Monday 24 December 2018

Fishy Chronicles 10: Genie Moves In; Takes Control

I jumped out of bed.

I had guests. One tiny insect and a large human. They needed tea.

Morning chai.
(Photo Credit: A. Peter)

I walked into the living room and stopped. The floor was hidden by plastic tree branches and boxes of decorations. Nobby was buzzing excitedly around Genie, who was cross-legged on the floor and working quickly.

“Tea?” I asked.

“It's ready. Breakfast too. Made dosas and chutney.”

Genie had already assumed control. When he had left me I had had a tough time getting my housekeeping act together.

This is a fictional series surrounding a group of Fish, Genie, a former manservant turned free soul and world traveller, Norbert, a rum-loving mosquito and the narrator, a single woman, living in a distant suburb of Mumbai.
None of them suspects each is going to goad the other into an adventure.  
Genie turns up unexpectedly and proceeds to take over the Christmas preparations.
Fish make a dramatic entry. But the whole group is jolted by the doorbell and what they find on their doorstep.

I poured out the tea into my mug and sat on an armchair. After a while I slid to the floor and began to put together the branches. Genie pushed twigs and branches towards me. He was organised. He had bunched together the boughs with their branches and carefully taped some of the disintegrating bits together.

Fish had often grumbled about how old and decrepit the tree looked. But when I told them it was over 35 years old and had been in my family home forever and loosened vivid memories of my parents for me, they stopped.

For every year Genie and Fish lived with me, I found a couple of nice, expensive ornaments on my TV stand – wrapped in lovely gift paper. Each of those gifts had been of exquisite glass or crystal and I threw away a number of my plastic Christmas tree ornaments over the years.

Fish and Genie denied the gifts originated from them. But it would be carefully rewrapped and tucked away in a sturdy box and stored in the loft a few days after the new year – all while I was asleep.

It troubled me that I didn’t know who had bought them, or that it should be a secret, but I soon forgot in the excitement.

I looked in the corner of the living room and felt relief. A fish tank had been set up. I had found it too heavy to pull out of the loft. But it was filled with water now. Fish's favourite couch had been set up and the water heater was switched on and their special plants were tethered to the base of the tank.

I looked at Genie. He smiled, “Water's dechlorinated. By the time they get here, the water should be fine.”

I smiled. “Do you ever switch off, Genie?”

“No.”

“Do you ever forget things?”

“No.”

“Do you have family?”

His eyes bored into me, and I felt a frisson of fear. He looked back at the tree and continued to gently put the branches together. “I think we can finish this in an hour. Let’s eat breakfast first.” He rose and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Do you want a happy Christmas, my dear?” Nobby asked. He sat on the rim of my cup and took a sip. Always my cup, never anyone else's.

“Yes.”

“Stop asking Genie personal questions – snowed-out Sweden may beckon.”

                                                                ******

Fish turned up in a limousine. They had turned up for a stress-free dinner, safely eluding the tedium of putting up Christmas decorations.

The limousine caused a stir in our street and it was an effort to get Fish out. But I saw Genie march to a door, throw it open, grab the tank and walk back into the building.

It stunned the society folks and I could see some of the older women clutch their hearts and the younger ones preen. I scurried back to my flat.

I saw Fish pinching their mouths shut, standing on the edge of the tank and diving in stylishly. Genie tried not to roll his eyes. And then a lovely sight greeted us. Fish jumped out of the water, twisted and turned and slid back into the water.

“When you watch them like this, you can forgive them anything, no, pipsqueak?” Genie murmured, struck by the Fish.

I nodded. We watched them move around the sofa, their books, the plants and then loll and squirm until they found their spots in the tank.

I turned to look at the window – at the darkening evening. Finally it had started feeling like Christmas. I had bought presents too.

The bell rang. I opened the door and found a covered basket on the doorstep.

It moved, or so I thought. And I screamed and backed into Genie. I pointed at it. I dearly hoped someone was giving me a puppy or kitten. I moved behind him.

Genie picked up the card on the hamper. “It’s got your name. Rather, all our names... including all of Fish. Quite a feat.” Another grin. Travel had loosened up Genie like nothing else had.

I felt a poke. “Open it,” Nobby ordered.

I lifted the top cover slowly and stared.

What was going on?
                       
                                                                ******

Tuesday 18 December 2018

Fishy Chronicles 9: Nobby Fights For His Christmas Tree

“What are you thinking about, sweetie?”

