That 70's Show

When she was yanked out of obscurity and nominated as the UPA's presidential candidate, no one was more surprised than Pratibha Patil herself. Take a look:

Millions of Indians wrote in to newspapers, journals, magazines, blogs demanding a second term for Dr. Kalam, India's most popular President. Some went on air with their appeal. We were simply ignored. Democracy in India means giving us our right to express our opinions while reserving the right to ignore them completely; decision-making lies in the hands of the IMFH (Indian-made foreign husky).

A jellyfish will have more spine than our "Honourable" Prime Minister. With his watery face and bleating vocals, Manmohan Sing (does he need the 'h'?) has ensured that we will never be taken seriously in any international political forum even if we're now recognized as an emerging Asian economic power.

What we needed to complete the picture, of course, was a controversy-ridden, half dead, one-foot-in-the-grave, the-other-in-mouth fossil whom our unfortunate defence heads have to salute. Look at her again, ladies and gentlemen. Doesn't it make you swell with patriotic pride at our Commander-in-Chief! Then again, our defence minister is a dhothi-clad 5-foot nothing. There must be some karmic justice in all this somewhere. You just have to find it.

ABHOSTTBBLO continues...

Multi-tasking - A euphemism that means an inborn or acquired talent to ruin as many tasks as possible simultaneously. A multi-tasker is someone who can talk on the phone while cooking, watching the baby, and working on the computer. Obviously this someone is a woman who has the ability to watch milk boil over very calmly as she--again very calmly--tries to prevent her baby from eating a knife while her PC quietly self-destructs in a corner and her significant other watches WWF in a semi-conscious state. A man’s idea of multi-tasking is watching TV AND eating potato chips.

Indian National Congress - The Grand Old Party of Indian politics, INC Inc., is now a privately owned enterprise run by an IMFH (Indian made foreign husky). An organization of living debilitated fossils with virtually all of its young leaders 6 feet under, the defining character of INC Inc., is dementia.

Bollywood - A 5000-old Sanskrit term from India’s rich cultural heritage that means ‘dance,’ Bollywood is the name of the biggest movie-making industry in the world – the Hindi movie industry. It is also the only movie industry in the world where 5782 directors have used the same script to make 10,865 films with 50,847 songs, 50,847 dances in 3498 locations with 85,432 costumes. This script was written in 362 B.C. by a man who wore bearskin, had long straggly hair, and regularly clubbed women to death.

"Falls alarms, do not picnic"

The shrieking fire alarm made me jump out of my skin. RRRRUUUNNNN, RRRRUUUNNNNN, RRRRRUUUUUNNNN, it screeched urgently. Around me, people stared intently at their computers, chewed gum, chatted, laughed – they were oblivious to the fire alarm. I’ve always been intrigued by this: if they were caught in an unexpected downpour, the same people who now sat through the fire alarm chewing gum, would run out of the rain like they were heading for a bomb shelter. We treat a silly shower like an air raid siren and a fire alarm like a coffee break bell! We’d rather be burnt toast than be wet!! Had anyone ever heard of "priorities"!?! Did they expect the fire to walk up to their workstations, tap them on their shoulders and say "Hello! Shall we sizzle on the dance floor?"!?!?!? Had everybody gone MAD!?!?!?! (Did anyone notice the gradual upward rise in punctuations??????!!!!!?????)
As I worked myself up into a righteous fury, a message flashed across our screens: “Falls alarms, do not picnic.”
Then, a few seconds later: “FALSE ALARM, do not picnic.”
Well, well….and then: “Sorry, PANIC.”
“Panic, people, panic!” I yelled and bolted like a bat out of hell screaming “Fire!! Fire!! Run!! Run!!”
It was only after I had clattered down a full flight of stairs at supersonic speed that I realized
a) No one else had picnicked…or panicked…or whatever.
b) There was no fire alarm blaring.
c) My left hand was attached to someone’s right.
I turned and met a pair of icy eyes. “Whoa!” I yelped and staggered backwards, “Who are you?”
“My sentiments exactly,” the owner of the hand replied frostily. “Thank you for saving my life. Now, if you don’t mind….” she yanked her hand out of mine and turned on her heel and stomped out.
“You’re welcome,” I croaked.
I tried to slither back in unnoticed--I crouched and duck-walked but someone spotted me and called, “Welcome back!!” and I got a standing ovation. Where is that damn earthquake when I need it...!

