He whispers softly those sweet words and I can almost feel the taste of my favourite scoop of Mother Dairy Chip Chocolate Ice-cream. I’m mesmerized and I pray with all my might for it to stretch on for an eternity. He whispers again.
But suddenly, like those ancient cassettes that get stuck on the music player, this scene and accompanying sensations wretchedly rewind and replay and rewind and replay and rewind and replay...In the folds of my pillow cover, a rather rude vibration raises my heartbeat. It’s the bloody cellular phone. Aah! I was dreaming, again!
It's 3:30 in the afternoon. Crap! I overslept...again. The oppressively bright light of the phone displays a message from Waka. That’s not his real name, off course. You can forget about me telling you his real name. Waka asks politely (a little too politely I must add), if I can spare a few minutes to discuss business. Business, yeah right! I wonder why I ever agreed to co-write his book. I don’t know how I’m going to manage academics, pleasing my parents, spending time with friends, doing an internship and pleasing my parents all the same time. Oh, and did I mention, I have to make sure that I please my parents as well.
Waka gets straight down to business. “I’m stuck- I don’t know how to make Adi jealous about Aparna flirting with Ashu”, he stutters hastily. “Alright, alright”, I grumpily announce and offer some clichéd plot ideas. He tells me he’s used the exact same ideas but he wants something different now. I’m amazed at our similarity of thought. Great minds do think alike. Goddamn ancient elders – they were always right. Curse them!
As we discuss other deadly plot twists and turns and hurls and burls, I remark, rather unreservedly- as he always insists I ought to, “I’ve never met anyone with such a brilliant vocabulary who has such terrible grammar”. He drifts off onto stories of childhood tortures and even mentions his part-time love affair with geology. The next thing I hear is talk of ants and snakes predicting when meteorites will fall to Earth. I’m baffled. “Ants can predict those tutte taare wale meteorites?”
“Yes, they can tell from the vibrations made by the meteorite entering the Earth’s atmosphere which pass on to the Earth’s crust. And they crawl out from under the ground whenever they sense danger.” I’m suddenly reminded of my own dilemma. Could Waka hold the key to ending my distressful days? How shall I tell you friends, what a dilemma indeed it has been?
Ants!
I lay out my heart before him- “Waka”, I cry, “These ants, the big black ones- they flood my room, especially after 8pm, everyday, by the clock, dot on time. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to kill them and hear that terrible crunching sound that makes me sick to my stomach. But if I don’t, they’ll climb on my bed and crawl on my arms or face or between my toes and bite me!”
“Bite you?”, he exclaims barely containing his laugh.
“Yes! They’re pure evil I tell you. They’ve even learned to adapt, those buggers, those ants!”
“Ants are also living things made by God”, he declares grandly. “They too will defend themselves like you defend yourself and learn to adapt. They know at what time Deepanshi sleeps and what time she talks on the phone and they will hide in the corners and observe you carefully. They will go and tell their bosses about your habits and at those particular times, the entire brigade will march on in your room and devour your cupboards, your clothes and any other palatable items.”
“For God’s sake Waka, you’ve scared the big Jesus out of me. These ants are like bloody stalkers. Now thanks to your goddamn stories, I’m going to be having nightmares for the next two days.”
He’s laughing his head off and I can hear him, and my blood is boiling. “You’re laughing, you idiot, it isn’t funny. I’m bloody scared now. These ants, these stalking ants”, I bellow.
Barely able to contain his laugh he manages to say, “A twenty-one year old girl, no, a lady, who is going to get married in three or four years, and she is afraid of ants crawling in her cupboard and is even more afraid of killing them.”
“Look Waka, you listen to me... Waka, I know it seems… Alright, I agree it sounds funny, but.. But this is outrageous! They could go to any other room in the house, any other room with more wood to chew on…and, and…. and, where they won’t be stomped upon by me everyday. It’s become a daily ritual you know! You won’t believe! It’s like a battlefield in those war movies. Ants massacred by a giant! Lying lifeless! I even leave them around so others can learn not to come around, but they just…they just won’t…absolutely won’t learn.
And you know what...earlier they were slow and I was able to stomp on all of them, then a couple of weeks back they started running really fast so I had to run after them around – slipped a couple of times, goddamn ants! And for the past few days, Waka... You know for the past few days, they even started climbing walls to run away from my giant stomping foot. What’s next – a bunch of-”
He interrupts me to add “Flying ants!”, still laughing mockingly. “Deepanshi, this just got funnier! A twenty-one year old lady who writes poems about the great mysteries of life and love, secretly runs around her little room after little scurrying ants trying to stomp on them but secretly squints every time she does. What a story this will make! Aah! What a story!”
“Evil, pure evil! That’s what you are – pure evil!”
“I know you’d pick me over the ants any day”, he says jokingly. “You’ll have to kill them dear. No option- nope! None at all. I think they’ve also decided that they’re not going to give up this war. It’s a matter of their ego now!”
“Absolute bollocks. I refuse to talk to someone who says such ridiculous shit!”
“Alright, alright! Try spraying kerosene on them. That might work”
“Kerosene?! You’ve really gone bonkers now, really you have! One tiny spark and my room will go up in flames!”
“No, child! It won't. Spray some on your floor and on the edges of your cupboard and they’ll die by the morning.”
“I don’t know. This sounds dodgy”
“Or try placing some naphthalene pellets under your bed and in the corners. Naphthalene can be used to keep away anything you don’t want.” I secretly wonder if that applies to live humans as well. I make a mental note to try it out on Lola (alias) later.
“Alright. Let me try out your suggestions today”, I say, eyeing the arms of the clock now showing the time to be forty minutes past eight. Dinner time!
"Are you having ants for dinner?" he asks tauntingly.
I solemnly state that this ant discussion ought to come to a well-deserved end.
“You must write a story about this…you must…you absolutely must!”
I declare decisively, “You’ve lost your brains now, for sure!”
“Think of it”, he says, “Just think of it! A story of ants and their murderer – a young erudite lady. If you don’t have ten comments on your story in the next few days I’ll…. I’ll chop of my nose…I’ll chop off--”
“Hold it! Hold it right there!”
“One thousand to twelve hundred words. A short story…and ten conversations like this and we can publish a book!”
“A book! Indeed! Ants and ant murderers…a book indeed!!”
“Oh, but I bet you’ll have so many comments on the story that…”
“I got it Waka! I got it!”
So here I am friends. Save this man some misery. Put down a few comments about my sad attempt at humour, for Waka’s sake! Or shall I call him Wacky?!
P.S. I know each one who reads this will find something unique that they take from this. Some will see it as a piece of dull rubbish and some will see complex socio-economic commentary in it (and you’re not a freak for seeing this). Firstly, I wish to state that I was inspired by the statement- “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.” Secondly I wish to add – “Ants eat cockroaches and humans eat chocolate ants.” Thirdly, and finally, the reader has full freedom to decide independently whether I am daft or not!
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