Art

What is it? Is it the curious turn of the hair from which faint glimmers of Johnson's Baby Hair Oil are just barely unnoticeable? Is it the grotesque blob of fat that dangles precariously from the bottom of the chin? Is it the multicoloured balloon outfit?

What is it that makes this baby so mysterious?

Or as my friend and renowned critic of the arts put it, What the hell is that?(laughter) Just look at it!

When Murab Shariff*, a local Dubai photographer shot a standard issue passport-sized photo of a stunningly chubby baby girl, he was unaware that he would, in the future, be credited as the artist of the ugliest, funniest, weirdest baby picture that Kumarans had ever seen.

Hats off to you Mr Shariff*. If not for you, I might never have seen Aditi simultaneously laugh, eject various liquids from her nose and fall over the canteen ledge landing on and thereby distracting two very flushed eighth graders from what had obviously been a steamy make out session and flinging hot oopma over the entire high school in a manner similar to that of the elderly at a wedding. Standing under that warm shower of cracked wheat, struggling for breath due to a cracked rib, I thought, thank God for you Mr Shariff*, thank God for you.

* Name changed to ensure anonymity and hilarity.

Cockroach Obituary and Other Adventures

This is dedicated to the memory of O.N. Longineau III, whose short, unfulfilling life ended abruptly on March 21st at approximately 2am in the morning. I am happy to say that it was I who killed him. I whacked him with a broom as he scurried across the hall, presumably to meet his brother Frank.

Frank, as it turns out, was not, as Longineau had thought, across the hall , but was engaged in blatant fornication atop a bowl of bananas in the kitchen with a girl of obscure origins. Frank! You dirty, dirty old man! said I, for Frank had a wife and many children. I discovered Mrs Frank and the Franks as I rummaged through the shoe closet for a pair of sandals. Stop screaming! You'll wake little Ned, yelled Mrs Frank with silent consternation.

Mrs Frank had a cousin, Francois, who had recently taken residence in a small crack in the bathroom wall. Francois was quite clearly a man of breeding. When he saw, that morning, that I intended to bathe myself, he politely retreated into the dark recesses of his crack.

So you see, when Longineau died on that fateful March morning, he left behind thousands of friends and relatives who will remember him till the day they die.

Of course, I sprayed to house from top to bottom with Baygon the next day.

The End Isn't Near, It's Here!!!!!!

And so ends perhaps the most important milestone in my high school career.

Four Down...


...and the end is in sight!

THREE DOWN

The next two days can only be described as what will be a mental marathon.

two down

One down.