I forgot that I had a brief affair with blogging back in 2010. I found this amusing piece on it, along with a bunch of slightly disturbing nursery rhymes. I think I had something against Disney at the time. Ah, those late teen years, a scary place to be! I haven’t edited this piece. I hope you’ll pardon the spelling mistakes and bad grammar. I think ‘Diphtheria’ was a play on a certain cafe’s name which once sold some excellent lemon tarts.
This story is meant as satire and is not to be taken seriously. No disrespect is meant to the English, German, Dutch, Portuguese or the Goan people(s?). Any resemblances to characters living or dead, fictional or non-fictional are intended, but purely for satirical purposes. The story in no way seeks to defame or ridicule said characters.
Indiana Potter and the Raiders of the Last Tart
Binston Churchill rushed through the halls of Dogwarts School of wizardry, flanked on each side by, his massive bodyguard Arnold Shivajinagar, and the principal of the illustrious wizardry school Sodoff Smith. They barged in through a door marked ‘Food Magic 101’. Inside the lecture room a young man with a mop of dark hair, green eyes and a macaroni shaped scar on his left cheek glanced at them in irritation.
“Remember to stir the porridge with your wand only after casting the spell and adding the brown sugar”, he said to the fifty students at their desks eagerly taking in every word that issued from his lips. The principal coughed and indicated to the lecturer to join them outside.
“I’ll be back in a moment” the lecturer said to his class in obvious anger at being intruded upon.
“Doctor Potter” Sodoff said as soon as they were outside. “May I introduce you to the Prime Minister”.
“A pleasure to meet you sir” Potter said, his face showing the opposite.
“Mr. Potter” said Churchill, extending his hand out for a shake. “I wish we could have met under better circumstances”.
Potter looked at the hand as if it was a warty outgrowth of a rather unpleasant reptilian creature. “Yes, you could have met me during my coffee break”.
“I meant the whole war situation” Churchill laughed.
“There’s a war on?”
“Against the Germans”!
“Ah! That’s why I’ve been getting inferior cold cuts lately”.
“I’m afraid I don’t have much time to chat Mr. Potter. So, to come to the point, your country needs you.”
“A one-way relationship! But go on… I’m intrigued” Potter drawled, glancing at a female grad student who was passing by.
“Yes…Well, we’ve recently intercepted a communication from the German high command saying that they plan to steal ‘The Lemon Tart’ in an effort to undermine the morale of this country.”
“How exactly would stealing a lemon tart do that? Are they planning to dangle tasty treats in front of our troopers’ faces to distract them? Or are they encouraging them to defect because of the poor sub-standard food your government offers?”
“No Mr. Potter. This is bigger than that! They’re planning on creating the perfect breakfast. For ages past the English Breakfast has been a source of national pride. If the Germans succeed in their efforts this could create a worldwide disregard for our culinary hegemony.”
“Wait a minute! You don’t mean to say that they’re planning on stealing the famous Diphtherian Lemon Tart do you?”
“That is exactly what I’m trying to say Mr. Potter. The Germans seem to have discovered a method of reverse engineering cooking recipes”.
“If they get that, our English Breakfast won’t stand a chance. I mean, they already offer beer with their breakfasts. With The Lemon Tart it might be near impossible to beat”.
“Exactly. The English Breakfast will soon be a thing of the past, mocked at by historians for it’s blandness, and lack of variety. Just like the petit dejeuner”
“Hmm…I Assume you want me to acquire The Lemon Tart before the Germans do. I haven’t been to India since I solved the mystery of the 2000 year old man-eating idli. All right, I’ll do it! But, don’t you already have agents in Goa? I mean, India is a British occupied territory after all! It should be pretty easy to sneak someone in”
“That’s the funny thing. We seem to have lost contact with every single agent we sent to Goa. All communications from Goa to Portugal have stopped as well. The Portuguese seem to be worried and clueless about the situation”.
“Hmm… Sounds like an adventure. I’ll do it. As long as I still get paid of course” Potter added glancing at Sodoff.
“Of course. All your expenses will be refunded as well, and you will be awarded a knighthood if you succeed in your mission”.
“Hmm… Sir Indiana Potter. I like the sound of that. It’ll get me the girls too. When do I leave?”
“Right away Mr. Potter. There’s an Axminister waiting for you outside the building. Good luck! Oh, and I forgot to mention. The Nazis have recruited Lord Smokealot for this mission. You might be in for a battle”.
“Just came to your mind now did it?” Potter asked sarcastically. “Hey, you know what? He Who Must Not Be Sober is there too. Hell with you and all politicians!”
