“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.
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.
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) |
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