I looked up. Norbert was hanging on to the outside of the net window. He had been visiting me often. Sometimes to get away from the BMC's killer pesticide fumes. But mostly because he seemed lonely.

“Nobody interesting to have rum with, Norbert?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Who has the time? Besides, it’s so hard to keep a relationship going. What about you? Isn’t it time you tried to cultivate friends?”

“Like who? Most of the people I work with are in the throes of great relationships, according to Facebook. Though the boyfriends and girlfriends look different each time I bring myself to check. I’m disturbed by my jealousy at how happy other people are.”

“It’s a put on.”

“My jealousy?”

“The numerous love interests.”

“Why do you say that?”

“At best you’d have 2-5 boyfriends or girlfriends ever. This is all unreal.”

“Times have changed. Now one has many, many, many. The number beggars belief.”

“Yes, no one cares about how they hurt one another.”

“I’m having rubbish luck. I tried to get some of my ex work friends to fix a dinner plan, but it’s been several months now. Went to a litfest recently and some people I knew looked through me. Maybe it’s me.”

Norbert sat on the rim of my tea cup and took a sip. He loved my tea, made with lemon grass.
“That’s normal – even among mosquitos. When we have a conclave, I'm the black sheep. If you haven’t noticed, I have the wrong kinds of friends.”

The wrong species too. My heart squeezed. “I’m so glad you're in my life. We’re the strangest bedfellows.”

“True. Every time I feel like drinking your blood, I have to stop myself.”

“I know the feeling. Every time I want to hug you, I have to remind myself that it could remove all traces of your existence. Did you ever drink Genie's blood?” I always wanted to know. Sneaking it in when Nobby was in a convivial mood seemed like the best time.

Norbert stayed silent.

“Have you had mine?” I joked. Nobby made to move. “Hey! Wait,” I tried to cup my hands around him but he was too quick. Just yesterday I had thrown away the electric bat I had been using to electrocute mosquitos. I hadn’t used it in years, and was loathe to give it to anyone. What if they used it on Nobby. So I broke it, even though it could charge no longer. I thought of how it would become part of a non-decomposing landfill but shook the thoughts away.

Nobby was lounging now on the window seat. Luckily, I was rarely visited by mosquitos, even though people were falling ill with dengue in my housing society. Hence, the BMC's industriousness.

I'd already been visited by the building secretary and his posse of lecherous self-important middle-aged men. Instead of looking at the flower pots for stagnant water, they had inspected all my rooms, my bed especially, and looked me up and down, for signs of debauchery – or so I imagined. I had felt a shiver of fear.

When I told Fish, they had shouted at me for letting the committeewallas in.

“I hate the baldy,” Norbert said, when he saw me look at the flower pot balanced on the grills of the box window.

“Who?”

“That lech. I saw them inspect every room. Why did you let them in?”

“I’d have been hauled off to prison... or have to pay a fine if I didn't let them inspect my pots. Probably penalised. Did you bite them? I saw more than one mosquito here that day.”

I couldn’t help grinning. I knew Nobby had brought his friends along to feast on the committee. He hated Mr Duggal with a vengeance. Nobby hated most of the men around me. None, he told me once, were fit for consumption – his or mine. And after Genie left, he sat sometimes on my bookshelf and watched my guests.

“I heard Duggal ask about your Christmas tree. We agreed we were putting it together this year," Nobby said.

“You and Duggal?”

“You and me!”

“It's been years since I set it up. Not this time.”

“Aww, come on. We always had one with Genie!”

“Yes. But for the strangest reason, it seemed terribly important to him. It was always a fait accompli and I only made happy noises so as not to hurt his feelings. And he felt enthusiastic enough to do it the next year and on and on!”

“Yes. We know. What have you against Christmas anyway?”

“Nothing...”

“What is it? You drag your feet every year.”

“Just feels like it’s for family... It's only ever felt Christmasy with my parents. And now there isn’t anyone.”

“That’s not true!”

Shit. I upset Nobby with my tactlessness. “You know what I mean. It’s not you, Fish or Genie. You make it feel whole. It’s just that... I don’t know what that utter joyous feeling is about. Doesn’t feel real.”

“This is what happens when you let people ride roughshod over you and listen to shit. You believe it's for real!”

“What?”

“It’s Rohit the idiot and all the other morons you associate yourself with. Let them go and tell yourself that you have a right to happiness. I knew I should have given him cholera when I had the chance!”

“Nobby! Listen to you!”