MORAL OF STORY: 30 minutes a day 4 times a week, practise duck-walking.

Champagne anyone?

A workaholic, unabashedly right-wing and dubbed "nakedly ambitious" by the media, with an intriguing mix of Hungarian-Greek-Jewish blood. Five years ago, Nicolas Sarkozy would've got nothing more than a sniff and a raised French eyebrow. Even 2 years ago, when France voted an emphatic 'non' to the EU constitution, it's unlikely France would've been kind to Nicolas Sarkozy. Not today. In the frenzied debates over the now-on-holiday President elect's next move, what has perhaps excited the EU most about Sarkozy's election is the French electorate itself. It's a remarkable transformation - for a people who are used to demanding cake from the government when they can't earn their own bread. Almost alarmingly leftist with their comically funny 35-hour-week, France's stagnant economy has dulled EU's promising challenge to a growing U.S. and Indo-China economies.

In a world of muted tones, chic tastes, self-deprecating modesty, and fierce national sentiment, Nicolas Sarkozy's amazing run to top slot in a referendum that saw historic voter turnout has raised more than just France's eyebrows. Sarkozy typically doesn't possess any of these above qualities except of course French pride. Clearly France is ready for change and the French think Sarkozy is the man to turn it around for them. In his campaign, Sarkozy has unhesitatingly admitted that he intends to crack the whip where it needs cracking. He wants to send France to work. He wants the French to shape up or ship out. That couldn't have gone down too well with France's notorious labour unions. For a country that proudly wears its "socialist" tag on its sleeve while struggling with double-digit unemployment rates, is in a perpetual love-hate battle with its immigrants and frowns on raw ambition, Sarkozy's win reflects perhaps not just the yearning for a change but also France's turmoil as it tries to find its place in a world that's not so familiar anymore. Sarkozy's challenges will be very difficult to navigate and very closely watched by the EU.

Listening to Sarkozy's acceptance speech, you would think the whole world voted for his presidency. In an inspiring speech where he promised to be the President of "all the French" Sarkozy urged his countrymen to help him build an economy with greater free trade and cooperation with France's friends and neighbours that would help cement France's importance in the EU. Along with Germany and Britain, France is the most powerful member of the EU both economically and politically. Sarkozy has been largely inward-looking throughout his campaign. He has enough problems at home to worry too much about foreign policy but in his acceptance speech, he reached out tentatively to the outside world. Even then, his message was typically French: You can be my friend, but don't tell me what to do. Knowing what we do about Sarkozy, it's unlikely that his Jewish ancestry will in any way affect France's foreign policy toward the Middle-East - traditionally, France has treated all conflict everywhere with the same hands-off, bored diplomacy: We want peace and we want everyone to be happy. But that's not enough or even possible anymore even if most European countries now feel cushioned inside the Union and reluctant to follow any sort of aggressive foreign policy. Increasingly, every nation has been drawn into events like the Iraq war and climate change that have forced countries to have more than just an opinion about an issue.

Sarkozy, largely believed within France to be America's friend, was quick to emphasize in his speech that friends can and should have the right to differ in thought. Never a supporter of the Iraq war, Sarkozy called on America to take the lead in reversing global warming trends. His message was unmistakable - that the U.S. can no longer act exclusively in matters that concern itself and the rest of the world. Sarkozy was a lot more graceful in vitory to Segolene Royal than she was to him in defeat, but that's always been easier - the victor's grace.

Many leadership changes across the globe over the years have been termed 'exciting' but never has it been more true than with Nicolas Sarkozy's victory, making him France's first President born after World War II. For France, the EU, and indeed for the rest of the world, the Sarkozy presidency will be an exciting show to watch.

ABHOSTTBBLO continues...

Cell phones - mobile devices with which you can take pictures, listen to music, record events, send messages, play games, check your email, calculate sums, and watch a cricket match (if you're still interested). You can also make calls.

China - an Asian country that's so big, it's everybody's neighbour and nobody's friend. Having gotten a foot in the door of the world's economy, the Chinese are now in the active process of breaking down the door. From closet capitalists to closet socialists to plain in your closet, 'Made in China' is now a somebody-stop-me label on a 'the world is not enough' tour.

