The Penguin Returns

In other news, guess who’s back? Pingu’s back! Yes, the streets of Twitterville absolutely erupted a week ago, sparking a worldwide trend of #PinguLives after old Twitter favourite, @Pinguvsmeercats resurfaced her beaky little head onto the Twitter scene. Every street, alleyway, nook and cranny was filled with jubilant celebration (as well as some apprehensive speculation as to her sudden disappearance which lasted one whole year). So, where did she go?!

One Tweeter sparked a national outcry and subsequent covert penguin-hunt after it was suggested that she had absconded to join ISIS as part of their UK Renai-science Cell. This came shortly after Pingu had failed a routine drug test. Some suggest that Pingu was struggling to balance her Tweets with real life but the Twitteral Bureau of Narcotics is investigating the possibility that her tea may have been spiked by none other than her Twitter Sister, or Twister, @DiscreetDiam0nd. Both deny the charges and claim that they have been targeted by male chauvinist Tweeps to chase them away from expressing their blunt and honest views. Prior to her reappearance, Pingu was last seen in February of 2014, escaping via the windows and down the drainpipe on the 5^th floor of the hospital she works at. She purportedly made a parachute made out of bed sheets and landed safely before making her way to McDonalds for a cheeky fillet o’fish and then heading for the airport. However, the facts surrounding this theory remain disjointed and unfounded.

A more plausible explanation for her disappearance is that Pingu took the year out to be mentored by the Mr Miyagi of photography in order to learn how to take pictures of the moon so that people could tell that it was actually the moon which had been photographed. In light of her recent pictures posted on the social networking site, Instagram, this theory does indeed hold water.

And finally, a rumour we would all like to believe is that Pingu escaped the land of infidels to find her roots and…waaaaait for it…get hitched! I am not sure how much longer the world can hold its breath in eager anticipation for the news that she is finally to tie the knot!! Whether or not this is true, one thing we can confirm is that when the time finally comes and those wedding bells ring aloud and true in our ears, Pingu will be earning a whopping £1m for photography rights from OK! Magazine, presumably with VIT's attending from all over the world.

We await comment from the woman of the hour herself...

Death By Diction?

Twitter and indeed Gujarat’s very own Oprah, @map_patel, was astonishingly spotted in the early hours of this morning in India’s district of Bharuch. Only 4 weeks earlier, Map was released on police bail on the back of an investigation in relation to two women who suddenly fell into a coma, reportedly as a direct result of conversations, instigated by Map, for them to forcibly endure. The women, whose identities remain unknown, appear not to have been mentally equipped to deal with the rapid quips of the accused. At around 10am (GMT) this morning, Map was observed trying to hide his face with a duplicately dull dupatta while aimlessly strolling a dusty street, but a hawk-eyed Tweeter did not miss an opportunity to take a quick snap just in time, as Map briefly lowered his veil to uncontrollably let a passer-by know that ‘fraaandship’ was not a real word. Cue frenzy.

Herds of people (along with small farm animals) have crowded around the small shack currently being inhabited by Map, as the news is spreading like wildfire through the masses (picture Hagrid's hut). Our news reporter in India reports that Map, spotted donning a t-shirt with the slogan, ‘Words Don’t Kill People, People Kill People’, claims to have been disgusted for his treatment by the police and the Twitter elite.

Map was originally recruited as the spokesman for Muslim Twitter and is a long standing member of the board of the Muzlamic English Spelling Society (MESS). Map’s popularity grew after he was seen donating blood on several occasions, generously donating his increasingly sought after and rare Typ-O blood. But with great power comes great responsibility and rumours quickly spiralled after it was suggested that Map was also making something on the side by way of the black market. Over time, compounded by the circulating rumours, Map’s reputation deteriorated and his habitual error correction became less and less endearing. According to one user, “…he just goes on and on. He’s a bloody liability. He’s like a time bomb and now, two people may have permanently gone to sleep because of him!”