“No. You listen! Get up this instant. Have a bath, brush your teeth and wear a nice dress. Then climb into that loft and get out the tree and all the decorations. We’re going to have a spanking Christmas celebration this year!”

I hated what Nobby said. But he was right. Rohit had never wanted me to get my friends home or go crib hopping. He had trashed all my ideas for Christmas decorations and I'd finally stopped putting up my tree. I hadn’t realised it then, but he had sapped the life from me.

This is a fictional series surrounding a group of Fish, Genie, a former manservant turned free soul and world traveller, Norbert, a rum-loving mosquito and the narrator, a single woman, living in a distant suburb of Mumbai.
Norbert is upset the narrator has given up her family tradition of a grand Christmas celebration. They argue fiercely but are interrupted by the doorbell in the middle of the night.

Nobby was still glaring at me. I didn’t want to lose my only friend in the world. And I wanted to hide from the nauseatingly happy Christmas carollers dressed as Santa, his elves and reindeer.

The doorbell rang and Nobby and I looked at each other. “Who do you think it is?” he asked.

We looked at the wall clock. It was past 11pm. It was too late for the churchwallas and for Laxmanji, the ironing guy. And I hadn’t ordered food – I'd made dal and khichdi. Strangely, Nobby had a fondness for dal tadka. He had to have been a crazy Indian human in his previous life.

“Wait. Do you really want to open the door,” Nobby said nervously.

“Don’t worry, Nobby. You sit high up on the wall. I’ll practise a karate chop or just bite whoever it is.”

Nobby hissed with irritation. “Look through the peephole first!”

I looked through the hole and felt intense shock. I grabbed the bolts and began to open them in a hurry. I threw open the door and smiled foolishly.

“Are you going to let me in?” he said gruffly.

“I’m sorry for what I said. Will you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive... Hey!” Genie tried to prise my arms from around his neck but I tightened my hold. He gave up and after a while I felt him sigh and his body relax.

Nobby was buzzing around Genie, attempting to kiss him. Finally Nobby sat on his ear, whispering excitedly.

“How come you’re here, Genie. Did you eat? There’s khichdi,” I asked, flushed, and embarrassed by my emotions.

Genie perked up at the sound of khichdi and Nobby and I watched him eat. He was very lean now, his muscles looked harder than ever. And he was dressed better.

“Were you at Mousetrap, Genie?” I asked.

He stilled and looked me in the eye, “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you call or let us know?”

“Fish knew.”

And so did Nobby, by the way he was avoiding looking at me.

“Will you be here for Christmas?”

“I thought you might need help with the Christmas tree. And I wanted to eat cake. Yours.” He smiled broadly.

I couldn’t be angry. I was happy. Christmas would be Christmas – with Genie, Nobby and Fish... and a tree, lights, tinsel, fruitcake, plenty of rum and some eggnog – minus the naked man.

I was soooo ready to face Santa and his rabid carollers.
When the neighbour's ballsy, booksy idea takes off against all odds. The neighbour's Christmas tree.
(Picture credit: A Peter)

Sunday 9 December 2018

Fishy Chronicles 8: Mousetrap, The Play

Ticket for the play (Photo by A. Peter)
Weeks ago, soon after our supposed rapprochement, Fish called me to say they wanted to go for a play.

“It’s only the best and longest running ever!” Dimitri said.

“So I’ve heard. Tickets probably all sold out. Besides, they play only in London.” That wasn't true. The entire troupe would be in Mumbai soon, with Agatha monitoring them from above.

There was silence at the other end. I asked, “Are you lovelies gnashing your itsy bitsy teeth? The play is only for hoity toity SoBo Mumbaikars.”

“Or just discerning theatre lovers. You selectively forgot them.”

“Indeedy, I did.”

“Well?” Portas came on the line. He was a muscled fish that I had rescued from a public acquarium. Fish had told me he was in danger of dying and we had mounted a kidnap plan. Turned out Portas was an old buddy of theirs and I had needlessly perpetrated a crime.

“Well, what?” I said.

“Would you like to go with us?”

“Really?” I was thrilled. I hadn’t been able to get anyone to go with me... and then I saw how much the tickets cost. The cheapest had been sold out.

“Yes. We thought it’d be good to enjoy a day out. What say?”

“Yes.”

****** 

Fish took care of the logistics.

Apparently Garl, their current benefactor, had had a word with someone at the theatre and we were allowed in without a fuss. Plus, said benefactor had organised the best seats in the house. We sat a seat away from Simone Tata.

