Mr Ambrose had not agreed at first but don’t rich daughters know exactly how to use an arm-twist with their dear daddies.
All in all I was saved, by a narrow shave that too. I did attend Ralphs wedding, as the best man in fact. My smile hid the story behind why I was picked over Ralphs other buddies, for just the will was enough to get me picked as best man. The will to put my all on the line and take part in Ralphs Ludacris idea. Aah! Jane was an angel that Monday morning, indeed she was.

And as far as Ralph was concerned he was back to being his talkative self, eating from a plate of some of the finest caviar that was being served at his wedding. The shy and smitten little boy hiding somewhere behind that charming and outgoing man. 

Gangsta Grandma.

This country is one that is full of MCPs (male chauvinistic pigs). These male egos who consider themselves not only superior but paramount to their female counterparts.Whereas the woman, (Oh the poor woman!) is always stuck hapless and spiritless in her sad state of affairs but at the mercy of this superior MAN.
 One may think that even though the educated and better off classes of India have slightly moved on, to a better situation as far as the women's position is concerned. The poorer sections of urban society are still assumed to remain under the more chauvinistic scheme of things. I too casually dismissed the various short stories that I read about such indomitable woman protagonists. (stories like 'The Punishment' by Tagore or 'Javni' by Raja Rao) This was probably because I had never really been fortunate enough to see any such woman prima donna in my life before, but that particular evening....
 It was another gloomy august evening in the city of Mumbai. The glum and morose rain clouds that characterize the Bombay rains were giving us furtive looks from the grey sky above. And us, a bunch of four friends out with our umbrellas and windcheaters wading through the ankle deep puddles. It was typical of us, your everyday bunch of  procrastinating college kids, to find just this delightful weather to go house hunting in.
 So there we were walking up this lonely street headed to the next location where we were to meet the broker who would show us a potential home, and all of a sudden, out of the blue a yellow Maruti Omni hauled up right next to us. There was a scraggy man who was riding his bicycle just a few steps away. Rugged beard and a head full of hair that was dipped in coconut oil. (we could tell it wasn't rain water coz it has this unmistakable glimmer to it that only Vatika coconut oil could do) From this one box on wheels emerged 10 hefty men like an exodus on insects. Within the wink of an eye all these men mounted on that one poor fellow and stared to beat him up. They brought down blows like there was no tomorrow. The punches would be best describes as "Thundering Typhoons" in the words of Captain Haddock. The man on the cycle had no idea what had hit him, quite literally.
 It was evident that this man had done something to offend these gangsters in the near past. The four of us found ourselves standing in near proximity and staring with our mouths wide open. Every Indian likes to watch a good fight, its in our blood. A minute passed by in this manner. Then from the horizon we noticed a shadow approaching the scene. As this figure came closer we noticed that it was a diminutive grandma clad in a saree that was wound  up in that peculiar lavani fashion in between the legs, quite a common way of doing it here in Mumbai. It was almost dusk now and as grandma barged into the mob of gangsters we could hear the tunes of *eye of the tiger* somewhere in the background. There was just something about this woman. She began to use words of profanity about the sister and mother ( an every day part and parcel of the Indian tongue) and waving her fists at the 10 macho men.
 In a span of the next 5 minutes all these men wound up their tails in between their legs and got into the van. Making a quick escape from the lane the car was not to be seen again.The scraggy old man stood battered down in awe of this woman. She didn't wait for a thanks, just walked on..back to her celestial horizon.
Lo! the indomitable spirit of an old grandma who saved the day, who was she?

Vanguard

Ok so let me be very blunt with you, I write verse and I've been doing it for seven years now. I wont comment on how good I am as I really think that is for my readers to decide. Now this blog that you see in front of you isn't for this purpose at all. Seems rather uncanny yeah? Why I would introduce myself as a verse person if I intend on putting none of it on my blog. Im hoping the title of this blog will help you understand that.
Now as one would understand the word Avant Garde is one borrowed from french, as simply put it means experimental and beauty in unconventional methods. I really have no idea what I am going to blog about yet, I really don't but i intend on trying out this whole blogging idea, try my hand at prose...and for your everyday eldritch verse person blogging can be his Avant Garde.
So readers Vanguard.