“He’s just nervous” Sodoff said apologetically to Churchill, while the guard growled under his breath.
Part Two:
Indiana Potter zipped through the skies of Europe on the ancient Axminister. He stopped at Turkey to buy some Turkish Delight and to get his carpet’s carburetor checked up and to give a break to his behind. In another 12 hours he reached Goa. He landed on the seaside and made his way to Bricko’s to get some dinner. One pork vindaloo later he set off on his way to ‘Diphteria Cafe’. Unfortunately, he soon got lost and had to ask for directions. Utilizing his entire arsenal of broken Portugese he soon found his way to Anjana Beach and was directed to a shack a few kilometers away. “That’s strange” he thought. “Diphteria isn’t where I expected it to be”. He hired a local to guide him just to be safe. Unfortunately, the local’s Portugese seemed to be just as bad as Potter’s.
“Diphteria?Me levar Diphteria!”
“você quer alimentar?Vem! Eu vou te levar onde todos os estrangeiros comer”.
Potter thought he was on the right track as soon as he heard the word ‘alimentar’ and decided to put his trust in this newfound guide.
They soon made their way through a coconut plantation and reached the beach. Small beach shacks were set up all over the place. The guide said something in rapid Konkani to a person standing by some steps who quickly glanced at Potter and shook his head sadly.
“Vem vem” the guide said ushering Potter to one of the shacks on the beach. “Voila” he said, happy to show off the one French word he knew and put his hand out to take his guide-fee. Potter quickly counted out some silvers and the guide scampered off with a farewell ‘obrigado’.
Potter made his way to the entrance of the shack and glanced at the sign. It said ‘Whirlies’. “That stupid Indian guide” Potter said to himself, cursing every Portuguese speaking person in the world. He entered Whirlies anyway as he was hungry and it was nearly lunch time as well. He stopped in his tracks as soon as he entered the establishment and stared in awe at the patrons. Every European in the subcontinent seemed to be congregated at the tables of Whirlies. Waiters rushed around the tables carrying plates of food, beer, funny looking cocktails and smoking apparatuses of all types and shapes. The Europeans seemed to have been in a drug induced comatose state for many weeks, plunging into activity only to eat and order more food.
“English, Espagnol, Portuguese, Hollands, Deutsch, Francais, Russian?” a waiter asked the awe-struck Potter.
“English please. What in God’s name is going on here?”
The waiter glanced dispassionately at the shack’s patrons. “Eating, drinking and making merry. Some puking as well!” he said with a sniff. “These damn Europeans refuse to leave. Anyway, we’re being paid bonuses and the Europeans are too high to tell the difference between gold and copper. So, the tips are good”.
“Are there any Germans here?” Potter asked hurriedly, scanning the seas of white faces.
“On the beach! Finishing all our beer.”
“Yes” Potter thought to himself looking at a crowd of people on the beach. “Definitely Germans.They’re nude and have a bottle of beer in each hand. They have to be Germans! But where is Lord Smokealot?”
“Will you have opium, marijuana, hashish, cocaine or something we’ve come up with called Acid? The acid comes highly recommended from Mr. Hoffman. He’s that gentleman over there” the waiter said pointing to a young man who was drawing coconut t1rees on the beach sand.
“Maybe later” Potter said, dismissing the waiter.
Potter rapidly thought of ways to determine if the Germans were of the hippy forerunner kind or kill machine Nazis.”Got it” he said to himself. His wand came out of his sleeve, cracking like a whip. Some adventurous sounding music started playing in the background that could have been the German national anthem for the tone deaf.
Potter summoned up an illusion of Hitler, Goebbels, Goering, Himmler,Ribbentrop and Hess near the apparel-rebelling Germans. The nudists quickly saluted and covered their privates with their bottles of beer while standing at attention.
“Ah, Mr. Potter” drawled a voice from a chair on his right. “Splendid Illusion, but you forgot to give Hitler a mustache”.
“Lord Smokealot. I was wondering where you were.” Potter said with a tremor in his voice.
Part 3
Lord Smokealot got off his seat and made his way to Potter, waving around the blunt between his fingers like a sparkler.
“Would you care for some, Potter?”he asked, nodding at the smoking blunt.
“Umm… Maybe later” Potter replied, trying to stop himself from trembling in fear. “He’s stoned” Potter said to himself in relief. “Thank God! I’d probably already be dead if he was sober”.
“Potter, have you noticed how blue the sky looks when it’s over the sea?”
“Not really!”