“You don’t want to sit right next to the big bigshots,” Gregory whispered when I hefted the tank into the seat next to mine. I needn’t have worried. No one gave us a second look. Apparently it is de rigeur for fish and mosquitos to attend plays.

“Did you know that the first play was staged in 1952 and had Richard Attenborough in the main role?” Dimitri splashed a little water at me to catch my attention. There were many famous people in the theatre. But I thought I saw Genie too.

“You’re imagining things. He's enjoying winter in Yorkshire,” Gregory said, staring in the direction I was. “Besides, he would have told us.”

“He likes to wear flimsy clothes, remember?Yorkshire would be too cold for him.” That wasn't quite true. Genie loved winters, and the colder it was the better. I’d seen him wear a threadbare muffler, a thin t-shirt and march into the snow in Kashmir. I thought he was the original stud. And unattainable. And considering he had money, I didn’t understand why he didn’t wear better clothes.

Norbert buzzed around me. “Please don’t bite anyone, Nobby. You may get hurt. I may get thrown out if I attempt to find you in a darkened hall.”

“Relax, my darling. It was an excellent idea having my dinner here. What exotic fare to be had. For sure, my nourishment will be top notch. Wheeee!” Nobby screamed in my ear and disappeared. My heart palpitated and the play started.

Fish fidgeted. They whispered and fussed and jostled each other for a better view. And then settled down. We discussed it and couldn’t remember if we’d read this book. Was it a book at all?

“No,” Gregory said, “It’s a play. And it’s not been published or the end is supposed to be hush hush, or some such. The worst part is that Wikipedia gives away the plot entirely, even though the cast will ask the audience to keep the end a secret.”

“You know the end?”

Gregory looked sheepish. “I read up on the play. Didn't want to come unprepared.”

“You should chill, Greg. It’s okay if you don’t read the review and plot beforehand.”

Gregory gasped. “Heresy!”

“In fact you should ask if you can replace any of the cast when they’re ill or want a break. You’d do well. You'd love it.”

Fish turned their backs on me. But I was not troubled at all. The play picked up speed and I nudged the fish tank. “You're missing stuff. Watch the play!”

Soon we were standing and clapping. Fish tossed water about and screamed and whistled and people glared at us.

When the crowd started moving towards the exit, I waved at a couple of people I knew, but suddenly I saw Nobby flying towards me. “Run, run, run!” he screamed into my ear and hid in my collar.

I quickly got the Fish into my pushcart and charged out. We shoved a youngster out of the way and almost crashed down the stairs. An older man grabbed the tank and held it steady. I yelled a thankyou at him and ran down the narrow path until I saw a small corner hidden from view.

We waited till the crowd thinned – but not before I saw my ex and his wife. I dragged in my breath and tried to slow my heart.

When we were seated on Marine Drive, I asked Nobby what happened.

“I was having a good meal and kept getting swatted about. I heard someone call for an usher -- complaining that there were mosquitos -- and then I saw Rohit and his latest squeeze.”

“They’re married now,” I mumbled, the familiar feelings of rejection and humiliation bubbling up. Rohit Chawla had been my boyfriend for many years until one day he moved out and took up with Nikita. I realised later that much planning had gone into it.

I shook the hopeless thoughts away. “So what happened, Nobby?”

“I bit ever inch of his bare flesh and of that she devil!”

I stared at my little friend – he looked defiant and angry. He had the biggest, bravest, most loving heart in the world beating in his tiny body.

I tried to find words. Finally I heard Dimitri clear his throat, “Rohit deserved it. You did good, Nobby!” And with that Fish somersaulted in their tank and laughed. They popped out of the tank and blew raspberries at every Rohit Chawla lookalike walking by the sea in the dimming evening light.

Suddenly things felt good. Nobby cuddled my neck and we let the cool, strong, smelly wind of the Arabian Sea wash over us. Yes, I was definitely looking forward to the next few weeks. 

Wednesday 5 December 2018

Fishy Chronicles 7: Nobby Helps Make Sense

As much as I tried, I couldn’t get past that heavy feeling in my gut.

I had made a mess of things.

Even if I had shared a noncommittal relationship with Genie, it was still a relationship. Though I wondered why he did, I felt warmed each time he called or sent a postcard, always with pretty stamps. When I ventured to thank him for them, he said gruffly, “You need your loves and your hobbies. And I was passing by a post office.”

I heard a buzzing sound. I had waited weeks for Norbert – I needed his advice.

