Popatlal's Day of Glory

It was the day of felicitations to my friend, Mr Popatlal. Mr Popatlal was recently selected as the employee of the year and the management very dearly wanted to bestow that honour upon him. They arranged a get together at the Hotel Horsemouth in town on a Monday evening, as always had been the practice, to honour all the eligible staff. It was also the annual get together of our college. On weekends Popatlal, generally travelled home which is about eight hours away by train from our town. As promised, I went to the railway station to bring him to the hotel. His son was also with him.

Popatlal was very excited. As he sat near me, the smell of mustard oil emanating from his body, strongly pierced my nostrils making me gulp fresh air continuously. Popatlal seemed to have had a thorough massage before starting from home on this historical day. It reminded me of my colleague in the Uttar Pradesh Irrigation Department, Sri Sinha Saheb, who always ate green chilly pakodas made in mustard oil and drank hot tea to drown them down his throat with a hissing noise. He was one real master of mustard oil.

At the Hotel entrance a tall bearded red uniformed gentleman resembling a Maharaja, opened the car door, for us to get out. Popatlal's son continued his journey to his hostel. While getting down from the taxi, I noticed that Popatlal was wearing different coloured socks. The socks were suffocating themselves in his shoes trying to get some fresh air and in that process were contaminating the atmosphere. Popatlal looked a little nervous as he had never gone to a hotel or to a reception like what was going to happen. He wiped his sweat frequently. We followed the arrows directing us to the venue. The corridor was laid with red carpet and the cool air-conditioned atmosphere was filled with the mixed aroma of perfumes and freshly cooked food. We stopped at the entrance of a big hall. At the door head a board was visible, written "BALL ROOM". A clean shaven male in a dark suit directed us into the room, smiling profusely and exhibiting his golden tooth at the canine position.
"Are we going to play balls here?" Popatlal's query was rib tickling.
"No, this is the hall for tonight's get together, Popat", I removed his suspicion.
The hall was laid with round tables at the centre, covered with beautifully embroidered table clothes. At the far end was a raised podium from where the awards would be presented. On the right were tables on which different kinds of dishes were placed with gas lamps burning beneath. The walls were adorned with awesome paintings. Instrumental music tranquilized the atmosphere. We sat at one of the tables.

Guests started to pour in. It was very colourful and a feast to the eyes. There were many persons who proved that "a thing of beauty is a joy for ever". Girls wearing tantalizing uniforms were moving like butterflies with trays full of soft drink glasses. One girl approached Popatlal and said "sir, please have a soft drink".
Popatlal looked suspicious and asked her "what is the price for one glass"?
The girl said with a smile "it is on the house, sir"
Popatlal's face glittered and he took two glasses of juice, one orange and the other apple.

The podium chairs were populated with the officials and our principal had occupied the chair at the centre. The secretary of the college association made the welcome speech which was followed by the principal's announcement of the various awards for the year. The winners were called one by one to receive the awards. It was then the turn of Popatlal.

The Principal with a very toothy smile announced: "Friends, I now announce the name of the employee of the year and it is none other than Mr Popatlal, our Head Clerk".
Applause reverberated the hall as Popatlal walked to the podium. He placed his right hand on the first step and touched his forehead. With folded hands, he approached the Principal and received his award. He was profusely garlanded.
Popatlal. Popatlal…the chant filled the ballroom.
Wiping his tears off, Popatlal folded his hands again in gratitude and awe.
"Mr Popatlal will now deliver a speech and also read a poem" the secretary announced.
With a cordless mike in his hand, Popatlal started his dynamite speech:

Leddies and Gentulmens, I thanks all bodies for this prejent.
Contemporaries, students, this is my first maiden speech. If
small small mistakes get inside my speech, I ask pardon. Stickly
speaking, I wanted to come to the hotel more fastly, but for the
following reason:
Too much time lost in getting slipper reservation for the train
in three-tyre compartment. The clerk rejected to give ticket. I
put complaint on station master. He said me to go to lady clerk.
At first she also rejected. I then pressed her for long time and
at last with great difficulty she gave a birth only to my son.
Anyway I thanked the station master because he was responsible for getting birth of my son.
You students are future dynamic generators of the Nation. Look into future time only. No backside looking, or looking at your behind.
You know genius, no? It is one per cent perspiration and ninety
seven percent evaporation. After we finish you here in the college, you can get other decrease. Then you can become great liars in the supreme court, shattered accountants, or leacherers in college.
The college is like a garden. You are the seeds, college is the soil. We will bury you in this soil, pour water of knowledge on your heads and one day will become great flowers. Many vacancy job come in newspapers. Only yesterday I saw in paper "Wanted for refuted engineering firm: Generators, highpower condensors" so and so forth, etc. These jobs may be teknickel, but you can rise. If you have flare in English, you can become teacher.
I am now ending this fastly. May God blast you! Thank you and
Thank God I am finished.

Claps!!! Claps!!! And muffled laughs echoed in the hall.

Popatlal was very pleased with his speech. He continued:

Dear friends, on this occasion, I lick to deliver a poyam on a romantic man who sent it to his wife. I teared it from my friend's book. It tells:

Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet, and so are you.
But the roses are wilting, the violets are dead
The sugar bowl's empty and so is your head.

Oh loving beauty you float with grace
If only you could hide your face
Kind, intelligent, loving and hot;
This describes everything you are not
I want to feel your sweet embrace
But don't take that paper bag off of your face
I love your smile, your face, and your eyes - Damn, I'm good at telling lies!
My darling, my lover, my beautiful wife:
Marrying you screwed up my life
I see your face when I am dreaming.
That's why I always wake up screaming
My love, you take my breath away.
What have you stepped into smell this way
My feelings for you no words can tell,
Except for maybe "go to hell"

Thunderous applause!!! Popatlal blushed and came down the podium.

The dinner was sumptuous and Popatlal licked all his fingers and enjoyed the food. At last the finger bowls arrived. A peel of lime was dancing in the lukewarm water and Popatlal's eyeballs protruded. "I wanted it very badly" he said and raised the bowl to his lips.
"Popat, it is not for drinking. It is for cleaning your fingers" I said.
"What is left there to clean?" he reluctantly kept down the bowl.

I hired a taxi which bumped every now and then on the so called asphalt road. By the time we reached our hostel, Popatlal's head was systematically tossing on my shoulders and he opened his mouth and entered another phase of metabolism called snoring, very rhythmically.

Popatlal was dreaming away to glory……

Cheers!!!

Note: The jokes about the speech and the poem are from the internet.