Sunday, August 02, 2009

Crime Scene Investigation

Okay, I'll admit - CSI: Miami is a bit of a guilty pleasure for me, a cheesiness too good not to be indulged in occasionally. If you've never seen it then this will tell you everything you need to know about Horatio, the main character, and internet laughing stock:

(and this is hilarious too)

Anyways, I wrote this script for the same thing as the Rishtapprentice... thing.. but it never got used and it's a bit bizarre but I don't write stuff for no reason and it's been kicking about for a while so here you go I guess!

CSI Miami:

Horatio: aka H.
Eric Delko: H’s sidekick
Uncle Zafar: unclejee
Zeeshan: son
Aunty Zarina: auntyjee


Door opens

ERIC: Hear that, Horatio? A man was found dead in an apartment in London, dressed as a banana. Police say they want us to go investigate.

H: No need, Eric... This one... is a definite suicide.

ERIC: How do you know, H?! Are you a psychic CSI now?

H: No, I just... know... he killed himself.

ERIC: But why?!

H: Because he was... a kela.


Main Bit

ERIC: Riiiiiiiiight. Look, we have another crime scene to investigate. We got a call at 0900 hours today, from a Mr Zeeshan Zubair. Apparently his mother has gone missing without a trace, last seen a week ago in the family home.

H: It’s seems... he thinks this is CSI:... My Ammi.


ERIC: No H, we already did the start bit! You need to save the puns for later!

H: You don’t think they’re... punny?

ERIC: [pause] Let’s go.

Car screeches off

...Doorbell, door opens

ZEESHAN: CSI! Oh my God, am I glad you’re here!

H: Aaah, you must be... Mr Zubair.

ZEESHAN: Uhhh, yes. What’s with your sunglasses? We’re inside!

H: Never judge a man... until you’ve walked a mile in his... shades.

ERIC: That one was just weak, H.

ZEESHAN: And this is no time for jokes! My Ammi has gone missing!

H: Your... Ammi?

ZEESHAN: Yes! Last time we saw her was a week ago, in the kitchen making rotis. We think she might have been abducted by evil villains!

ERIC: Who’s this we, man?

ZEESHAN: Me and my dad! He’s in the kitchen. He’s been sitting there since she disappeared.

Kitchen door opens

UNCLE Z: Veeeeeeeeeeeeeehf! Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeegum! My jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan!

ZEESHAN: He’s been like this all week, guys. We don’t know what to do without my ammi!

UNCLE Z: [sobbing] I miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiissssssssss you begum!

ZEESHAN: Dad! These men are here to help us. They’re going to find out what happened to Ammi!

UNCLE Z: [still sobbing] ...My Zarina? You’re going to find her?

ERIC: We’ll do our best, sir.

UNCLE Z: Thank God! We haven’t been able to eat a thing all week!

ERIC: Wow, you’re that worried?

ZEESHAN: No, we just couldn’t work out how to use the cooker. Seriously! We pressed every single button, and no khana came out!

UNCLE Z: Veeeeeeeeeeeeeehhf!

H: We’ll find her. But now... we need you... to leave.

ERIC: Yes, we’ll need to investigate this crime scene – and we can’t let any evidence get contaminated. Could you wait outside please?

Door closes

H: Investigate the scene?... I just wanted... to steal their biscuits.

ERIC: H, man, that’s out of order! We need to find Zeeshan’s ammi!

H: Oh... right. Well, seal off the perimeter, Eric. I’ll check this area for evidence. ...


H: [GASP!]

ERIC: What is it boss? Have you found something?

H: It’s some kind of... white powder. It seems to be emanating from... that sack... over there.

ERIC: [sigh] Boss, that’s just flour. And the sack in the corner is a bag of Elephant Atta.

H: I... knew that. But what do you think of... this!


H: It’s a strange... cuboidal structure. Gold coloured... with a piece of paper protruding from it.

ERIC: It’s a tissue-box holder, H. Look, here’s a hanky.

H: Who in their right mind... would cover a tissue box? No, Eric. This seems more like... a communication device. From an alien planet.

ERIC: Yes, okay. Hey Horatio, come and have a look at this! There’s a note on the fridge!

Rip noise

ERIC: reads “Zafar and Zeeshan. Remember I’ve gone to visit my sister in Leeds this week. Your dinners are in labelled boxes in the fridge. Just heat the food up in the microwave. I love you, back on Tuesday. Zarina. PS – take the food out of the box before you put it in the microwave. PPS – the microwave is the white machine in the corner, beside the fridge.”

ERIC: Ha, looks like we know where the missing Ammi is after all!

H: Don’t be... stupid, Eric. That’s just a decoy note. Planted by... aliens.

Door opens

AUNTY Z: Slaamlekum! Zeeshan? Zafar? Aap kaha he?!

H: You see?.. She’s even speaking... an alien language.

ERIC: ...Sure boss.

Door opens again (did anyone close it last time?!)

ZEESHAN: Ammi! You’re back!

ZAFAR: Veeeeeeeehhhf!

AUNTY: Bayta! Mian! Me tumhare liye lassi liyayy hu!

