Epilogue...
Hello? Hello? (ay kuppusami, is this mic working...?)
Aah!
Ya sorry 'bout that, didnt know it was on.
Hello good people. Perhaps you wonder where on earth our two intrepid lovers have disappeared. Have they for once and for all tied the knot so to speak, or is there still some strange twist of fate, some other mishap of gastric nature, some more blithering drunken surgical error by the redoubtable kaptain kook, or has Jose's long-running Duracel (pat. pend.) pacemaker battery finally given out in a huff of pique over not having gotten more footage for its crucial role in the continuation of Jose's life (a thin excuse, the astute will notice, to stretch the story and wring it dry of every comic possibility and insert in it the bizarre sexual fantasy of the two off-stage voices...)?
Yes, good fellows one and all, the story has left a trail littered with dialectical whores, deconstructed moonshiners, reconstructed anatomies, librettos from awful musicals on Broadway and equally awful sequined bush-shirts and candy-stripe paavadais, and in the inevitable bungling produced by extraordinary drunkenness, flotsam and debris in the shape of fetid livers, kidneys, chopped japanese hands, hearts, undersized malayalee breasts, and regular and more prosaic nail-clippings from mariamma's visits to the ship's beauty parlour, have been spotted wafting gently away in outer space. Astronomers report that the chopped japanese hands have been gesticulating a very rude thing, but in a covert operation the CIA forced astronomers to call this "Dark Matter" and bought everyone a round at the local bar. The menu consisted of fried pomfret in chilli sauce, and next morning astronomers also discovered the "Red Shit", which astronomer Hubble had long ago discovered while vacationing in Andhra Bhavan.
I, in my infinite wisdom, digress. (kuppusami, some water please).
I, in my infinite wisdom and mercy, have news. (gimme some more bass on my monitor)
Jose and Mariamma have found true love at last.
They laugh, they run and play, they fondle, and often find themselves in trouble for public display of affection.
Jose has signed a perpetual contract with legendary Broadway producer Bobby Mofo (that bastard) who, after surviving a severe dipping in a vat of toddy, is fond of ending every sentence with "here toddy, gone tomorrow".
Jose will entertain audiences with feats of coconut tree climbing, speed coconut hacking, toddy distillation unedited, and various documentary features on him that, along with his royalties from his magnum opus "An Ordinary Life", have ensured that our Jose Kuriakose is now a wealthy man. Signed copies are available for a filthy sum of money.
He bears some scars from his tumultous episodes. He is given to abusing japanese people, and is never found with fewer than three hundred duracel batteries in his pocket. But other than that, and occasional bouts of spouting Das Kapital, he is quite fit for social intercourse.
Mariamma...that wondrous lass of many parts. She is a joy to Jose. She joined the team of jose kuriakose's technicolor dream coat(now in its seventh season) as manger and technical co-ordinator. She went on to bear jose two wonderful boys J. Sylvester Stalin and J. Thengaa Thanni. Anyone supecting her child bearing hips was silenced after stalin and thanni's arrival.
She too wrote a book (travelogue, yes yes kuppusami i know), "The Not-so-ordinary Wife of an Ordinary Man", her image consultants thought it would be a good publicity stunt. She and jose were in the middle of a torrid legal battle which when settled would have meant that they would have to transfer money from one joint account to another .The issue really was the alter ego; a certain fellow called Kaptin Kook in whose voice the entire travelogue (happy, kuppusami, you ingrateful rascal??) is written. Both titles can be purchased seperately, or together as the "family special", with a signed pair of diapers used by the two adorable kids thrown in with.
No love being lost the Kuriakose house hold is doing just fine and recently invested in a battery charger, as a birth day gift to Jose. He felt like crying but his pace maker not being connected to his tear ducts couldn't pump them to his eyes. Hence he stuck to howling, which was just awful. I mean, just awful.
Ok, fine, all is well, but where are they?
(come on soundboy bass gimme the bass!!)
Who am I?
I am God. ( and before you start off on the whole 'what does it all mean?' routine.... no comment!!)
People also call me Blinkey the Whale.
Mariamma and Jose are in my belly, which I am mostly OK with, except ......the cigar smoke is killing me.
posted by mojorama @ 8:40 AM
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