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Where is my Watson?!

Every Sherlock needs a Watson!

Well, maybe not ‘need’… need is strong word. But… every Sherlock has a Watson.


There are certain integral qualities in a Watson that brings out the best in Sherlock. A Watson, for example, does not need Sherlock to ‘say’ it. A Watson already knows and understands.

 A Watson does not stand in Sherlock’s way. Even if he does not understand what Sherlock is thinking or going to do, a Watson makes himself available. A Watson understands that Sherlock needs him… well, might need him at some point… and stands around till he is needed. A Watson knows that Sherlock does not always want to talk. Most times, in fact, Sherlock would need his isolation and solitude. If Sherlock makes time to talk, when he himself does not need it, Sherlock is actually doing someone a favor. Mostly, Sherlock just needs either a case to keep them busy, or their violin … for pretty much the same reason.

A Watson inherently trusts Sherlock — trust is the keyword.  He knows that Sherlock is meaning well, even if he does not emote it in accordance. A Watson knows that Sherlock has feelings and emotions, even if he treats them as a foreign object and at a secondary level of essentiality. A Watson knows when Sherlock has overlooked the emotional aspect of a situation either because the situation was boring and he got distracted, or because the situation caught his curiosity and he is soaked in it.

A Watson is absolutely okay with being used, lied to, ignored, sent off, shut-upped, or even forgotten. Why? Because a Watson is aware that Sherlock needs him and probably has a very good reason for doing any of the above – and might primarily be concerned about his Watson’s safety. A Watson knows that Sherlock does not lie to him about himself.

A Watson believes Sherlock is a genius, but does have his moments of failure. He understands that in such times, Sherlock needs a capable mouth-shut, at least in public. A Watson knows when to speak and when to shut up. A Watson knows that the genius feels offence rather easily.

Watsons are the human side of the Sherlock. Watsons are the mouthpiece of Sherlock when Sherlock are incapable of expressing – typically emotions. Watsons see what most people do not in Sherlock because he keeps it closed to others. Watsons are, basically, the heart of Sherlock, the brain.

Sherlock knows that he can be completely Sherlock when Watson is around. Sherlock will be Sherlock anywhere … only most might not even get it. A Watson makes being Sherlock more fun. So while Sherlock is being Sherlock, Watson fights for him … so that he can be Sherlock.

Watsons are indispensable to Sherlocks. Arthur Conan Doyle would heartily agree.

So, back to the beginning – Every Sherlock needs a Watson. Where is mine?!!

I want a Watson to my Sherlock.




I found this gem in my treasure trove of such collectibles. It is years old and I still enjoy this as much as I did when I first read it. Honestly, reading it aloud is something that still sees me in splits.

To get the full effect, this should be read aloud.  You will understand what ‘Tenjewberrymuds’ means by the end of the conversation.  This has been nominated for the best email of 2006.

The following is a telephone exchange between a hotel guest and room-service, at a hotel in Asia, which was recorded and published in the Far East Economic Review:

Room Service (RS): “Morrin.  Roon sirbees.”

Guest (G): “Sorry, I thought I dialed room-service.”

RS: “Rye..Roon sirbees..morrin!  Jewish to oddor sunteen??”

G: “Uh..yes..I’d like some bacon and eggs.”

RS: “Ow July den?”

G: “What??”

RS: “Ow July den?…pryed, boyud, poochd?”

G : “Oh, the eggs!  How do I like them?  Sorry, scrambled please.”

RS: “Ow July dee baykem?  Crease?”

G: “Crisp will be fine.”

RS : “Hokay.  An Sahn toes?”

G: “What?”

RS:”An toes.  July Sahn toes?”

G: “I don’t think so.”

RS: “No?  Judo wan sahn toes??”

G: “I feel really bad about this, but I don’t know what ‘judo wan sahn
toes’ means.”

RS: “Toes!  Toes!…Why jew don juan toes?  Ow bow Anglish moppin we

G: “English muffin!!  I’ve got it!  You were saying ‘Toast.’ Fine.  Yes, an
English muffin will be fine.”

RS: “We bodder?”

G: “No…just put the bodder on the side.”

RS: “Wad?”

G: “I mean butter…just put it on the side.”

RS: “Copy?”

G: “Excuse me?”

RS: “Copy…tea…meel?”

G: “Yes.  Coffee, please, and that’s all.”

