It is no secret that the only animals I like are well, human beings. Yet, today, given the happenings of the day, I am compelled to share an instance. Call it habit, call it luxury, first thing in the morning I like the door to the balcony wide open, and the curtains pulled apart. The sheer curtain is enough to stream in enough sunshine for my liking, and normally, I sit here and work on the table, or more often on the bed.
Owing to the lockdown though, I am using the other room frequently, with the TV playing the choicest of pathetic movies on one of the free DEN channels. M, has been practicing a song since last night, and was doing the same in the living room, with earphones snugly tucked in. Amidst the clash of her Rabindra Sangeet and random hindi songs on the TV, I suddenly heard a scream. It was definitely a sound to which I responded, not a word. I ran and found M scream, "Monkey! Monkey! Monkey in the room!" After implementing various micro-second strategies, we could finally lock the balcony door. Here's an account of what exactly happened:
M was deeply engrossed in listening to a Suchitra Mitra song (I am assuming eyes tightly shut). When she blinked them open, she found a full-grown monkey daintily seated atop our makeshift dining space, apparently supervising the house intently. She was so shocked that it left her silent. Next came her scream (the sound, not the word), to which the monkey, now confused at why should a human scream, picked up two eclairs toffee of four, and made its way into our balcony. As M chased it with an unnerved soul, a wooden ladle, and a semi-immobile me, the monkey rested on the balcony railing holding onto the door-knob, not allowing her to do the door. By this time, my tulsi plant had witnessed the monkey dutifully and diligently unwrap the two toffee wrappers and have them. It must be the chewy taste which made it leave the door-knob finally (I do not have any better explanation). M rushed and pulled the door. Ever since, of course, she is on a double duty of sanitizing the entire monkey-route, and digging out her most elite invective to my affinity for "let the sunshine in!"
After some uncontested listening, I returned to the TV room, pale and troubled. I opened the door to this end's balcony and saw local dogs chase something wildly. Yay! They were barking the monkeys (yes there were two!), who were now on this side, out of our block. The last I saw they were mingling with the tall trees, and the dogs were on car-rooves in their loyal attempt.
Dear readers, a week-old table mat, several bottles, the bedsheet, and I don't know what else, have all gone for a wash. As I switched on the washing machine, I could only think of one logic -- during such times of social distance, when M has no audience, the monkey was really lending her a patient ear. The song? Kandale tumi more.
Indeed.
Owing to the lockdown though, I am using the other room frequently, with the TV playing the choicest of pathetic movies on one of the free DEN channels. M, has been practicing a song since last night, and was doing the same in the living room, with earphones snugly tucked in. Amidst the clash of her Rabindra Sangeet and random hindi songs on the TV, I suddenly heard a scream. It was definitely a sound to which I responded, not a word. I ran and found M scream, "Monkey! Monkey! Monkey in the room!" After implementing various micro-second strategies, we could finally lock the balcony door. Here's an account of what exactly happened:
M was deeply engrossed in listening to a Suchitra Mitra song (I am assuming eyes tightly shut). When she blinked them open, she found a full-grown monkey daintily seated atop our makeshift dining space, apparently supervising the house intently. She was so shocked that it left her silent. Next came her scream (the sound, not the word), to which the monkey, now confused at why should a human scream, picked up two eclairs toffee of four, and made its way into our balcony. As M chased it with an unnerved soul, a wooden ladle, and a semi-immobile me, the monkey rested on the balcony railing holding onto the door-knob, not allowing her to do the door. By this time, my tulsi plant had witnessed the monkey dutifully and diligently unwrap the two toffee wrappers and have them. It must be the chewy taste which made it leave the door-knob finally (I do not have any better explanation). M rushed and pulled the door. Ever since, of course, she is on a double duty of sanitizing the entire monkey-route, and digging out her most elite invective to my affinity for "let the sunshine in!"
After some uncontested listening, I returned to the TV room, pale and troubled. I opened the door to this end's balcony and saw local dogs chase something wildly. Yay! They were barking the monkeys (yes there were two!), who were now on this side, out of our block. The last I saw they were mingling with the tall trees, and the dogs were on car-rooves in their loyal attempt.
Dear readers, a week-old table mat, several bottles, the bedsheet, and I don't know what else, have all gone for a wash. As I switched on the washing machine, I could only think of one logic -- during such times of social distance, when M has no audience, the monkey was really lending her a patient ear. The song? Kandale tumi more.
Indeed.
1 comment:
As usual, yours is a brilliant pen. The write up is simply hilarious blended with ground reality. Thanks for sharing.
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