Do you know what *Tenjewberrymuds* mean ! To get the full effect, this should be read aloud. You will understand what 'tenjewberrymuds' means by the end of the conversation.
The following is a telephone conversation between a hotel guest and room-service, at a hotel in Asia , which was recorded and published in the Far East Economic Review: Room Service (RS): 'Morrin. - Roon sirbees. Guest (G): 'Sorry, I thought I dialed room-service. RS: Rye ..Roon sirbees..morrin! Jewish to oddor sumteen?? G: 'Uh..yes.I'd like some bacon and eggs.' RS: 'Ow July den?' G: 'What??' RS: 'Ow July den?...pryed, boyud, poochd?' G: 'Oh, the eggs! How do I like them? Sorry, scrambled please. RS: 'Ow July dee baykem? Crease?' G: 'Crisp will be fine.' RS: 'Hokay. An Sahn toes?' G: 'What?' RS:'An toes. July Sahn toes?' G: 'I don't think so.' RS: 'No? Judo wan sahn toes??' G: 'I feel really bad about this, but I don't know what 'judo wan sahn toes' means.' RS: 'Toes! toes!...Why jew don juan toes? Ow bow Anglish moppin we bodder?' G: 'English muffin!! I've got it! You were saying 'Toast.' Fine. Yes, an English muffin will be fine.' RS: 'We bodder?' G: 'No...just put the bodder on the side.' RS: 'Wad! ?' G: 'I mean butter...just put it on the side.' RS: 'Copy?' G: 'Excuse me?' RS: 'Copy...tea. ..meel?' G: 'Yes. Coffee, please, and that's all.' RS: 'One Minnie. Scramah egg, crease baykem, Anglish moppin w bodder on sigh and copy....rye? ?' G: 'Whatever you say.' RS: '*Tenjewberrymuds. *' G: 'You're very welcome.' ====== *Now that you have read and hopefully enjoyed this, please read the following Middle by (Maj Gen ) Pushpendra Singh, a friend in The Tribune of 7 Jul:-* ============ ========= ========= ======== *Sweet kiss – Chinese style by Pushpendra Singh* *W*E are going to China! The excitement is palpable even for blasé globe-trotters like us. I can hardly wait to ride the 400-kmph magnetically levitated train; climb the Great Wall; above all, to experience an exotic people, their culture and enigmatic nation. Kuala Lumpur, from where we are to embark for Shanghai onto Beijing, has a sizeable Chinese population and I learn a few basic Chinese phrases. ‘Ni hao – Hi! Wo hao – I’m well. Xie-xie – thanks’. The first thing which strikes us when we land at Shanghai, ‘My God! How crowded it is! (even by Indian standards)’. The second is the manner in which many Chinese, particularly women and children, react to my turban and rolled-up, grey beard with flabbergasted looks, making absolutely no effort to disguise their open astonishment — as Europeans, Americans, even us Indians would. In many cases, it’s downright rude and even embarrassing. However, a most interesting experience awaits me in Beijing. Any Indian tourist worthy of his salt loves shopping and my wife is the undisputed Maharani! So, a time-window is carved from our busy schedule of sight-seeing, culture et al. Our interpreter- guide escorts us to Silk Alley and discreetly promises to return after 90 minutes. The Palika-Bazaar- style market is a five-floor, airconditioned mall with you-name-it; we-got-it shops, crammed with art, artefacts, leather goods, whatever. These are owned and ‘manned’ almost exclusively by 20-something young women. The saving grace is they all know rudimentary English. Nevertheless, my grey beard excites a lot of sibilant exclamations. The Maharani is shopping for handbags and one entire floor is devoted to these as also to gents’ purses, belts and luggage items. There’s intense rivalry to attract customers and my wife’s arms are repeatedly grabbed by rival salesgirls. She admonishes them, ‘Don’t touch me! I will see all your wares.’ As I follow her, they try to get my attention, ‘I give you belt? You want purse?’ I keep shaking my head, ‘No, xie-xie!’ It’s apparently the most useful Chinese phrase I learnt. Then, taking sharp intakes of breath, a young woman parks herself directly in front of me; lips parted sexily, her face a picture of pure incredulity. She rubs her cheeks with both hands and asks, ‘I give you sweet kiss? I give you sweet kiss?’ A conflict rages between my mind and heart (including male ego). Images of kisses flash through my mind. Would it be a peck on the cheek or a lip-smooch? Have Chinese girls heard of a French kiss? Then, I hear myself say, ‘Xie-xie,’ while vigorously shaking the head in a firm no. The mind has taken over and I side-step her and move on quickly. However, as we turn to the next row of shops, there she is again. ‘I give you sweet kiss?’ Only, now she’s no longer rubbing her cheeks, but gesturing at her wares – suitcases! The penny drops, crushing the male ego. O! God, she’s saying, ‘*I give you su-eet ciss?’* * *
