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Kausthub

Posted in Punsicouldgetkilledfor with tags , on February 14, 2010 by Rohit

Ram Singh was ecstatic the day he scratched a card at the washing machine dealership and won a calf. He was expecting a toaster. Surprised with the surprise gift, he named it Vismay. Nobody in Bilaspur, though, saw the humour in that. Vismay did calf things for a few years and progressed to cow things then on. She hung around with other cows, appeared thoughtful and never showed off while ruminating. She was a normal and mature cow in all respects and Ram Singh was pleased with the prospects.

Secretly though, Vismay was a very ambitious and well read cow. Whether the former was a result of the latter, or the other way around, one can only speculate. But en route her daily forage through the city she had found a used bookstore. There was a rather pious young fellow behind the counter there who would pick one book in very bad condition and throw it towards Vismay. He believed it brought him good Karma. On the first day Vismay gobbled up a 1986 Sports Illustrated with hardly a second glance. But eventually she made it a point to read what was thrown her way first and chew on it later. She sometimes grew impatient with Russian novels and ate it midway. Brothers Karamazov, for instance. But most books, she read till the end even if it bored her.

What interested her most was economics. She finished a hardbound version of The Wealth of Nations with lots of highlighting, in one sitting. It was an old copy that left an aftertaste, but she now realized the truth about supply, demand, money and middlemen. Keynes and Marx later, she formed some strong opinions and a hearty desire to make it on her own. She too wanted riches and a good life.

But you know how it is with cows and our society. There was nobody ready to take an entrepreneurial cow seriously. She would get shooed away from permit offices, auctions and academic circles. She would get honked at, jeered at, marked with vermillion, pushed, coerced, beaten and prayed to but not given a break. Nobody even understood her radical views in moo on the niches that could be exploited in Bilaspur’s supply chains. With dampened enthusiasm she resigned on her cause, went back to right outside Ram Singh’s home and set up a stall, for the sort of thing she was expected to do. Ambition quashed, and with a looming sense of loss, her stall proclaimed “Doodh Vismay Ka

(A tribute to amit123. If I knew enough Hindi to figure out gender, I would have written the whole thing in Hindi; and also passed seventh grade in one go.)

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