When murder isn't murder.

There are questions in mathematics which even Jewish mathematicians can't solve. The question I want to address today is are there murders whose solution defies even the most brilliant detective? Take the following case-


Sauntering down the Arcade on a summer's evening, I stopped at a burrito van and purchased the special. The operator of the van moaned about the wind and the hail as he got busy with the hot plate. A passerby stopped to listen. The burrito guy asked hopefully if he wanted to order something.
'No', says the passerby, 'I recognize your voice from the messages you left on my wife's voice-mail. My name is Diego Vasquez. You and me got a score to settle, buddy.'
"I don't want no trouble,' says burrito guy. "I broke it off when she told me she was married. Is that a gun you're holding? Don't please... fuck!"
The noise of the pistol going off was quite deafening. I suppose I went into shock. By the time I'd recovered, the other man had fled. After some time I gathered myself sufficiently to go to the police station on the other side of the square.
Though the detectives I spoke to confessed their inability to procure for me the burrito I'd paid for,  they were very interested in what I had to say. They asked me to accompany them to the burrito van. It was empty but the smell of cordite and some blood stains inside the van convinced the police that a crime had occurred.
Back at the Station, I learned that Diego Vasquez had a criminal record. He was a member of the dreaded Los Ninos gang. I was able to identify him from his mug-shot.

From c.c camera footage, the police became convinced that Vasquez had murdered the burrito seller and returned to the scene of the crime with two accomplices to remove the body.
Later that week, Vasquez was detained at Stanstead while attempting to board a charter flight . I was informed that I would be a witness in his trial for murder. This put me in a real bind.

You see, the fact is, I knew who had murdered the burrito guy. It wasn't Vasquez. Yes, he had motive, means and opportunity. Still, when he fired his gun, the person who deftly picked up the bullet with his chopsticks, as it emerged from the muzzle or the pistol, and conducted it into the body of the victim was none other than Iain Duncan Smith. True, I didn't actually see him do it. But that's the thing about I.D.S. No one notices him. Not till it's too late.

Outed by my dear old Mum- an insight into Hindu attitudes to homosexuality

Many years ago, I committed the ultimate solecism of marrying a non Tam Bram. How this happened is itself an instructive story, indicative (in my opinion) of the, Drona Acharya like, duplicity of the leading Tamil Savant in London at the time- Padma Shree  Dr. John Marr- who, wishing to handicap the most able, or Ekalavya, amongst his students, cunningly convinced her that the sounds that emanate from my mouth are in fact some archaic or ultra pure version of Tam Bram dialect rather than- as he very well knew- such English as, it remains my self-flattering conviction, is spoken by poshest of posh persons- like Queenji herself innit?
The lady who espoused me- hoping to acquire what old India hands called 'a sleeping dictionary' and thus steal a march over her academic rivals- eventually came to see that she had been cruelly deceived, and divorced me in summary fashion.

My dear old Mum, who had managed to hush up news of the mesalliance, visited me a short while later, worried I had succumbed to Clinical Depression.

It was on her return to India that she outed me as a homosexual.

What happened was this. Taking tea with Mrs. Iyengar, who should drop in 'by chance' but biggest gossip of the M.E.A wives' association- Pinky Mathur only!

Pinky Mathur- So, Vasantha, tell us, your son in London- must be having girl-friend no?
Mum- No! He likes boys only. No girls at all.
Pinky- Really? But I heard...
Mum- All a mistake! When he was 20 he was as innocent as a baby. He didn't know anything. By the Grace of God all that is over and done with. Now he is with boys only. I visited just last month. Boys sleeping everywhere.   No girls anywhere to be seen.
Pinky- So he is...gay?
Mum- Of course he is gay! He has always been gay! I'm his mother! Don't I know that his character has always been gay! What are you trying to imply? You have been listening to rumors.
Pinky- Well I had heard...something...I thought... but, I was wrong as I can see... Sorry, I didn't know. But, tell me, are you really okay with it?
Mum- Of course I'm okay with it! What are you talking? One boy, he is working in clothes shop, he saw me walking by on my first day and somehow he recognized me and came running to touch my feet, calling me Mataji and Ammijaan. Muslim boy. Pathan from Pakistan. He loves my son so much, just seeing my face in photo, he immediately felt I am his mother also. Actually, all the boys love my son. They are Refugees. He meets them through the Refugee Legal Center where he does voluntary work. He handles their paper-work to spare them the fees of crooked lawyers. Staying with him, they save money to send home. Every night is like a party at his flat. No worries, no sadness, no depression at all. Just all these boys being gay with each other without thought for caste or creed.
Pinky- Well... I must say, you're very broad-minded.
Mum- What you are saying- broad-minded? That because someone is Muslim I'll object? My father was in Freedom Struggle, I say! He had many Muslim friends in prison. I tell you, my son takes after my father in this respect! Mind it, kindly!
Pinky- Sorry, Vasantha, I did not know.... It seems, I knew you but never knew you. I want to tell you something... my son, you know the one in San Fransisco... the one I told you was living with a gori...
Mum- Forgive and forget. Take trip to Tirupati. By God's grace everything is possible.

New Indian copyright law causes your dick to shrink.

The amended Indian copyright law reduces price discrimination by permitting the import of lower priced books legally available in other countries into India.
The result, according to Publishers is that foreign text-books may rise in price ten fold.
Why?
It is because, in America, publishers argue that the import of cheap Indian editions would cause their dicks to shrink. Hence, since dick shrinkage is highly infections and American publishing dicks are constantly rubbing up against Indian publishing dicks, the Indian Copyright amendment act is bound to cause dicks to shrink all round.
This causes Indian publishers to argue that the new law may cause the price of foreign text books to rise ten fold because once your dick starts shrinking fuck you care about the price of foreign textbooks, that's your dick shrinking goddamit, you start babbling anything that comes into your head- fuck me, that's another centimeter I've just lost- won't William Darlymple or Gurcharan Das or somebody please do something, my dick is fucking shrinking for Chrissake!

What people need to understand is that if Publishing dicks start shrinking, it becomes the duty of fuckwits everywhere to speak out.

The modern Mahatma- is sodomy ever licit?

Chi Jawahar Lal

Sodomy is never licit, however an exception can be made for a true Satyagrahi taking the Jubilee Line to the Swami Narayan Temple in Neasden because Dollis Hill, it is widely acknowledged, is indeed the indubitable arsehole of the Universe.

Love

Bapu

The modern Mahatma- visit to a software factory

Recently I visited a software factory but was disappointed to note that casual micturation upon computer consoles and defecation in potted plants was continuing to occur. On my raising the matter with the factory overseer, rather than the offending party being subjected to rebuke, or becoming the object of emulative competition, the factory proprietor expressed a polite and irrelevant concern that I might be suffering a stroke or experiencing the incontinence associated with senile dementia.

This proved to me, yet again, that though the British may have left, India still needs a Mahatma like myself.

Heidegger, his Heraclitus, in Der Speigel

Colliding with a maiden small, yet street legal

Like Heidegger, his Heraclitus, in Der Speigel

I see what motility must to that Black Sun's ovum

Her eye's blason blue a Speculum Novum.

To amuse the idle did our idols refuse

To amuse the idle did our idols refuse

Or their currency but defray in use

Work wot is a ghastly expense

Loss naught is if not this Sense