Column

Tales From The Locker Room

Ye Gods! Sunday was a particularly traumatic day. And it was not because the wife forced me to watch ten minutes of the serial ‘Bigg Boss’. In fact, Sunday evening, was even more painful, believe it or not!

You see, on this particular evening, the whole family (all 43 of us) were out, and somebody had mistakenly activated the double lock to our door. Normally, this would be a good thing, but unfortunately on this particular day, nobody was carrying the second key.

A crisis, they say, always brings the best out of us. We tend to rise to the occasion, to show steely resolve and character. Being the man of the house, this onus was on me. I responded and how!

First, I began by flapping my hands wildly, like a baby ostrich, trying to fly, in a completely futile manner. Then, I stood on my toes and started hyper ventilating, blaming each and every member off the family, for our, and more particulaly, my predicament.

After this, I changed my voice to the original one I had right upto puberty. It had, what could politely be called, a shrill sharp and screechy resonance that ensured less and
less attendance at each subseqent birthday party of mine.

In an effort to placate me, and soothe my ruffled feathers, the wife administered a short sharp jab to the back of my neck. This took care of the screeching, but not jumping which by now resembled a 4 year old on a trampoline.

The wife, taking charge bundled us into the car, (me strapped lightly in the back seat), and off we went to find a chaviwalla. The last thing I remember saying was the only chaviwalla I knew was Habib Chaviwalla and he was sadly a plastic surgeon, who, in all likelihood would not have a spare key to our double lock.

When I regained consciousness, the wife had master minded our entry with the help of a carpenter, who was not going to start a new religion, I can assure you.

This trauma has had its repercussions. I’ve been demoted to baggage handling and everybody has been given both keys, except me.