What thou shall be told is a tale that does not wag and a story that does not make a building. There was once a destitute who ailed from a disease so rare but so potent that even the mightiest of kings prostrate before the might (the one in “dude, it might vitiate us). The name was Put-tea. Not of the disease but of the destitute. The disease was, of course, Negativus Sense-o-humourus.
Hopeless, Popeless and dopeless, the non-catholic boy had no money even to buy weed. This did not make sense since grass was available for free. All the cows in his time were always high after consuming grass as it grew only on hilltops. The boy was mocked by friends and foes alike. While others children dreamed of becoming gallant warriors and shrewd rulers, Put-tea never had any money for dreaming. This did not make sense since people were never charged for dreams. Only batteries had to be charged for dreams.
However, the boy had one aspiration. This is the story of how Put-tea went about fulfilling his aspiration. Even now, Pu-tea’s attaining the unattainable provides hope and faith to kazillions of losers like us on this planet. Put-tea always wanted a toaster and desired to flaunt it with the greatest of pride. But, alas! The poor boy did not have money to buy one. This makes sense, one might say. Incorrect they are. Only Bengalis make Sens.
As a wise man once said; “He giveth thee more than what he taketh.” God not only took Put-tea’s sense of humour away, but reduced it to such negative levels that he became a sucking vortex of humour. He would even, inadvertently though, sap all the humour surrounding him. “What sap?”, one might say. “I’m kewl. What sap with you?”, would be my reply. However, God gave Put-tea an uncanny sense of music. He could convert any object lying around him into a musical instrument. He could conjure the most soothing music from the hardest of stones and from the most delicate of flowers.
On that fateful day, a messenger came from the faraway lands of Flaunton. The messenger sang of Flaunton’s requirement of the best musicians in the world. This was music to Put-tea’s ears, even literally. At Once did Put-tea decide to embark on the quest that eventually led to his aspiration. He was, at the time, experimenting with his prodigious talent in an alley named Once.
Put-tea reached Flaunton with no possessions except his lack of any trace of any sort of sense of humour. Impecunious, Put-tea had to create an ingenious musical instrument. This makes sense, one might say. Ever so, incorrect they are. Only perfumers make scents. Put-tea named the instrument bagpiper. Noticing his talent, Royal Band of Scotland inducted him in their legion.
Put-tea had to quickly adapt to the new life at RBS for its members did not have Faaltu Time. Adept as he was at music and its nuances, Put-tea quickly rose amongst the ranks in RBS. Soon, he acquired fame and money and with it, the finer art of flaunting. After months of dedicated hard work, Pu-tea decided that the time had arrived.
He threw a grand party and invited rulers of all lands. Investing all his hard-earned wealth in the party, Pu-tea left no scope for any improvement. Flawless were the decorations and unmatched the comforts. Choicest of chefs were hired and funniest of stand-up comedians invited. This did not make even an iota of difference as Put-tea sucked all the humour. “What iota?”, one might ask. “The same that makes Corolla.”, would be my reply.
Soon, everyone had arrived. The stage was set and the time was ripe. Put-tea went to the stage and paid everyone cash for their attention. This did not make sense since attention was free. People always had a tension in their lives. Everyone looked up to Put-tea. That moment depicted the triumph of a poor boy against all odds and is a testimony to grit and perseverance of humans. Amidst the wave of expectant and probing gazes, Put-tea said, “I would like to raise a toast.”
Out of a contraption held by Put-tea, out popped two loaves of bread.
P.S. Put-tea is also known as HKP, Plaster and Critique Gupta.