ERIC: Looks like it’s case closed, H.

H: Yes, all’s well... that ends well. And it seems that Lassie... wasn’t just a dog...


Monday, July 27, 2009

The Rishtapprentice

Last year I wrote a bunch of comedy scripts for the youth section of my local Ramadhan radio station, and I found them kicking about in my emails so I thought I'd share! The first one is based on The Apprentice - British version, hence the Sugar name. This one was a whole lot funnier when it was recorded, but anyway...

The Rishtapprentice

NARRATOR: he narrates
The Family:
AUNTY CHINI: Over the top, overbearing and overweight
SAJID CHINI: Son of aunty
SHUGUFTA: daughter-in-law & advisor to aunty, voice of reason
SHAMYLA: older daughter-in-law & advisor, sycophant
The candidates:
MARIA: candidate (medic)
(AMIRA): “ “ (dentist)
PINKY: “ “ (pakistani)
SAMINA: “ “ (bimbo)
NASEEM: “ “ (male)
(FATIMA): “ “
(ZAINAB): “ “
(SHAZIA): “ “
(FARAH): “ “

Music: The Apprentice theme tune

AUNTY: This is the rishta interview from hell. I’ve raised my son for the last 27 years – your prize is, working for meeee!

NARRATOR: From across the country, 10 candidates have been chosen from 20 000 to come to London for the opportunity of a lifetime – to become the wife of millionaire entrepreneur, medical doctor and the country’s most eligible bachelor of all time, Sajid Chini.

AUNTY: I’m looking for a girl who is cream of the crop – beautiful, eh-smart, taaallll, gori, lovely, and she always listens to me. This is the most important decision Sajid will ever make, so I will help make it for him!

NARRATOR: But first Maria, Amira, Pinky, Samina, Fatima, Zainab, Shazia, Farah and Naseem will have to prove their worth in a gruelling series of tests - and will ultimately face Aunty Chini herself in the sitting room to find out who’ll be fired... and who’ll be hired. 9 candidates, one job. Welcome... to the Rishta Apprentice!

Music ends.

Main bit:
AUNTY: Velcome in front of me. As you are knowing, I am the number one aunty in Britain today. My 3 sons are together vorth over 10 million pounds – but the money doesn’t matter, because they are all dactars and also very handsome. I am controller of this family empire, and now I am looking for an apprentice. My bahus Shugufta and Shamyla are here to help me decide, by watching you 24/7 and reporting back to me everything. And of course my son vill make the ultimate decision. Say salaam Sajid!

SAJID: Uhhh... salaam girls. I just, uhh, wanted to say before we start this that-

AUNTY: Aho Sajid. Now we will start the first task, but before that- Naseem?

NASEEM: Yes Aunty? I’m really looking forward to this, you know, I’m going to give 110% and I think I’ve got what it takes to go all the way, I can be the best daughter-in-law ever!

AUNTY: You’re fired.

NASEEM: disappointed Aww...

AUNTY: Let’s see... Farah, Shazia and Zainab? You’re all fired too.

GIRLS: But we just got here! You can’t do that! Why?? Etc

AUNTY: Tooooooo short, too fat and too ugly. Get out! You’re hurting my eyes! And Fatima, you too. You might want to stay out of the sun, you look like a little burnt kajoor.

NARRATOR: 9 candidates reduced to 4 in a single master stroke – but what’s in store next?

AUNTY: Acha. Now your first task, kooriyay, is what I like to call ‘the roti challenge’. The koori who makes the most rotis wins, and gets to suggest to me who I should fire next. But the rotis must be mazadar and acha and fair and lovely. And also you don’t get any tawa, atta, and you’re not allowed to use my kitchen.


SHUGUFTA: Saas-ji, maybe we should give them some money so they can make the rotis somewhere else?

AUNTY: Chup! When I vas a girl ve made rotis from the whatevers ve had in our pockets, and ve had to valk 12 miles to get to the tandoor! In the pouring rain, with no shoes on! And then ve had to valk on coals while people threw stones at us!

SHAMYLA: Yeah, shut up Shugufta!

AUNTY: Now get out of my house! And make me some rotis!

Door slam

NARRATOR: 6 hours later, the girls are allowed back inside to show the fruits of their labour...

AUNTY: Acha so ve are all back here now, and I see ve have some rotis. I vill judge to see if they look pyari enough, and taste delicious too. Roti time!

Tense music

NARRATOR: The candidates are judged in alphabetical order. First up is Amira, a dentist from London, who-

Music cuts off

AUNTY: Vait vait vait. Did you say dentist?!

NARRATOR: Erm, yes?

AUNTY: Dentist is just someone too stupid to be a dactar! Amira, you’re fired!

NARRATOR: In an unexpected turn of events, our 4 candidates are swiftly reduced to 3! The next up is Maria, a doctor from Edinburgh.

AUNTY: Haa, ye to acha hai.

Tense music starts again

MARIA (nervous): Aunty-Chini-Ji, I used the emergency bag of atta I keep to make these rotis, over a campfire I lit myself. I- I hope you like them Auntyji!