This is a fictional series surrounding Fish, who previously lived with the narrator, Genie, her erstwhile thug turned manservant and now free soul and world traveller and Nobby, the rum cake-loving mosquito. The narrator is a single woman living in the distant suburbs of Mumbai. 
She feels she has burnt her bridges with Genie and is despondent. Nobby turns up to have a chat. 

I raised myself from the cold, flat, black slab that masqueraded for a window seat and opened the netted window. I lay back down, feeling tired but still sad. I felt embarrassed at what I might have to reveal to Norbert.

Norbert found a spot on the window above me and made himself comfortable.

“Do you know how hard it is for me to stop myself from killing mosquitoes, Nobby?”

“Considering the numerous attempts on my life everyday, I can hazard a guess.”

I sighed and continued to dream. This Christmas I hoped Santa would drop a nice man into my lap, naked and hiding his modesty with a bottle of eggnog. He needed to be kind and love me.

“Those kinds of things are hard to rustle up.”

“What kinds of things, Nobby?”

“A nice, warm, male body with a big heart.”

I sat up straight. I hoped I wasn’t an open book and that Nobby wasn’t turning into Fish.

“Is all well, my dear?” Norbert asked.

“No. I fought with Genie... and Fish.”

“Are you sure?”

“What do you mean? I haven’t got a call from either since...”

“Since your last calls to them. Couldn’t you have called them back?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t try. For sure, Genie won’t want to.”

“Well, I sent word with friends that I wanted him here for Christmas.”

“And?”

“He’s not got back yet. But Fish gave me a earful and told me that it doesn’t matter what’s hidden in your walls.”

“OK.” I tried to damp the irritation I felt at Fish.

“They are going to come here on Christmas week. They have a list. They'll let you know in a few days.”

I sighed, beginning to feel stressed.

The several Christmases they had spent with me – we had been in shambles by New Year's Eve. Their lists had grown wilder each year. And now with their five-star lifestyle, I wondered if I could afford their expensive habits.

One year we had drunk bhang or cannabis for days and things are still a haze.

Another year it was a hookah craze and we had to stop because our chests and coughs wouldn’t clear.

Then they asked me to take them on a cruise. We didn’t go because I was deep in debt. The thought that my poorness had made them leave home has never left me. The sense of rejection is still intense.

“Stop worrying!” Norbert interrupted my thoughts.

“Yeah.”

“Stop it. You are the only one who can stand up to them. Word for word. Scales for skin.”

I shrugged. I couldn’t imagine anyone controlling Fish.

Norbert was still speaking, “Genie told me once that the only reason he stayed for so long is that you hadn’t wanted anything from him – ever. And watching you verbally duel with the Fish cheered him enormously. You never asked him to make you tea – even though he worked for you.”

That was true. I had felt embarrassed I couldn’t pay Genie much and I had never felt comfortable ordering him about. Despite that, he had bought groceries, cooked and calmed my disturbed soul.

Norbert sat on my knee. “How about we have a drink, for old times sakes. For now, you, I and Fish are on for Christmas. We can put together your dining table, wash your good chikankari table cloth and look up cake recipes tonight. Okay?”

“Sure, Nobby. Sounds good. I’ll get the wine.”

A calming drink with Nobby.
(Picture Credit: A. Peter)

Saturday 1 December 2018

Fishy Chronicles 6: Genie Has A Past

So the goings on at the CBI have the Fish aflutter.
They called me to discuss my clichés.

“You’ve got to give them up,” Gregory said. He was the poshest fish in my erstwhile tank. He slept in a bowtie and read books for fun.

“I don't care if people think I’m clichĂ©ed.”

“Tut, tut. So pigheaded. But you need to consider your future seriously?”

“What future and why?” that was the motto of my journo self. Pack in the questions.

“Because if the top guy at a premier investigative institution is in such deep shit, sooner or later you’ll be next.” Fish were talking about the flutter going on in the CBI (Central Bureau of Investigation) at the moment. Some of the top guys were being investigated amid charges of irregularities.

I laughed for several minutes. It was the most I'd laughed in a long time.

“It's not funny!” Dimitri said, upset. He had been, was still, my favourite – sweet, gentle, caring. None of the sarcasm the other Fish heaped on me.

“What’s wrong, Dimitri?”

“You know how they’ve been trailing him and following him about and all the cases and cooked-up stuff.”

“There’s tonnes of debate on it.”

“Yes, well, you could get into trouble.”

I stifled another laugh. I was a nothing and a no one and it was rare for me to think one of the Fish was dim. There had to be something bothering them. Troubling Dimitri especially.

