The return of our jungle boy

Dear Mowgli, wherever you are, my thoughts and this codswallop I'm about to write shall always be with you. You were grossly underrated. For someone who fought Sher Khan—who most might not know was actually a British agent in disguise—on his own thus accelerating our freedom struggle, you don't even have a proper citation in our history books. If somebody as vague as Buddha or a Jesus (both of whom never wrote a single memorable word in their entire life) can get elaborately detailed, then our little hero deserves a far better treatment. Here's a guy who grew up amongst the wildest of animals, spoke their language fluently, adapted their way of life, left close friends like Baloo and Bagheera for that gaon ki gori Radha. But what followed next was ugly as well as inexcusably real. Apparently, Radha ditched Mowgli compelling him to have second thoughts (and that too in his mother tongue, Wolfish) about his decision to leave the good ole jungle for a human failure called society. Besides, it was too late and he ended up as an alcoholic who couldn't even afford the luxury of calling himself a poet. Remember he can't write a word just like those two rockstars i mentioned before? Well, that's karma. Speaking of which, Radha used to be my first crush nearly two decades ago. And Mowgli is what i used to look like then. At least that's what i keep telling others. Anyway, to set things right, Mowgli should be awarded a posthumous Bharat Ratna along with Dhyan Chand. One yielded a boomerang and other, a hockey stick. Sachin, like his retirement, can wait. In the meantime, we should gain pleasure from the karmic fact that Mowgli and Sher Khan reincarnated to become Calvin and Hobbes.

Au Naturel

A few weeks ago, he used to cry inconsolably while asleep. In reality, some mosquitoes must have bitten him but in the world of subconsciousness, the itchy pain miraculously transforms into special-effect films where he engages in losing battles with love or King Cobra or something. That was then. As of now, he’s having these very disturbing (and recurring) dreams in which he always finds himself stark naked. As far as he knows, he’s neither a closet nudist nor a potential pornstar. However, he is greeted by awkward stares from colleagues and “What’s-the-small-deal?” woofs from street dogs. Throughout he guesstimates all the reasons behind this embarrassing indecent exposure. Since he doesn’t get any straightforward explanation for his wardrobe malfunction, he acts along and tries to keep up with Christopher Nolan’s concept of Inception. On waking up, he wonders why he forgets to wear clothes in his dreams. After much deliberation with his memory, he arrives at a conclusion. Maybe, just maybe, Mowgli is responsible for this ironic change from PG-13 to R-rating. During his childhood days, whenever Gulzar’s Jungle Jungle Baat Chali Hai Pata Chala Hai Chaddi Pahen Ke Fool Khila Hai Fool Khila Hai... played, he used to imagine himself as that fool with boomerang. (In all probability, if ever there was a jungle boy he wouldn't bother with a wooly underwear as much as Disney did!) He even started having one-sided conversations with animals. So much for an ambition! Perhaps history repeats itself—wearing absolutely nothing—when the person in question dozes off.