RS: “One Minnie.  Scramah egg, crease baykem, Anglish moppin we bodder on
sigh and copy….rye??”

G: “Whatever you say.”

RS: “Tenjewberrymuds.”

G : “You’re very welcome.”

Showers of Freshness

Showers of Freshness.

When the Mind is Free…

… it finds for itself a thought world that is considered too normal or taken for granted. These may be simple unsuspecting insights into daily life that are most often missed.

Yes, that beginning to this post makes it look somber and serious.

Don’t be fooled – I’m in no mood for seriousness right now – Nor was then when this particular insight into insipid daily life flashed into my head.

I was driving back home. It was one of those days when every driver on the road makes it their personal agenda to gatecrash into your lane right before you. No indication light, no swaying of the hand from the car window, no peek at the car they are about to overtake unceremoniously – just a turn of the steering wheel that puts the front wheel of the car just before yours and if you have to apply emergency brakes then that’s your problem.

What’s more, as there is no-please-no sorry-no thanks policy being followed, after the overtaking (or taking over), there’s no show of thanks – not even jhoota hi sahi! Well, what didn’t start in courtesy and common etiquette couldn’t be expected to end with it.

In that moment, I can choose to yell and demand to know who granted them the license to drive (other people mad) – which is also what I did for half the trip – but then, I could also sit back and enjoy one more rerun of the Anomaly of the Day. And I launched into a mental (not to be confused with the disorder variety – though you may be tempted) thesis.

Now, for understanding the thesis you have to be familiar with the terminology. On the road, that I take, there are three lanes: the Fast lane (extreme right), the middle lane (middle, obviously), and the Slow lane (extreme left … er… yeah, obviously!).

In one such transaction, one of the drivers was constantly trying to get into the middle lane from the fast lane. Finally, there were able to and the one behind them took their space and sped up. This one, who was in fresh in the middle lane, now was pretty calm.

Ta da! Time for my observation:

  • The drivers choosing the fast lane: Ambitious achievers, show-offs, know-it-alls – might be impatient!
  • The drivers choosing the middle lane: average achievers, average riskers – risk only when minimal to no risk!
  • The drivers choosing slow lanes: scared to move, painfully patient!
  • The drivers choosing fast lane from middle lane: learned confidence and now ready to go
  • The drivers choosing middle from fast lane: tired of the rat race, but need to remain well-paced
  • The drivers choosing slow lanes from middle or fast lanes: too tired to bother, and too scared to risk it; or simply want to go too slow, enjoy the ride and waste fuel!
  • The drivers choosing slow lane from fast lane only to be faster than the fast lane: mean, crazed opportunists who stop at nothing; don’t trust them!
  • The drivers hovering between two lanes and driving with car wheels on either side of the dividing line: impatient or scared or unsure; in any case, extremely indifferent to the other drivers on the road; sometimes, plain frustrated people – have probably had their toes stepped on either by spouse or boss! Or both!
  • The drivers who like to go slow but drive in the fast or middle lane, totally unbothered by crazy honking and weird stares: blissfully ignorant; Cause other drivers to call on God!
  • The drivers who start in middle lane, move to fast lane, back to middle lane, try slow lane, back to middle lane, … : Predictably Confused! Stay-away-from-me variety.
  • The drivers attempting lane change and brake all of a sudden, oblivious to the world around them: Unpredictable or probably engrossed chatting/texting on phone or with the person next to them
  • The drivers going in the fast lane within the speed limit (where actual speed is 70-90 kmph as against the approved speed limit, 50-60 kmph): Righteous, who literally cause the unrighteous to wonder how can they continue to live right in such a wrong world! (For the unrighteous, going in the fast lane within the speed limit actually defeats the purpose of having a fast lane.)
  • The drivers zig-zagging in all lanes – 5th gear: God bless them and others around them!
  • The driver who sits coolly looking at all other drivers, sings loudly no matter what, and comes home & writes about it: Me!

Please don’t take this seriously. My disclaimer was put upfront – I’m in no mood for seriousness right now!


Conscience Strikes at Oddest Moments

Here I was working on my writing project, strumming joyfully at my laptop keys (Sorry about mixing terminology with domain; my conscience has temporarily wrecked my word usage mechanism.) when I felt the urge to want to drink something. Now I’d already used up my quota of 2 coffees per day, and exceeding it by 2 cold coffees as well, plus a glass full of rather fizzled out Mountain Dew. I remembered I hadn’t had my glass of milk all day.