“The thing is, my dear,” Gregory grabbed the phone from Dimitri, “it has everything to do with Genie.”

“Genie?” He had invited himself into my tiny home one rainy day. Had dried himself and proceeded to make my parents, Fish and I fantastic tea and pakoras. He had won us over and ended up not leaving. Years later he had disappeared. Later I received a postcard from a remote town in Norway – he had wanted some excitement and had decided to leave.

This is a fictional series of Fish that lived with the narrator for years and finally decided to spread their fins. Genie is the narrator's former manservant and now world traveller. 

I thought of broad-shouldered handsome Genie. I knew he had had a chequered past but after a while I had let him be. He had a handlebar moustache that he tended carefully and dark smouldering eyes. He was hot... and living in my home. For the strangest reason, no one in the building ever asked us about him. Fish said he only went out in the evenings because he hated people so much.

I brought myself back to Genie and the CBI. “It's not making sense, Greg.”

“Gregory. Do you remember us telling you that he worked for Mogi Singh?”

“Er, yes.” Mogi Singh was a well know gangster. He’d gone to South India looking for work and become bad, rich and a menace. I knew about him – about the terror he wreaked in the South. He was rarely out of the news. Only later did I realise that Genie hadn’t been Mogi's butler, as he had led me to believe and I had naively assumed, but one of his trusted henchman. A henchman who finally broke free. Unheard of.

My thoughts returned to the Fish. “So?”

“So,” Gregory sounded frustrated, “so, Genie made all this cash and just turned smart. He's got his finger in every pie possible!”

I laughed. “What? He worked as my maid! Or Man Friday. Or whatever!”

“That was a front!”

“For what?”

“To lie low. No one leaves Mogi Singh and lives to see the next day.”

“Rubbish. Genie's not bad...” I had had doubts. He’d always treated me well, but he was unreadable, inscrutable. He was an unknown, frightening quantity. There was anger and sarcasm bottled in. In the years he had lived with us he had been polite and cool to me. I had tried to joke with him but later let him be.

Fish latched on to my silence. “See, you know it too. You’ve always known!”

I drew a breath. “Okay. But now he’s no longer living here.”

There was a collective slapping sound. I could hear the water slop out of the tank at the other end of the line. It sounded like Fish were slapping their foreheads and some of them were throwing themselves against the tank's walls.

“Stop that, you guys!” That habit of theirs still bothered me. I worried they’d get hurt.

Dimitri said, “Listen! You were a front for Mogi. When you were at work we’d hear the calls. And all the do-it-yourself repair work that Genie did, he was storing stuff for Mogi. Who would come and look for Mogi's stuff in your home?!”

“Whatttt... stuff?”

“Diamonds. Cash and gold are lumpy and too obvious. Those papers Genie made you sign as a guarantor? It was for a warehouse. He’s bought land and some derelict buildings outside Mumbai and is storing stuff there. Didn’t you think his absences were strange?”

“Yes. But he brooded so much... I thought he was pining for someone.”

I could hear the Fish tsk-tsking. Not for the first time did I think I was of inferior intellect. And worse, inferior to Genie. All this time I'd thought he was just easy-on-the-eye brawn.

“It's a royal cock-and-bull story!” I shouted.

“What will it take for you to believe us?”

I thought wildly. What indeed. I looked up and saw the POP work Genie had insisted on doing. I hadn’t complained because all the work he’d done looked good and had cost me only the price of the materials.

“Some proof. You say he’s stashed stuff here.”

“Er. Yes.”

“Where is it?”

I sensed their reluctance. “I don’t get it. You called me and made a hoo-haa about it and now you don’t want me to confirm the fact or root out his stash?”

“You may get into trouble.”

“You said it was only a matter of time.”

“You're putting words in our mouths!”

“Bye, bye!”

                                     ******


I looked all over the house.

I opened cupboards I’d opened only a couple of times in all the years I lived in my tiny flat. I looked in old boxes, in the storage space in the bed, the old stainless steel dabbas in the kitchen and finally even in the toilet's flush tank – like you see in the movies. Nada.

I desperately wanted to call Fish and rant. But I spent days and weeks looking over and over through the same things. Short of breaking the walls and plaster and feeling a tremendous fool for searching for someone else's treasure, I finally gave up.

I toyed with the idea of calling Genie and, after several weeks, did.

“Genie,” he had never offered a proper first name – I could never hear it, “er, did you leave any stuff behind?”

“Stuff?”

