"Skinny and Fatty lying in bed,
Skinny lets a fart, Fatty's dead,
Skinny calls the doctor, doctor says,
One more fart, we'll all be dead" *
*With due credit to the great fart poet who goes anonymously on the web by the name MdM.
I am thinking Skinny must have been in the age-group thirty to farty because that's when they fart the most. Big, bloated ones to relieve themselves. Exaggerated ones to torture others. This thirty to farty is a critical age. Critical because at their age all they do is fart around, mock and criticize everything under the sun. They think they are cat's whiskers. They know-it-all. And know better. Everything is beneath them. They are older than the silly, air-headed under-farty. And younger than the fumbling, senile over-farty. If they are in India, they call Indians living abroad, a bunch of idiots missing out on the emerging economy ride. If they live outside India, they call those living in India, a bunch of illiterate, sentimental idiots living in that country going to rot. They are smarter than their spouses and their spouses are smarter than them. Don't believe me?
Here's what happens when Thirty to Farty meet for a Party:
Skinny, Fatty, Moneyman, Geek, a few others and their respective wives at an Indian yuppie get-together lunch at a sea-facing Sydney apartment:
Moneyman, with a tragi-comic face:
"Companies are shutting down overnight, man it’s scary, one day there is a role for you and then there isn’t…my wife just quit her job, how serious are these women about working? One Sunday night I ask her what time are you going to work tomorrow and she stretches her arms, yawns and says 'will see how I feel when I wake up tomorrow morning.' And she sends me a text next morning – i'm thinking of quitting my job today. And wanting to sound like a truly supportive husband I say – I'm happy with whatever you decide. And then the next thing I know she has quit, no second thoughts, about the baby, the trip to Uluru planned in August. All my life she didn’t take my advice, but for this, it was instantaneous!
Giggles all around.
Moneyman's wife butts in: ‘I didn’t want to let go of the opportunity…that’s why I did within that second’
Half an hour later, sipping a Barossa valley, there's over-farty bashing taking place.
Skinny: "My old man says when you send me an email, text me so I can keep my laptop open."
Guffaws
Skinny's wife: "No no, not funny. Seriously, his mother says you need to get us a Hoondi car when you are back in India, she means Hyundai."
Knowing chuckles go around the room.
Fatty's wife in a complaining tone:
"This husband of mine has a fixation for buying clothes from India…he wont buy anything from here, not even on sale…he will buy his yearly stock from India…idiot. (all eyes on idiot Fatty's faded brown checked shirt and dull beige trousers).
All he carries in his suitcase when we go to India are a pair of shorts and a couple tees."
Fatty butts in, "Ya because I can borrow my father’s tees or shirts in India…i'm not a woman who will need a bag only for shoes."
Fatty's wife: "Yeah right! your Daddy’s tees…" (she screws up her face, turns unrecognisable, till her nose and lips ungroup again).
"His father’s T-shirts have every imaginable curry on them."
Polite squirms go around the room
Fatty: "Oh for heaven’s sake leave my old man alone"
Wife: "Areyyyy don't get hyper, I'm only saying he is so cute"
Geek with bloodshot eyes who was zoning all this while, suddenly speaks, realising his wife is not in the room:
"My FIL sends a messge this morning at 6:30 am saying Come on Skype. I was like, FUCKER, you can’t sleep of old age, at least lemme sleep. I blocked him on Skype."
Primed by the in-law comments and not willing to be left out, the hostess too joins in
"Oh, all of them are the same when it comes to technology. My MIL has all the instructions written and taped on the wall next to the computer. It goes > press start, click programs, select ms word and so on..hahhaaahaa sooo sweet they are.."
Murmurs of 'Awwww' around the room
Note: When the thirty to farty are done calling their folks fuckers, they call them cute, sweet, hugworthy and go 'awwww'.
Digging into roast lamb, paneer pie and fondue, they look irritatingly at the under-fartys. Their kids are running around, pulling each other’s hairs, hitting each other with tennis racquets, screaming with joy.
Geek lamenting, "Man, I took my son for a soccer training this morning and he kept complaining of the rain and cold.. And I was thinking, FUCKER if I had these facilities when I was your age, I would be called Maradona." (Fucker looks up from his video game disbelievingly at his dad).
Skinny jumping in: ‘Yaaa man I know what you mean’
Skinny's wife doing the double jump to speak first: "Every Sunday when he takes our girl for tennis he comes back with a horrible mood and we end up fighting."
Skinny, loudly: "Well what else do you expect. Every kid would be playing and she would just stand with her head inside my sweatshirt refusing to move. Any application of force means wailing. So damn embarrassing this kid of mine is! Look at these Aussie kids man, how sporty they are, and look at our whimpering idiots."
Everyone looks pityingly at their non-Aussie whimpering idiots.
Skinny, not letting the topic die down adds: "And $75 for a one-hour class! Just spent standing and crying. And the moment we get home she promises to make me happy the next time. And the same story repeats."
Moneyman, grabbing his little girl with her two braids, pulling her cheeks, "Beta we will have to sell your toys now…your mother has quit her job...how will I pay for childcare?’
More guffaws.
Skinny, just not wanting the topic to die down: "And can you imagine I bought the silly girl a HEAD Tennis Racquet! A HEAD Racquet! And she still wouldn’t play?!"
As Skinny takes a break from cribbing to attend a phonecall, the thirty to farty now move to their favourite subject - Bollywood and Adult jokes.
Geek's wife: "Okay! Tell me, What will Sunny Leone's husband tell their kids?"
All the kids drop what they are doing to listen
Geek's wife: "Easy! How I rate your mother!!"
Hahhahahaa around the room.
Fatty's turn now: "Neha Dhupia has an ass the size of a door"
Geek: "Oh ya we like it that way…It’s a door no less. Open and ready."
Loud roars of laughter.
Fatty's wife to Geek: "Shoosh,my son is here"
Geek, in a drunk voice: "I'm going to get your son under my wings…won't you come under my wings sonny boy?"
8-yr old sonny boy giggles with anticipation at the thought of going under uncle Geek's wings
Geek: FUCKER, his own father’s wings are large enough.
More laughter.
Note: When the thirty to farty are done calling their babies idiots and silly fuckers, they turn their attention to other easy targets. Like neighbours.
Skinny's wife: "Oh god, you HAVE to hear this. My Aussie neighbour had a dog and they found a murmur in its heart on a routine check-up and they put it down. I was appalled. I mean they could’ve treated him, but my neighbour said they didn’t want to prolong the suffering. And within a week they had another dog for their kids."
Tch Tch around the room. "How heartless that can be", says one. "How unethical", says another. "We Indians have values, these goras just have dicks and dollars" says a third.
Geek concluding: "Fucker would have realized that a single scan to find the murmur was 500 bucks, regular treatment would’ve ripped him off."
After a few more minutes of mocking the world and their great grandfathers, the party packs up.
Thirty to farty return home exhausted with a day of farting around.
Note: Being in the said age-group, all that I do nowadays is mock the world from my armchair.
*Coming soon: Thirty to Farty in an Indian Party
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