Jun 24, 2012

Fire in the Hole!

I was shaking and moving it with an Anushka (Sharma or Shetty, don't remember), when somebody who was the President of the International Imbecile and Moron Association (IIMA) flung a newspaper wrapped around a shoe. At my head. A head that was throbbing from an over-hung headache and supported a pair of bleary, fermentation-ridden eyes.

I woke up. It was ghastly.

Ghastly is the mildest description available. Imagine a troll standing in front of you wearing knickers/shorts and a vest with a grimace painted across his face, like he just swallowed a piece of bubble-gum that turned out to be bitter gourd pickle. Yeah, that. Add a couple of props, like a tennis racquet and a pair of shoes. And an unwashed shirt.

Flinging my veil of stupor, I sat up and rubbed my eyes. My roommate was still standing there, brandishing his racquet. I said the only four letters I could manage.


He opened his vocal chords and proceeded to rape my ears, brain and a passing dove in that order.


I went to my happy place and waited until the storm passed. It was not quite long before I knew what he wanted me to say.

"You want me to fire the maid."


I gulped a glass of imaginary horlicks and stood up, arming myself with a pair of argumentative bazookas,

"Where is she? I will fire her this minute."

Now this followed a period of silence during which the raped dove, yelled a few choice words in dove language and Guru Ramdev executed a perfect headstand to a standing ovation. Gas bellowed from my roommates ears and I stood nonplussed.



Sheepish. Dumb. I snuggled back under the covers, murmuring 'Mmmms' and 'Okokokokok' etc.

The next day, she came. I opened the door and she went about her work as lackluster as possible. In fact, she was content restricting herself to the kitchen. I blew my 300 hair-filled top. I called her and told her,                                                              

"We are extremely displeased with your work. Stop coming from tomorrow. Here is your pay. Please don't ask why."

"Why? What did I do now", she wailed. It is like women never listen to what I say. After 3 breakups and 2 false pretences, I still have not learnt anything that has impressed me enough to modify my modicum of speech. The Vesuvius inside me erupted with a small bang.
"You are supposed to wash dishes! But the algae on the dishes have been reproducing like rabbits. You are supposed to clean all the rooms! You run a random sequence of which rooms and clean, and then forget to clean them as well. You are supposed to wash clothes clean! Not dislodge the buttons and buckles off in the process, helping my teammates watch me saunter in Jockey jatti all day long! In essential, you are completely deplorable and are as much use as a wedding ring to a drowning woman!"

I took a deep breath after this rant. She too took a deep breath and I reflexed into a pink-belt-patented-chop-left-break-right stance. But she said,


I went Wow. That's it? I was expecting something along the lines of hell's fury multiplied by 6.023 times. My stance melted into something else that resembled a mangled mongoose. My roommates went gawking at me. I milked the adulation, fluidly moved out of my stance upsetting a bean bag in the process and stepped into my room, locking the door behind me. It was exhilarating and my adrenalin went a-pumping.

And then I remembered.

The person outside was the cook and not the maid.