“Yes. Fish are worried your stash might get me into trouble with the authorities.”

There was silence and then a very slow, “Stash?”

“Diamonds.”

I heard a snort and a chuckle. And then a howl of laughter. I listened to it for an eternity. It may have been seconds or as much as a minute. Had the Fish fingered me?

“Yes. All safely in the walls. Do you have the money to fix your walls, pipes and tiles after you take them apart?”

“What?”

“I took it all with me.”

“Really?” I felt disappointment. I had visions of standing in a bucket full of diamonds in my bathroom – wallowing in whatever it might feel like.

Genie continued, “No, of course not! When are you going to figure out Fish are fooling around with you. When will you stop being so naive!” He stopped talking and ended the call.

I stared at the phone. My heart and feelings pooling at my feet. I seemed to have burned my bridges with Fish and, now, Genie.

Worse, I was still confused – because I had believed Fish, but not Genie.
 
                                      ******
Photo Credit: A. Peter

Wednesday 28 November 2018

Fishy Chronicles 5: Meeting Norbert

Had a strange caller yesterday.

He threw himself at my window and afterwards screamed and howled until I opened it.

I had to. The watchmen looked up to see who I was torturing. Had to wave and smile and act normal.

Poor Norbert. My mosquito friend seemed bent out of shape – literally.

If you recall, years ago he ate some of my rum cake and passed out on the top of the fish tank. Fish had to revive him and they became best buds. And he visited for all the years Fish lived with me.

This is a fictional series of Fish that lived with the narrator for years and finally decided to spread their fins. Here their good friend Norbert, the mosquito, visits. Fish saved him from drowning when he had too much of the narrator's rum cake and fell into the fish tank. He now counts them among his best friends and is an ardent lover of the narrator's cakes.

“What was so important you needed to try and kill yourself, Nobby?”

He raised himself to his full tiny height. His back stiff.  “Norbert! I was not trying to kill myself! You wouldn’t open the window. So slow. So prone to drama.” He sounded like Fish... right down to the sanctimonious tone.

“My problem now, is it?” I should have squished him, instead I bent down to hear him better.

“Er, making any cake this year?”

“Aha!”

“Will you have a Christmas party?”

“Got guests. Not sure I’ll party.”

“Any cake or rum?”

“You want to come over?”

“Will Genie be there?”

“Not sure. He's travelling. May send me his love via postcard or call. What’s the matter, Norbert?”

He settled on my knee, looked up at me sadly and said, “I don't want to be alone this Christmas.”

My heart melted. My tough lil Norbert. “Oh, my darling! Let's not celebrate it alone. You and I and Rum and Rum-drunk cake. And if we're lucky, with Fish and Genie too!”

I heard the softest sigh.

“Okay. Now open the window. Got to go and spread some disease.”

Saturday 10 November 2018

Fishy Chronicles 4: Rapprochement

Fish took a helicopter ride to the burbs and stayed the night. They called it a rapprochement.

This morning they insisted on joining me for a walk at a new garden I had discovered. So I helped them on with their suits and we drove to the grounds and began walking. After 7 minutes, Fish cussed and demanded I stop.



This is a fictional series of Fish that catch up with their erstwhile owner and seek more adventure. They previously escaped the suffocating environs of a middle class fish tank to travel, broaden their horizons and spread their fins in every sense. 

"Why?" I asked.


"You're taking pleasure in the oddest things!"


"What are you talking about?"


"You see that old lady in the blue sari?" They pointed at the thin elderly lady who just passed us by. I had indeed noticed her and felt a feeling of angst when she quickly walked past. I watched her till she took the turn and disappeared. I turned to look at the Fish, who were watching me keenly.


"Well, what of her?" I said.


"You've been spending the last 10 minutes trying to overtake her!"


"What... What rubbish!" I hated that they were so perceptive.


"Quit comparing yourself to the world!"


"I'm not!"


"You are!"


"Are we going to continue this walk?"


"If you stop chasing old women and keep pace."


"I won't lose any weight at your pace."


"None of that! You know we love every jiggly bit of you. Let's go and make fun of the other walkers." And they marched off into the middle of the path, making other walkers jump out of the way.


Sigh. I'm not lying. Attaching pictures to prove I was at the park.


I couldn’t locate the lady in blue, but by then I was enjoying my time with Fish. And, yes, we did make fun of some joggers.