“And the women! They suddenly seem more fetching when they’re surrounded by sand”.
“You should visit Egypt!”
“I think I will, after I finish this business of the tart. Ah, I almost forgot about that. Thank you for reminding me Potter. You wouldn’t happen to know where this Diphtheria is, would you?”
“Not a clue”.
“Ah. Doesn’t matter. Kapitan Deutschfart is no doubt searching the scorching streets of Goa right this minute. He should be arriving with the Tart anytime now.”
“Oh… That’s nice. Relegation is one of the perks of command” Potter replied, trying to make conversation to keep Smokealot from remembering that they were enemies.
“That’s right. Talking about command, I was ordered to kill anyone who stood in my way”.
Potter quickly sat down on a chair by Smokealot’s side.
“I didn’t mean that literally” Smokealot drawled. “I’m afraid that I’m going to have to kill you no matter what you say or do. No hard feelings Potter. I rather like you actually. We could have been smoking buddies in better times! But alas, this cruel world has other plans”.
Potter gulped and quickly ran away, knocking the chair away. The chair hit Smokealot’s hand, which caused the lit blunt to drop into a pitcher of beer. Smokealot growled. “Now you’ve done it Potter. I’m going to make you suffer a thousand and one painful deaths”.
Smokealot chased Potter through the beach zapping spells at Potter out of a smoking wand. Potter dodged the spells and ran on and on towards one of the many coconut plantations. He hid behind some coconut trees waiting for Smokealot to pass him by. He crawled on his stomach towards a nearby tenenment which said ‘Ali Baba, charmer of a hundred and one snakes’.
“Well, there are worse things than hiding at a titty shack” Potter said to himself and rushed in through the door. He quickly bolted it behind him and ran towards the other end of the pitch dark room. He hit his head against something hard and decided that magicking some light would be a good idea. He whipped out his wand and created a globe of light, and then screamed in terror. The floor was covered with snakes of every kind. Vipers, Cobras, Pythons. Black Mambas(who were in India for a family reunion) and lots of other kinds of snakes he knew nothing about. In the middle of the room there lay a bloated stinking corpse of a middle aged man wearing a piece of cloth around his waist, shirtless, and a white turban on his head.
“I hate snakes” Potter squealed. ” I really %^#*%*# hate $^*#)%^$ snakes!!!!”
But, Potter had a secret weapon against his most dreaded phobia. He could speak Barfaltongue. Whenever he said something in a particular pitch reptilian creatures would start barfing. This had saved his life many times in the past. He quickly started reciting every cooking recipe he could remember. The snakes were too busy barfing to bother about him. Unfortunately, Smokealot passed by the house just as Potter was reciting a recipe for hash brownies. This attracted his attention and he opened the tenement’s door to investigate.
Potter rushed out the open door in relief, knocking Smokealot down in the process.
“Found you at last Potter!” screamed Smokealot quickly getting back on his feet.
And so, the chase continued. Potter ran towards the sunset, since it seemed like an appropriate thing to do before he met a 1001 horrible deaths. Smokealot sent spell after spell after Potter and one of his ‘trip me’ spells hit it’s mark. Potter stumbled and fell onto the surf just as a wave rolled by, soaking his sandals.
“Got you atlast” Smokealot gloated, flourishing his wand in Potter’s face. Just then, a smart looking German came running up to Smokealot with a large Lemon Tart held out in front of him triumphantly.
“Ah Deutchfart! You’ve got the Tart I see!”
A few metres away a few Spaniards playing volleyball shouted in warning as the ball raced across the beach towards the Kapitan. The ball hit Deutschfart’s outstretched hand knocking the tart towards the sea. A crab suddenly pirroueted towards the Tart, grabbed it in one of it’s pincers and scampered into the water.
“No” screamed Smokealot.
“Nich” screamed Deutschfart.
“Could you give us our ball back” shouted the Spaniards.
” The answer is 3.14159265358979323846264338327950288419716939937510″ shouted Hoffman.
All the shouting people ran towards the sea for their own reasons and got in each other’s way. Smokealot, who was experiencing withdrawal symptoms, created tsunamis in an effort to clear things up.
“Time to get out of here” Potter said to himself. He spread out his Axminister and zipped away as fast as he could, through the sunny skies of India. He stopped at the Andaman and Nicobar islands for a quick bite.
“I’ll have today’s special” he said to the waiter at a sea food restaurant near the beach.
The waiter came back, carrying a very happy looking crab.
“Hmm…Interesting flavour” Potter said to the chef on his way out. “But a tad too much lemon”
The End
Whispers of the Universe 