AUNTY: Hmmm, the shape is nice and round... texture is a little bit too thin, but okay...
Aunty eats, loudly

AUNTY: Hmm, not too bad! I give you 6 out of 10. Plus one point for being a daactar. Satt!

NARRATOR: Next up is Pinky, a kuri from Jalander in Pakistan.

PINKY: Auntyji, aap bohot pyari hein aaj! Hee hee! Vat I did vas I made a tandoor from scratch, and I ground the atta myself from some vheat in a field. Packet atta is not so good, you know?

AUNTY: Haiii? These rotis are so round! And so light and fluffy!

PINKY: Hunna? And if you look closer aunty, I made your shakal in the roti in the little bits I saik-ed!

AUNTY: Achaaaaa? Aunty eats noisily again

AUNTY: Koi hor hai? Mmm, perfect! Nine out of ten, any better and it would be made by me!

NARRATOR: Last up is Samina, an office worker from Leeds – but she has a hard act to follow.

SAMINA: Soooo, I went to Tesco, but they, like, don’t sell “Rotis”? And I asked around, and like bought some flour, but it might have been self-raising? But, like, I’m a really talented woman, and I think I really nailed this task, you know! By the way, it’s Sam, not Samina, okaaay?

AUNTY: Oh my Gawwd. I’ve not seen such a horrible roti since I let my bahu Shagufta cook for the first time. Sooo fat! And burnt! And the shape... it looks like a map of India! Aunty eats with displeasure

AUNTY: Euuurgh, it tastes like one too!.. No points! No points for you! Kuriye, I need to get that taste out of my mouth.. so your next task is... make me some chai!

PINKY: Done! I made it pukka Pakistani style Auntyji, with dalchini and garam masala and lachee and ghur and padaam and sownf and halva, and also a teabag.

SAMINA: Ohmigod, that’s like so unfair! She made it while we were talking!

MARIA: She’s tayz alright...

AUNTY: Vell, a good kuri vould have thought of that. Acha kaam kiya.

NARRATOR: 2 tasks over, and one to go. Now, the candidates have to-

AUNTY: Tu kyon bolta rehta? No more tasks. I have made my decision! Ajo! Betto!

NARRATOR: Fine! [Quickly] The candidates make their way to the boardroom for the final rishta meeting, where Aunty Chini will make her decision on who gets to marry her son Sajid. Okay?

Tense music again

AUNTY: Acha. I have 3 girls in front of me... and only 1 can be vinner. Samina?

SAMINA: Yes Aunty? It’s me? Ohmigod, I just knew you’d love me!

AUNTY: You’re fire. You can’t make roti, or chai, you talk too much, and you’re not even veering a shalwar kameez. Chal paray! Maria?

MARIA: ...yes?

AUNTY: Your rotis were not bad, and you’re a daactar. But you’re still too short, and my Sajid is nice and lamba. You’re fired!

MARIA: Oh thank God. I can’t believe my mum put me through this!

AUNTY: Now... Pinky!

PINKY: Jee auntyjee? Meh boht khush hoon! Meh vinner hogee! Hee hee!

AUNTY: Aap bhi fired hain.



AUNTY: Haan, yes, your rotis were nice and the chai vas so mazadar, but I have chosen a different winner! Everyone, meet... my niece from Pakistan!

NIECE: Slaamlekum jee.

SAJID: Ammeeee! You said you wouldn’t make me marry a cousin!

AUNTY: But she is the vinner! And contract says you have to marry the vinner!

SAJID: continues to protest and sob in background

NARRATOR: Join us again for another edition of Ristapprentice! But not with me – I quit! You can’t fire me, aunty!

Theme tune

Monday, March 23, 2009

How to Ruin Your Mum's Favourite Song

This post comes to you in honour of mother's day, which as a somewhat less than perfect daughter, I am clearly honouring a day late.

Step One: Identify your mum's favourite song. In my case, I think it's this:

(although with my innate knowledge for ruining songs, my mum might be deceiving me deliberately...)

Step Two: Sing the lyrics as often, as loudly, and of course as tunelessly as possible. You don't even need to know most, or indeed any of the words. Anything you don't know can be replaced with lalala's or neeneenee's. If you're adopting pro tactics, learn one line and make it fit the entire melody.

Step Three: When you are forbidden from doing the above, hum the melody from time to time, interspersed with amateur beatboxing and shouts of 'break it down!'.

Step Four: This part is treading into dangerous territory. Again, take to singing the song, but now subtly change or indeed completely overhaul the words to be offensive, irritating, and downright unseemly. Bonus points go for toilet humour and abstract symbolism.

Step Five: Take your pillow, your duvet, and maybe your entire winter wardrobe. Duct tape the whole lot to your body. It will be invaluable protection while you receive the (possibly chapal-aided) beating of your life.

Step Six: As a mother's day gift, promise not to do any of the above again. See the tears of happiness well up in your mother's eyes. For bonus bonus points, make her a cup of tea.

To my long suffering mother who sometimes reads this blog at work as of a couple of weeks ago: I love you so much, and am constantly surprised that you put up with me too :)