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@[email protected]_0_0_D wrote:@
hi , i enjoyed the thread !
Thanks barood bhai and oli bhai…..
Teacher asks the kids in class: “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
Lil’ Johnny: “I Wanna be a billionaire, going to the most expensive clubs, give my gf a Ferrari worth over a million bucks, an apartment in Copacabana, a mansion in Paris, a jet to travel through Europe, an Infinite Visa Card and to make love to her three times a day”.
The teacher, shocked, and not knowing what to do with the bad behavior of the child, decides not to give importance to what he said and then continues the lesson:
And you, Tanya?
" I wanna be Lil’ Johnny’s gf!"
Always remember…when life hands you Lemons, ask for Tequila and Salt and call me over!
Good friends are like stars……….
You don’t always see them,
But you know they are always there..
“Whenever God Closes One Door He Always Opens Another,
Even Though Sometimes It’s Hell in the Hallway”
I would rather have one rose and a kind word from a friend while I’m here than a whole truck load when I’m gone.
Happiness keeps You Sweet,
Trials keep You Strong,
Sorrows keep You Human,
Failures keep You Humble,
Success keeps You Glowing,
‘Worry looks around, sorry looks back, Faith looks up.’
This article appeared in The Tribune
While most surnames in India reflect caste and lineage, the Parsis had a delightfully modern streak – having landed without caste, history and context, they created identities through professions and urban streets.
Our family moved to Bombay (now Mumbai) from Rawalpindi in 1947. We came as refugees but the family soon settled and by 1953 my father had restarted playing golf at the Willingdon Club. I was eight years old and would walk 18 holes with him every Saturday and Sunday. The three Parsi gentlemen who made up his regular four-ball were uncles Poonawala, Coorlawala and Colabawala. Very soon they had rechristened my father Pindiwala, though he is a Sardar.
Uncle Colabawala did not live in Colaba but in a penthouse on Malabar Hill. May be his ancestors had lived in Colaba. I used to spend hours searching the telephone directory to find Parsi surnames and building up stories around their families.
There was prohibition in Bombay those days. So to get liquor you had to find Mr. Dalal, who would introduce you to Mr. Daruwala, who in turn would get bottles delivered to your home by Mr. Batliwala who would be accompanied by Mr. Sodawaterbottleopenerwalla (the longest Parsi surname I have come across).
Other surnames whose ancestors were in the beverages trade were Mr. Fountainwala, Mr. Ginwala, Mr Rumwala, Mr. Sodawala and Mr. Jhunjhunwala.
We used to have two delightful Siamese kittens in our flat and these were gifted to my mother by her friend Mrs. Billimoria. My mother spent hours knitting cardigans for them, with wool she bought from the Unwala family.
My uncle ran the air force canteen in Cotton Green and his partner, yes you guessed it, was Mr. Canteenwala. They had this fantastic cook, Mr. Bhajiwala. Their mild and meek manager, Mr. Jeejeebhoy, nodded his head and agreed with everything everybody said.
My grandfather was the Sheriff of Bombay. I think the first and only Sikh to hold this position. Being Sheriff it was only natural that he had Mr. Bandookwala and Mr. Golimarwala as his constant companions.
Grandfather had many Parsi friends who were in politics. There was this squeaky clean khadi-clad Mr. Ghandy, and the not so clean Mr. Kalaghandy – who was invariably being hounded by Mr Kotwal. But he never left home without his friends Mr. Barrister, Mr. Vakil, Mr. Lawyer and their munshi Mr. Mehnty.
My grandfather built Hotel Waldorf on Arthur Bunder Road in Colaba. So for this he naturally used the services of Mr. Contractor and Mr. Mistry. He never went to the conservative moneylenders when short of money, but borrowed it from his Parsi friend Mr. Readymoney.
Our neighbour and family physician was Dr. Adi Doctor – he was only half a doctor. He lived with his in laws Mr and Mrs. Pochkhanawala. My sister swears they ate only poached eggs for breakfast.
I remember going to Dr. Doctor’s sister’s wedding. She married Mr. Screwala. What he did for a living, I do not know to this day. If you are in Mumbai maybe you can track him down in the yellow or pink pages.
Jokes apart, there is a lesson for all of us here: imagine if we could christen our politicians through democratic vote: Jinnahwalla, Nikarwalla, Icequeen, Motawalla! It would really be able to keep everyone in check, where individuals and media didn’t only control your public profile but also your public identity.
The Parsis have taught us that if you take serious interest in satire, you can change the world!
When India travel, money follows
For the impoverished WICB, substituting a bilateral with Sri Lanka with a tri-series is a financial coup.
However, it isn’t doing Test cricket any good in the region.
Spotted in a toilet of a London office:
TOILET OUT OF ORDER. PLEASE USE FLOOR BELOW.
In a London Laundromat:
AUTOMATIC WASHING MACHINES: PLEASE REMOVE ALL YOUR CLOTHES WHEN THE
LIGHT GOES OUT
Outside a London second-hand shop:
WE EXCHANGE ANYTHING – BICYCLES, WASHING MACHINES, ETC. WHY NOT BRING
YOUR WIFE ALONG AND GET A WONDERFUL BARGAIN?
Spotted in a safari park:
ELEPHANTS PLEASE STAY IN YOUR CAR
Seen during a London conference:
FOR ANYONE WHO HAS CHILDREN AND DOESN’T KNOW IT, THERE IS A DAY CARE
ON THE 1ST FLOOR
Notice in a field:
THE FARMER ALLOWS WALKERS TO CROSS THE FIELD FOR FREE, BUT THE BULL CHARGES
On a repair shop door:
WE CAN REPAIR ANYTHING (PLEASE KNOCK HARD ON THE DOOR, THE BELL DOESN’T WORK)
At a Budapest zoo:
PLEASE DO NOT FEED THE ANIMALS. IF YOU HAVE ANY SUITABLE FOOD, GIVE IT
TO THE GUARD ON DUTY.
Doctors office, Rome :
SPECIALIST IN WOMEN AND OTHER DISEASES.
Hotel, Acapulco :
THE MANAGER HAS PERSONALLY PASSED ALL THE WATER SERVED HERE.
In a Nairobi restaurant:
CUSTOMERS WHO FIND OUR WAITRESSES RUDE SHOULD WAIT AND SEE THE MANAGER.
In a City restaurant:
OPEN SEVEN DAYS A WEEK, AND WEEKENDS TOO.
In a Calcutta Coffee House:
PEOPLE DISCARDING CIGARETTE STUBS IN CUPS WILL BE SERVED COFFEE IN ASH TRAYS