In a short, teary statement, Map has said, “Everything is sweet when you say what they want you to say, but once you stray from the script and develop your own voice, they come down on you like a pack of wolves. I did not put those women in a coma.” Bill Clinton ring a bell, anyone? Is Map really being framed? Perhaps he was propositioned to be a hitman - death by diction if you may - and he refused - and now he's paying the ultimate price. So many questions, so little time. The tension is tangible.

Map’s agent has vehemently stated that Map’s loyalty does have its limits but has urged him to return to the UK to help fight his corner. Although, he will not be encouraged by the controversial news just emerging that Map’s feature on BBC’s ‘This Is Your Life’ will no longer be aired. The episode was said to be one of a kind, taking 4 years to film with a record running time of 610 minutes with Map providing a running commentary. I guess now we’ll never know.

Map insists that he has been found guilty before the crime but his sudden absence is doing nobody any favours. The Map faithful have had to endure some gloomy times in the past but for some, nothing can surpass the fact that there may be no coming back from this. A call-for-arms has been issued by disciples close to Map for a Twitter boycott and for the police to drop all charges. The head of the support group was quoted as saying, “If the Twitter elite are going to influence us regarding what we tweet, retweet and favourite, then forget it. We need dialogue, and we need it now,” the kind of resonant rhetoric encapsulated by their leader.

Just in: Map has now left the building. For now, those poor ladies remain comatose, Map's whereabouts remain unknown and the truth remains a mystery...

Remember Me

What do you think when I say Palestine?

Do you think what you know or do you see what you’re told?

Who do you see when I say Palestinian?

Do you see a person, a character, a soul?

Do you see anything at all?

I suppose you’ll paint a bleak picture, a melancholy echo

Of that article you read or that video clip you saw.

A picture, forlorn, which is painted for all

To interpret as they see, to brush over what they’re told,

A picture, forlorn, which is painted for all

With the devil’s brush, on the devil’s canvas,

And on the grim media walls.

Smile.

Now let me take this moment to introduce you to

True gems of this world, unbeknown to you,

To shed some light on their lives, tragically distorted to you,

Let’s take a lesson from their outlook like they wish we would do.

The slums, perhaps; but the most intelligent man I have ever met,

Dear God, mesmerising intelligence, captivating,

A melting kindness,

Handsome, sincere and without pretence;nceg kindness,

t the most intelligent man,

 ever

He can only rest in the comfort of his guests.

I smile as he yawns, succumbing to slumber,

Thanking his Lord for the sleep he’s soon under,

To me, this is Ibraheem but to many he is just a number

Which they count, a vehicle of bones and blood,

The drops which we count in lieu of what really counts,

Ibraheem is a channel of immense love.

Ah the following day,

Little Alma’s face glows as she’s awarded Star of the Day,

She skips away, disappearing into the distance, shrouded by the sun’s glow,

Up the rocky terrain, where she comes from each dawn,

Singing in the fond memory of her father,

The mountains honoured beneath her feet.

Miles of smiles in the camp, a place which I now call home,

The epitome of hope in a time, at a place, one might argue that hope

Has lost all its rights, where one must cope

With everything and nothing;

And that hope is nothing save another burden.

But with each breath,

With each spluttering sip of coffee,

Among the rib tickling, pumpkin seed flicking, wind up merchants

and the grin on Ahmad’s face,

I’m surrounded by my family.

Lest I forget Dawood, a farmer, his wounds are deep;

Trialled by animosity, stripped of his dignity,

A victim of his love perhaps, forsaken by humanity,

Yet shaking in my boots is what the strength of his resolve did to me.

He takes me to the side one day

And this is what he says to me:

“Tell them about me.

An entire population, blinded by the powers that be,

Indeed I fear for myself and for my family…”

Living, reminiscing dark days, his hand passing over

Where his olive trees used to be,

Teary eyes, Dawood smiles,

And boldly states “We refuse to be enemies.”

What do you think when I say Palestine?

Who do you see when I say Palestinian?

Amidst all your marvellous efforts,

Think of Alma and Dawood,

Remember Ibraheem,

Remember that they’re the most beautiful people

One could ever dream to meet;

Don’t forget Ahmad and the youth, the children running in the street,

Remember the lesson, and that it’s life that they teach.

Remember.