Cuba - a Caribbean Jerry that is a perpetual thorn in Uncle Tom's flesh. America's 4-decade embargo on Cuba makes U.S. trade with the island illegal. It's illegal for U.S. citizens to vist the island and for U.S. individuals or companies to do business there. In short, it's illegal for America or Americans to do anything with or in Cuba except run Guantanomo Bay. America's stated objective for the embargo is to bring (surprise, surprise) democracy to Cuba which (surprise, surprise, surprise) it has failed to do. Recently, large oil reserves have been found in North Cuba, now Tom suddenly wants to be Jerry's friend.

Venezuela - Cuba's new-found oil-rich friend that supplies around 80,000 barrels of oil a day to Cuba which has helped make the embargo look like a long-running boring Hollywood flick that no one is watching. Venezuela has given the world many beauty queens and is a country where people keep chasing one another around the office block to become head of state. Venezuela's President Hugo Chavez has grabbed countless hours of air time calling President Bush colourful names including "the devil" in a speech at the UN General Assembly which was met with "wild applause" in the Assembly and severe condemnation in the U.S.

Rediffmail - an email service whose users belong to a large, happy, close-knit spamily where everyone is on first (and only) name basis. Rediffmail users can live their entire life within its inbox where they can shop, get a degree, go abroad, buy tickets, buy books, sell auto parts and body parts, buy movies, music, houses, insurance, hire, get hired, make friends, become a star, get married - all at bargain rates in limited offers.

A Brief History of Some Things that Bill Bryson left out

Volume 1 in an unknown-number series of a dictionary cum atlas cum encyclopedia

Summer - Long ago, summer was one of 4 seasons - the other 3 being winter, monsoon, and spring. Over the years, they all merged and became one season called Famine. But people the world over, didn't want a season called Famine - which is a combination of 'fashion' and 'feminine.' A few wars later, Afghansistan which was the only country that wanted the season to be called 'Famine,' gave up its demand after incessant bombings caused the country's first floods that had a free run in the territory simply because there was nothing and no one left standing to stop it and it was agreed unanimously to call this season Summer. There are varying degrees of Summer:
Mild Summer
Please-wring-my-blouse-again Summer
Have-you-caught-fire-yet? Summer and
Do-not-disturb, I'm-in-coma Summer

Bangalore - Not too long ago, Bangalore was India's prettiest city with an abundance of lakes, fountains, gardens, and a lovely climate. It changed all too quickly. Now, despite signboards at entry points being repainted "NOT Welcome to Bangalore" people continue to pour into this little city making it the world's largest open public toilet where everyone is driving around trying to park their cars, where there are more globs of spit than there are people, and where walking its streets is recommended only for contact sports fans.

Singapore - a squeaky clean city-state where long jump is banned in schools - the kids might fall into the sea or into Malaysia which just might be the third World War trigger. Singapore is apparently the most "business-friendly economy" in the world - it should be - Singapore's national passtime/national sport is shopping.

Japan - a work in progress quite literally with a population of extremely hard working people who never leave their assembly lines even when the earth shakes them up which it does every 5 minutes; they just smile, bow, and slow down. Tokyo, the capital of Japan, is the world's costliest city and built to survive any sort of earthquake - there's no place for people or buildings to fall.

Iran - a spunky little country where the star-spangled banner is the chief combustible material. It also produces oil and can toss a bomb quite far. When Iran recently released 15 British Navy personnel from custody for reasons unknown (of custody, not release), oil prices nose-dived indicating its power and clout in the world economy.

Iraq - Iran's neighbour and friend turned foe turned friend turned foe turned...also mighty spunky. The only country in the world where there are more human bombs than human beings which has left everyone (except America) wondering what OTHER weapons of mass destruction George Bush is looking for. Some people believe he's searching for Dick Cheney.

United States of America - the friendly neighbourhood rogue elephant that won't get out of your backyard, the USA's chief hobby is to create, protect, and destroy its own creations. A largely bored, ADHD-suffering population with a collective attention span of 2 seconds, America loves democracy but can't spell it, wants all the world's oil but won't pay for it, and is burning up the ozone faster than it's burning up Iraq but--like with Iraq--refuses to fix it. America also makes people rich and forgives them for some time for being rich because of it. The original master of hype, America is the only country in the world with its own tagline: "Coming soon to a theater near you!"