The joggers spot in Mumbai's suburbs
(Photo by A. Peter)


A cricket game in motion in Borivali
(Photo by A. Peter)

Wednesday 31 October 2018

Fishy Chronicles 3: The Dream

Fish at the window
(Illustration by A. Peter)


Last night I dreamt of Fish.

I thought I saw them peering at me through the window.

But when I opened my eyes they weren't there. It was a full moon night, some clouds cuddling the moon. 

Maybe another day.

Tuesday 30 October 2018

Tuesday 23 October 2018

Fishy Chronicles 1: Fish Call


So Fish and I missed each other by a set of fins in blue, blue freaky San Francisco.

I shacked up with an ancient boyfriend, because I didn't want to run through all my travel money at once. Fish messaged me pictures of their dinner. I stared sadly at my cold Mac burger.

Fish said they had a great view of the sea from their five-star hotel. They had followed their expat buddy from Colaba to SF. For those who don't know, Colaba is the Manhattan of Mumbai. More charming, I'd say.


This is a fictional series of Fish that lived with the narrator for years and finally decided to spread their wings... elsewhere. They are astute, intelligent, fun loving, adventurous and extremely loyal to their friends.  
Fish miss the narrator in San Francisco. They call her to gloat about their travels and they have words with the narrator. But all ends well.

I think they wanted to rub salt in my wound. Hence the call. It was hard to hear them all speaking at once. I wondered how Garl understood them. It was the strangest name I ever heard. Was it Carl and I had heard it wrong through the bubbles? Surely Garl was rich enough to afford the Fish a better phone line to speak on. After all, Garl, from Britisthan, had a seafacing suite at the Taj Colaba and apparently lacked for nothing. And it looked like my ex-posse of scales and fins didn't either.

"Why did you leave me?" was my first question when they paused for breath. I hadn't got over them leaving me.

They had threatened to leave many, many, many times, but I had thought they were being their fishy selves. But when they disappeared, leaving all their old clothes and my trappings behind, I knew they wouldn't return.

After a long silence, I heard a murmur. "Wanted to spread our fins. Time was passing us by."

Who had said it? It sounded ungrateful too. I had given them the best corner of my home. Got them the best airsuits money could buy, took them on my travels and even custom-built a mobile fish tank so that we could navigate Mumbai traffic. I had had to build it with a nephew, who howled with laughter when he heard Fish had left. It had made me feel worse.

I held on to my temper. I still wanted to hear them and keep the contact. "You didn't even leave a note!"

"Yeah. Norbert..."

"Norbert, the drunken mosquito?"

"He hasn't touched liquor since your rum cake. It gave him a headache of epic proportions."

"Have you been reading books? Your vocabulary seems to have improved," I said grumpily. They seemed to be on a roll. I thought they had had the time of their lives with me. Apparently not. "What about Norbert?"

"He said to make a clean break," Dimitri said softly. He had been my favourite of the fish. "It would let you heal... eventually."

I hopped with rage. Silently. I kicked over a chair and tried my luck with the sofa. OUUUCCCHHH!

It had been what Genie, my erstwhile househelp, had said. That it had been the best way for them to go. I had become too clingy.

"So!" I said tearfully. "So why are you calling me now? To rub Garl in my face? To show off?!"

There was silence and I cut the call.

After I had had a stiff walk around Jay's creepy neighbourhood, I had to run the last 20 minutes to his flat at breakneck speed because I thought I was being chased by a pervert. I cursed myself even more for leaving home without my phone. I had hurled it into a corner after the call. I couldn't afford a new phone in expensive America. I had to find that dabba phone and give it mouth to mouth.

I did find it. Under the fridge. With Jay's help I got the phone out and he put it together.

I stared at the screen, trying to figure out what to make of it.

In the few hours I'd been away, Fish had called 53 times and sent me several messages. I dreaded reading them.

I needn't have.

There were 30 messages, all the same. "We missed you. You were our Sun, sea, surf and ocean. Home and heart was with you."

-- AP

23.10.18

******
Golden Gate Bridge in the distance.
(Picture: A. Peter)
Fish suggested visiting the Japanese Tea Garden. It proved soothing. And I met more fish. Beautiful, charming, peaceful Koi. (Picture: A. Peter)
A Pagoda/temple at the Japanese Tea Garden
(Picture: A. Peter)
 The JTG
(Picture: A. Peter)
 Japanese Tea Garden. Beautiful place to walk about. Bought tea and small bits of crockery as souvenirs
(Picture: A. Peter)
Lord Buddha in a serene pose at the Japanese Tea Garden in San Francisco, California
(Picture: A. Peter)