Chanel No 4, Camel No 5

Stuff that I shouldn't be doing instead of doing work:

Stuff No1: Cooking up inane conversations in my head with imaginary animals and imaginary people in real places. 

Prelude to the conversation: Setting the stage

I was aimlessly refreshing my inbox one fine Monday morning (or was it afternoon), when a newsletter for a literary event slated to be held in Jaipur, bounced into my line of sight. Not to be dissuaded by the providential provision of any singular moment that could let me abstain from work, I pounced upon the mail like a cougar in waiting and devoured its contents, right down to its last entrails. So far so good. Unfortunately, the whole exercise lasted merely two miserly minutes, stingy and lousy to say the least. But then, the very notion of Jaipur booked me on a flight of fantasy. I was up, up and away, tearing through the blue yonder, coasting along an ocean of infinitesimally tiny sand grains of golden hues. 

All of a sudden, I plummeted down in one big thud to the asphalt ground. No sooner had I realized my fall, did I realize that I was staring at a finely-bred Jodhpurian camel, squarely in the eye. An eye for an eye. Left. And right. What follows is an excerpt from the bilateral dialogue that transpired between the camel and I, which many might argue to be unilateral, but only in the presence of knowledge confined to the perimeter of basic logic.

For reasons of clarity, the camel shall heretofore be referred to as the camel. And I shall be heretofore referred to as I, except in special cases where another member of the camel's species, genus or clan is summoned upon, in which case the camel's name will be replaced by the clan/species or genus nomenclature. Same rules hold true for me. Or for the sake of accuracy, the same rules hold true for I.

The Conversation: Now, you’re talking.

I: Camel!
Camel: Aye!
I: Sorry about the song.
Camel: What song?
I: The one by Will.i.am and Fergie.
Camel: Haven’t heard that one before. Who are they?
I: They call themselves the Black-eyed Peas.
Camel: Peas that sing! Wow! Can I eat them?
I: After you get to hear what they sang, you just might.
Camel: Really? What did they sing?
I: They sang, ‘My hump, my hump’.
Camel: How could someone sing something like that, forget about saying something like that.
I: I didn't say it. The Peas did. They sang it. They sang it like you weren’t even around. 
Camel: Damn right, I wasn't around. Would’ve whooped their scrawny little asses if I were around, especially that Fergie’s.
I: I just told you I didn't sing it. I wasn’t even around. Just like you. 
Camel: I meant "I" wasn't around. As in I, me, the one with the hump.
I: Yeah, it's kinda weird they sang My Hump, My Hump. Like you have two humps.
Camel: Boy, don't get started on that. I am warning you. 
I: Yeah, cause you didn't even have, like, two humps. You have only one hump. 
Camel: That's right. 
I: They should have called the song just 'My hump'. Nothing more. Nothing less. 
Camel: Just because you said 'My hump' and repeated it with 'My hump' does not give me two humps.
I: I never said you had two humps. I just said the song had. And your brother. 
Camel: Don't involve my brother in this, please.
I: Why not
Camel: Can we please keep him out of this whole counterproductive counter-culture?
I: You mean the hip-hop subculture?
Camel: Yes. That's the one.
I: Why? So that he becomes a single-humped spineless pushover like you?
Camel: I have had just about enough of your nonsense. Just leave before I kick you in the nuts and chew your ears off.
I: Oh yeah, you and what army? The Bactrian camel 'so' totally rules. He'd never say something like that to me.
Camel: Oh yeah? If my Bactrian brother was so cool, how come you're not talking to him? 
I: I am too.
Camel: No, you're not. I am the only one who puts up with your shenanigans. The Bactrian would have whooped your ass in half by now.
I: My ass is already made up of two halves. Bactrian would have done nothing. 
Camel: Oh, just you wait.
I: You're just a sell-out. And you can't bear to see your brother go places. 
Camel: Go places? Do you have any freaking clue who you're talking to?
I: I do. You're has-been, no-good punk, whose fallen on hard times. 
Camel: So what? I have had my good times. And I've had them well. 
I: Did you?
Camel: Yes I did. I had femme fatales lining up alongside me to take pictures when I made the land-of-the-free smoke up in gay abandon.
I: Gay abandon? You still think the Peas did something wrong by singing My Hump?

To be continued…