I Have a Dream

It was one of those days that hurtle from one Oh-my-God-disaster to the next and makes you want to crawl back into bed and sit out the sunset. On my 287th oh-my-God, a voice boomed: "Yes? You called?"
I spun around. "I'm God. What's your problem?" the voice asked.
"You," I said unhesitatingly as I crouched and looked under my cot, "you're the problem."
"Get up...what did I do?" the voice asked.
"What did You do!?! The world is upside down in case You haven't noticed. Don't You see the mess? What DIDN'T You do!" I checked under the chair, behind the doors, under the bed cover...
"That's MY problem. What's YOUR problem?"
"Everything. I don't know what I'm doing with my life. I don't know what I want but it's definitely not this. I don't like this day. Nothing ever seems to go right. I feel homicidal."
"Okay. If I let you kill one person and get away with it, who would you want to kill that will help your days get better?"
I was shocked! "Only one!?!?" I said disbelieving.
"You're quite ambitious aren't you for someone who doesn't know what's going on?"
"If you're really God, I have some questions for you."
"Shoot."
"Do You answer everyone who says "Oh God!"? Why didn't You show up all these days? Did You really create George Bush? Why don't You stop people killing each other in Your name? Why do floods happen? And earthquakes, and tornadoes, and epidemics? Why do children die? Why was I born? What is the...."
"Whoa..whoa...will you stop already!" the voice boomed, "so this is all MY fault now?"
"Well, You should at least own moral responsibility and resign!"
"And then what? You'll take my place?"
"Hmmm...now, there's an original thought! I'm sure I'll do much better than Your current rep on earth, George Bush."
"Just for the record...someone--I don't know who--created George Bush when I logged out for a bathroom break."
"Just what I needed--a God who's a joker."
"What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing really, but I hope you don't think this is funny?"
"Well, isn't it? By "this," I'm assuming you either mean the state of the world or George Bush...both are living proof that I have a sense of humour."
"We don't like your jokes, and by "we" I mean the rest of the world."
"Go to hell."
"My God! You're GOD!! How can You talk like that? Besides, I'm already there."
"You're very ungrateful..."
"Oh, c'mon," I waved my hand dimissively, "don't tell me you're going to lecture me about all the beauty you've created that we're destroying...about your rainbows, your forests, the Artic, and the butterfly...it's hard enough to read it in my mailbox every day...there's even a mail where you talk to your "son" (like you're talking to me now)," I giggled, "you tell your son 'always remember I love you, and I'm always there for you,' or words to that effect." I giggled some more.
"And you find THAT funny?"
"Who's that guy who said 'If you talk to God, you're praying. If God talks to you, you're schizophrenic'?"
"A schizophrenic."
"I can't believe I'm having this conversation! How do I know You're God at all? You're probably some nutcase who's hiding very well somewhere and being a smart ass."
"Same thing."
"Ok, I'm not going to engage in this witless banter with a voice. Just give me a readymade solution that I can implement right here, right now."
"Chuck your job and get a life. Travel, meet people, write poetry, learn to sing, play the piano, paint...in short, take that mail seriously."
"Somebody, help!" I screamed, "Dunk me in cold water! This can't be real!"
Immediately, an avalanche of ice cold water hit me and knocked the wind out of me. I shot up in bed, drenched and speechless.
My 5- and 3-year-old nephews stood there holding an empty dipper and their sides, laughing like only kids can.

Seriously....!

Have you ever been attacked by hysteria at the most inopportune moment and dissolved into helpless peals of hideous laughter that made everyone who crossed your path stumble backwards with raised eyebrows, dropped jaws, and soundless screams? It happened to me just the other day.

I was in an auto on my way to work at 2 p.m. - a situation in which sane people would be at their waspish best which is how I am most of the time. I must confess I'm not given to easy laughter for many reasons: 1. My teeth don't exaclty qualify for a toothpaste ad. 2. My nephew told me the first time that he heard and saw me laugh, that I sounded and looked like a "hyena" - it's not very original but if you hear it from a 2-year-old close to tears, you have to believe it. 3. Life IS funny anyway. Why laugh and compound your misery? 4. Imagine a startled cat wheezing laboriously while being spun around in a washing machine and you'll know what I sound like when I laugh. 5. Imagine 220 volts of electricity and gallons of water supplied to your face and you'll know what I look like when I laugh.

