This Above alL
Humour in life and verse
Khushwant Singh

WHILE reading Rumi’s Mathnavi, I came across an anecdote which very aptly prescribes what common people should do to well-to-do misers who refuse to give anything to the needy. A dervish knocked at a house and asked for a piece of bread. "This is not a bakery", replied the house owner. "Can you give me a scrap of meat then?" asked he. "Does this look like a butcher’s shop?" asked the owner. "Perhaps a little flour?" "Do you hear a flour-mill grinding?" came the reply. "At least some water, I am thirsty", begged the dervish. "This is not a well", snapped the owner.

In short, whatever the dervish asked for, the owner of the big house turned down with a sneer. Ultimately, the dervish ran into the house, lifted his robe and squatted on his haunches to defecate. "Hey, hey", shouted the house owner, "what are you doing?" "Making shit", replied the dervish. "Your house is barren. So it is a good place to relieve myself. Your soul needs fertiliser. I am giving it to you".

Tribute to Sagar Khayyami

He was the best humour writer of Urdu verse of his days. He died some time back. When the doctors told his wife that his time had come, she was very depressed. In the meantime, their son arrived and asked why she was so sad. Before she could say anything, Sagar sahib spoke: "I’ll tell you. The nurse has said I look very handsome". Father and son smiled. Earlier in the day when the nurse came to take blood for some test, he said: "How much more will you take? I am already on reserve". Such was his compulsive sense of humour even at the time of death. It reminds me of Oscar Wilde, who, when given champagne on his deathbed, remarked: "John, I am dying beyond my means".

I give two examples of his verse:

(I am not given to telling lies at all, Sagar. It is true and, therefore, I say with a bang. What better example of friendship could you have; come on, my tongue is Indian, my teeth are from Pakistan).

(O Sagar, everything in your country is topsy-turvy. Where it should be morning, it is evening there).

(If the engineer acts as a doctor, then surely the life of the patient will be in jeopardy. The patient said only this, and started crying, ‘where has the tyrant gone after opening my nuts and bolts while I am dying’?).

Left-handers

We have yet to solve the mystery of why nearly 10 per cent of us are left-handed (khabchoos) from birth. Far from being handicapped as southpaws, they are brighter, better in sports than the other 90 per cent of the population. Just watch Wimbledon, and you will see that a high proportion of left-handed tennis players make it to the quarter-finals. In America’s White House, Barack Obama, its latest occupier, is left-handed. So is the chief rival, the Republican John McCain. So were Bush (Senior), Clinton and Reagan. As a matter of fact, for 20 of the past 28 years, America has been ruled by the left-handed. Two of the least respected past Presidents — Jimmy Carter and George Bush — are right-handed. One wonders why being left-handed makes so high a percentage of achievers.

Olympic chaser

A thief broke into the house of flying Sikh Milkha Singh in the early hours of the morning. In the dark he hit into something. The sound woke Milkha Singh. The thief ran out. Milkha put on his running shoes to chase the thief. A few minutes later, a friend of Milkha Singh, on his morning walk, found that Milkha was not jogging, as usual, but racing like mad. He stopped him and asked: Oye Milkhey, kitthey dauri ja rehaan, shudaiyan vakan? (Where are you running up to, like mad?). Milkha stopped and replied with a smile: O, chor aa gaya see, mere ghar (One thief came to my house). Kitthe hai chor (Where is the thief)? enquired the friend. Merey samney daur reha see, main onu do meel pichhe chhor aya han (He was running in front of me. I have left him two miles behind), said Milkha, jubilantly.

(Contributed by Paramjit S. Kochar, New Delhi)

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