I shut my laptop and brought back my warm cup of milk with a spoonful of protein powder (as I call it – it’s a health supplement), sat it on my desk and continued my music, occasionally sipping from my cup. Maybe it was the milk, but my mind started working rather well and I was soon immersed in my project. It was a while before I remembered that I’d left my cup unattended on the table. I picked it up and was about to sip from it, when perchance I happened to look into the cup and was glad to do so. Something triangular seemed to be sitting in it. I pulled the cup away from my waiting mouth to inspect it. And oh my, my!


A housefly was apparently attempting suicide in my protein milk. Quite an ironical way to put an end to life – pass on in a healthy way!


I recoiled in disgust and was about to put the cup back on the table, when I saw the thing flapping its many arms and legs. Ah! It was alive and swimming in my milk. Now, I’d heard of Queen Cleopatra bathing in milk (they say it brings a sheen on one’s skin) of some animal, crocodiles or camels (or whatever animal was available in ancient Egypt), I forget; but this was preposterous.


I was again going to put my cup back, when I saw the fly had given up. Intrigued, I continued to look at it. A couple of seconds later, it again attempted to flap its arms and legs, and then gave up. It was trying to swim to the spoon that I’d left in the cup. It was still not dead, and was trying its best not to die. Stupid fly! If it didn’t want to die, why dive into my milk. This is a classic example of biting more than you can chew. Obviously my house maid had left the back door of my room open longer than it was needed when she cleaned my room. It is monsoons, and flies and their clan would usually come visiting if we’re not too careful!


I was about to put it back, when of course, the Conscience decided to make itself heard. I tell you, Conscience keeps strange hours! Mine clearly lives in a distant country in an unearthly time zone!


‘Are you going to let it die?’ it asked me. I ignored the voice and put the cup back.

No! I picked it up again to check if it was still with me; of course it was, flapping away to glory and bringing me to shame.

Another thing about Conscience – I’m not sure if it realizes, but it always, ALWAYS, asks the most irritatingly difficult questions that nag you worse than would a fly. I decided it was better to be nagged by a fly than by Conscience. A fly would die someday, but this Conscience was going stay around till I die and move on. By the way, this is strange because I’m a huge promoter of killing mosquitoes.


Anyhow, I did something I have never done before.

I pushed my spoon underneath the fly and brought it out. It jammed its feet on to the inner side of the cup. I left it there, hoping it would crawl out. I put the cup down. This exercise had been enough on my gentle nerves. But, oh no! I had to check again to see if it had managed to crawl up. To my utter dismay, the thing had stupidly fallen back into the milk.


Dash it! Why me!!? And why my cup of protein milk! Why couldn’t it my irritating neighbor next door who refuses to sleep all night!


I again pushed my spoon under the fly. The scared thing swam away from me. Probably, it was upset that the last time I left it on the wall of the cup, so it didn’t trust me no more. I didn’t give up. I fished it out, the thing resisted; trust you me, it resisted! I wanted to ask really – make up your mind – Do you want to live or die? When it finally saw that I was bringing it out of the cup, it sat nicely on the spoon. I held the spoon in air, hoping it was fly, but it was sopping wet.

It crawled to the stem of the spoon lazily, dragging its sodden self. Very gingerly, I balanced the spoon on the mouth of the cup to let the fly do its crawling. After a while it landed on my writing table.

Good deed for the day done!



A while back I saw it rubbing its forearms (or whatever those are, pardon my wrecked word usage!); I’d thought it was flexing its arms to gauge its newfound muscles. Right now, I have seen the strangest thing. It is holding itself on it forearms and mid-arms, and flexing its rear legs. Goodness gracious! Never thought I’d live the day to see a housefly attempting push-ups!

But alas! It ain’t flying! It is still lying on my table. It attempts to walk, raises its body on its leg. I wonder; the protein doesn’t seem to have done it much good. Or, as they show in the movies, there is too much milk in her lungs. No, I’m not damaged enough to give it a CPR; besides, it is breathing and walking. Perhaps, it is waiting for its wings to dry, and then it’d hopefully take flight.


Lesson, little fly: The Almighty made you light so you could fly. If protein drinks were made for you, you’d not have gotten wings as tiny as these, probably larger ones to zoom around in a heavier body. Be thankful for who you are.


Well, at least I can sleep well tonight.