NOW, imagine an otherwise dull and lifeless dish rag suddenly infused with lively pulsating energy that is largely uncontrolled, with no immediate discernible provocation. Some long-forgotten memory popped into my sun-touched head and what started as a quiet chuckle, proceeded to a prolonged giggle, then grew into a throaty laugh (see point #4 above for definition of "throaty"), and then seemingly got away from my hands..or is it my mouth?...or is it my belly? Where DO laughs originate anyway? (Don't answer)

As the rickety auto bounced along, I sat in the back seat struggling to get a hold of my contorted facial features. The auto driver at first was just annoyed, then distracted, then seriously worried, and finally downright terrified. "Should I stop?" he asked turning back, sending me into fresh bouts of hysteria. He turned around and continued to drive. For as long as I live, I will never forget the look on his face.

He picked up speed so that the unsuspecting passerby who just happened to glance into the speeding auto saw a rigidly upright terrified driver with a hysterically gasping passenger flailing wildly in the back seat. Every time I saw a face like that on the road with the deer-caught-in-headlights look, I got hysterical afresh. Finally, I forgot the original source of my hysteria and began pointing, slapping my thigh, and throwing back my head and roaring at anyone who dared to look into the auto.

The auto continued to hurtle along and in my state, I failed to notice that the driver had sped past my office, till he'd gotten away a good distance. When that realization dawned, my hysteria disappeared instantly and I barked at the auto driver to stop. He turned around and saw my bared fangs and heard my rumbling growl and promptly fainted. I left the money on his head, got out, and cussed loudly as I trekked to my office in the baking sun.

I'm sure it was just some sort of allergy because as I entered the office, I saw someone talking and laughing on the phone. I marched up to him and wordlessly socked his jaw. Then, I turned around and went home and slept. When I woke up at 10 p.m., mercifully, I was completely cured.

What so thrilling?

We’ve existed as a Republic for almost 6 decades now and still our farmers who feed us are taking their own lives because they can’t eat. We celebrate Republic Day without a trace of irony. We show our might, we march, we salute our flag, we sing our national anthem loudly, we swell with pride about being Indian and heap scorn on those unwilling to participate in this hypocrisy – who are we trying to impress? Why can’t we take a long hard look at ourselves and admit that we’ve completely lost our way? That our priorities are so mixed up that we put celebrity weddings on front radars and our dying farmers on the backburner? That our elected representatives have made fools of us for 6 decades now? That “India shines” only for a miniscule percentage of her children while a vast majority eat out of her rubbish bins to satisfy their hunger? That our shameful judiciary lets people like Lalu Yadav, Sanjay Dutt, and Navjot Singh Siddhu walk and makes heroes of them? Should we be proud? That our children are not safe anywhere anymore? That we have accomplished record levels of intolerance in this once model pluralistic society? That our freedom fighters and ex-sportsmen beg on our streets to eat? That we’ve mortgaged our oldest political party to a foreigner whose only qualification is that she has none? What’s so thrilling about the rape of our cities in the name of progress? About our moral decadence in the name of global citizenship? About our creative bankruptcy and our recycled greatness in shiny new packages? About our nonexistent voice in influential international trade and political bodies? How responsibly have we behaved with our neighbours? How many can we count as our friends? Isn’t it a shame that we haven’t mended fences with a single one of our immediate neighbours in our 6 decades of existence? That we cannot educate or employ millions of our children? That we deny them their very basic right to dignity? That we simply let our old, our poor, and our sick die while we worship our cattle, hold up torches for our stray dogs, and violently defend our Gods?

What’s so thrilling about being an almost 60-year old Republic?

The Salesman

Goodafternoonmadam, myselfxxfromyyproducts thisisapromotion justoneminuteopenthedoormadam" - the apparition rapped outside my door.

"Huh?" I blinked as the afternoon sun blinded me and I tried to find my bearings. The doorbell had shattered my siesta and I'd sprung out of bed and landed at the front door, unaware that I'd moved. I tried to focus.

"Justoneminuteopenthedoormadam" he danced to an imaginary beat. I looked at him incredulously. He had a grinning mask on, which he had now pushed up on his forehead to give me the real all 32 whites. There were two macabre grins on his face. On his head, he wore something that looked like rabbit ears and flapped violently when he spoke. He was dressed in colours to help you spot him from outer space, and he had a yo-yo in one hand that squealed, a puppet that quacked in the other, and a huge bag on his shoulder that undoubtedly contained other such noisy nightmares that pass for toys today.

