BHAWNA ATMARAM
The Dodolander inhabits a fabulous tropical island, which is blessed by the rays of the sun and postcard perfect clear turquoise waters caressing its shores. Dodoland’s wall of fame has to do with the intense veneration of its rulers, who are treated like demi-gods and not the mere specks of human blood and flesh that they really are. You see, rumours abound that their faecal matter smells like freshly plucked roses, still dripping with the early morning dew. This sense of superiority about their sophisticated defecating systems has resulted in a ‘them and us’ situation. As for the Dodolander, he feels ostracised because of his stinky bowel habits. He stressfully walks around with an air freshener spray, just in case… He languishes over his imperfections, whilst cursing the lucky governors who were born, not only with a silver spoon in their mouths at the entry, but rose flavoured human waste at the exit. Life is so unfair!
Dipin Rasi (Stale Bread)
The average Dodolander is early to rise. No, you’re quite wrong if you’re assuming that he is an efficient workaholic who is eager to contribute to his country’s economic growth. Mornings are wrought with the ‘battle of the bread’. There is normally a long queue at his corner shop or baker’s, and the Dodolander has no time to waste. The Dodolander grabs his ‘dipin mezon’, like a prized trophy and rushes back home. He slathers it with butter, dips it in his morning oversize mug of tea, and gulps the buttery tea in a slurping frenzy. He then meticulously packs his lunch; and that bread is a life saviour, or not! The pandemic of chewy bread that is enough to break your jaws, as you masticate vigorously to fill your tummy, has taken over the whole island. Every day, countless Dodolanders are admitted to hospital for jaw dislocation or tooth replacement. Quality control measures are so lame that ‘dipin rasi’ is passed off as the genuine deal. If you’re fortunate, you might get some extras such as grilled cockroach legs, lizard tails or mouse droppings, adding that extra protein element to your ‘dipin mezon’ or Dodoland baguette, which has the consistency of a ‘savat Dodo’. No amount of complaining will do. Anyone can get the licence to be a baker, and to import foreign labour to assist them. No prerequisite experience is required. As long as the foreign workers can bake frozen bread and vote en masse at our forthcoming elections, they are safe to stay. Oh well, who cares, as long as their bread fills our stomach?
Pani Naiba
The sun that shines for a select few has just risen in Dodoland. Let the Concerto No. 1 begin: the Dodolander aggressively brushes his teeth, ferociously gargles and forcefully spits out his morning phlegm, awakening the whole neighbourhood in the process. Running water suddenly stops. Ayo! His blood curdles as he contemplates the mess of yellowed phlegm stuck to his washbasin. “Ferm dilo!” he bellows to his wife, who has deviated the meagre mains water by opening the kitchen tap. While he fluctuates between impatience and frustration, his fellow neighbour is stuck to the toilet vase, his hand holding on to the water jet, which has stopped flushing midway. Ah, the woes of unfinished business! Frequent water interruptions are regular features in Dodoland, and if you can’t afford water tanks or pumps, you are trapped like a fish out of water. You can’t do anything! No pooping, no showering, no cooking, no cleaning! A thoroughly disgusting scenario for the Dodolander who is a clean freak! That spectre of ‘Pani Naiba’ is that never-ending recurrent nightmare.
Road Rage
The daily weekday commute to work and back is nothing short of a battle for the average Dodolander. He has no police motorcade to clear the traffic ahead, and has to bear long, draining hours on the road. Work is not only sacred but also helps in adding a few precious rupees to his pocket at the end of the month, for his survival. Not a lot, after the taxman’s merciless plundering, but one has to work…to help pay for the governors’ exclusively exquisite lifestyles. Whether the Dodolander has a car or is travelling by bus, the struggle is the same. Traffic congestion, badly designed road networks, bumps and potholes all contribute to frustrate the islanders, day and night. Don’t get me started on very badly-behaved reckless drivers, who are amateurs of cutting off cars, due to their oversized egos and inability to wait in line, quietly. And the road rage with the flowery language of profanities directed at the mothers in the world! The Concerto No. 2 rages on with a litany of swear words. This creates a discordant hymn of air pollution, with angry middle fingers thrust at one another, along the roads island-wide.
Nepotism at Work
Ah! After the exhausting episode of bottlenecks and swear symphony, the Dodolander is finally safe and sound (!) at work, braced to give it his best shot. As soon as he steps into his office and mentally prepares himself to have that soothing morning cup of tea, he is summoned to the Top Gun’s Office to be introduced to his new boss. Again? He shakes his head as he scrutinises yet another political nominee, standing stiffly in front of him. You know the saying: ‘Empty vessels make the most noise’, fondly known as ‘Drom Vid’ in our mother tongue. That imperious nominee, despite being an arrogant brat and a clueless jerk, with no relevant credentials whatsoever, turns up his nose at his lowly employee. The disdain is tangible. Like a rabid dog, he starts barking orders to assert his authority. Dejected, our Dodolander sighs inwardly. Fortunately, he has grown acclimatised to being treated like a doormat. He knows the drill all too well. Comply or perish. He doggedly makes his way to his air-conditioned cubicle. He opens his top drawer, takes out his university degree certificate and blows off the dust that has coated it. He then carefully puts it back into the drawer, under some files. Thankfully, there’s still that cup of tea to look forward to.
Supermarket Shock
It’s not over yet. After a tedious day at work, our Dodolander has to make that compulsory, albeit loathsome, detour to the supermarket to get some much-needed groceries. With each agonising step, he feels his feet growing heavier by the second as he scans the vertiginous escalating prices of foodstuffs. Has he been teleported to Hell instead? He starts perspiring like crazy, smelling the clammy stench under his armpits. For lack of deodorant, he sprays himself with the air freshener. His face turns red, contorted into a distraught grimace, as he takes out his calculator to ensure that he is not going bonkers. His shopping basket is barely half full and he feels a sudden pang in his chest. Wheezing, he leans against a shelf, gasping for breath. Concerned shoppers ask him if he is okay, warning him of an impending heart attack. He sheepishly informs them that he has had a long day while thinking of his depleting bank balance. Before leaving the supermarket, he looks longingly at the ostentatious display of fresh meat. He can already picture the lamb shank, slowly cooking and simmering in a rich sauce of red wine…Avast! That’s the devil tempting him with his trident which suspiciously resembles a fork tearing into the tender meat. Shaking his head, he harrowingly makes his way to his car, daydreaming of a utopic world of free unlimited fresh meat.
National TV Diarrhoea
After a modest dinner of rice and dhal with some ‘pwason sale’ and pickled chillies, our Dodolander deserves a much-needed break. Sprawled out on the sofa, he switches on the TV. He does not have the luxury of cable TV and has to rely on the national TV corporation for entertainment purposes. But duty first! He has to watch the 7:30 news. It is a holy routine that he has to observe, whether it rains or shines, however misguided it is (orders from his new boss). Let the Concerto No. 3 begin: it consists of endless speeches and clips of his sun-soaked governors. They are exhibited in all their glory: inaugurating a public toilet in a faraway village and taking selfies with the locals whilst seated on that toilet. Exposed to this deluge of utter rubbish pouring from the screen, the Dodolander feels his bowels running loose. He rushes to the toilet, not even having the time to switch off the propaganda. He takes his seat on the regal throne, with his finger on his air freshener. This is the only time he can feel what it is like to be in power. He relieves himself in all his glory, whilst apprehending the next day and its concertos…Ayo Bondie!