"What do you want?" I asked unable to keep the edge out of my voice. Try keeping your cool when you discover you've been woken up by a dancing monster rabbit from hell at 3 in the afternoon.

"Justoneminuteopenthedoormadaaam," he said again.
"What language are you talking?" I asked genuinely surprised. For a ludicrous moment, I wondered if he'd really landed from Mars.
"Harharharhar" it laughed and I reeled backwards. Surely, this was just a bad dream.

"Just one minute open the door madam," he said slowly with an ear-to-ear grin like he was addressing a 2-year-old retard. "I have wonderful imported toys, cheap madam, great fun for whole family, not just for childrens, nicetimepassopenthedoormadam."
"I don't want any toys!" I said unable to believe I was having a conversation with a Martian. "Don't buy madam, just see," he said, grin in place, and began to set his bag down.
"No!" I screamed in a panic. "I don't want to see any toys! Why would I want to see toys?"
"Buy for your children madam, see madam this talking parrot here; you put the battery here, wind it here and see madam, see, see....it's imported madam" he danced and grinned.

I twisted my neck from a range of 20 to 360-degree angles to see from which direction it would look like a parrot and finally gave up. The contraption was talking in an unknown tongue at an ear-splitting decibel. I covered my ears instinctively and nodded my head violently to indicate to him that he should leave and take his foreign monster with him. He put away the parrot and took out a kangaroo.
"How about this madam? Jumps very nicely, just do like this, like this, like this, like this, like this, like this...er...uh...it's not working, Iwillshowyouothertoys oneminuteifyouopenthedoormadam" the grin never faded.
"There are no children in this house and I don't really play with toys, so please leave, and close the gate behind you," I said and turned to walk in.
"Just you open the door and see what other things I have madam. I have books also, just see, you don't have to buy" Didn't his face tire grinning like that?
"I really don't have the time and I must ask you to leave," I said trying hard not to abuse him.

"What about mobile phones madam? Do you want a mobile?" Grin, grin.
"NO!" I said, exasperated.
"Life insurance?" Grin, dance.
"LIFE insur..uh?" I couldn't make the switch.
"What about flats?" Grin, grin, dance dance.
"Do you have that in your bag as well?" my eyes were wide with astonishment.
"Or an electric oven? Or do you want car covers? Do you have a garden? (he was standing in my 2-foot space) Do you want an apple tree sapling? Money-back guarantee is there...mattresses? Sofa backs? Nightdress? Grin, grin, grin, dance, dance, dance.

I honestly couldn't understand what I was feeling at that point. I was being verbally assaulted by a wiry schizophrenic with two grins who was carrying the world and a zoo in his bag and wouldn't get out of my compound. I'd never felt more alone in my life.

I looked around wildly.

"Okay give me a glass of water then" he said suddenly and stepped closer to the door. I was sure I could detect a manic glint in his eye and I shuddered.
"If you don't give me a glass of water, you'll be born a lizard in your next birth. Do you want me to read your palm? I can predict the future. Just tell me the time you were born and I will tell you everything that is going to happen in your life. I can show you the lizard that you will look like in your next birth. It's right here in my bag," he began to dig into his humongous sack, never losing the grin.
"Can you really predict the future?" I croaked.
"Yes," he said in a steely voice and with the manic glint and of course the grin.
"Tell me how long you see yourself standing on my property then," I squeaked.
"I have Eric Clapton's and B.B. King's Riding with the King - you want? you can listen on iPod and decide if you want to buy - here, openthedoormadam and take this iPod -you can load 320 songs, listen while driving, eating, sleeping, reading, bathing, dressing, anywhere and everywhere," the energetic schizophrenic continued to rap and grin.

I felt lightheaded, nauseous, and close to hysteria.
"Givemeaglassofwatermadam, and I'll go," he danced, grinning.
"I'd rather be a lizard!" I growled, suddenly livid. "Get off my property or I'll set the dogs on you!" I screamed.
"Have a good day madam," he said, his ears flapping violently, both grins intact on his face, and turned to leave.

That's when I saw the huge tiger tail behind him.