The other day when the husband was attempting to make the perfect omelette while I was struggling with the not-so-round roti, he exclaimed out of nowhere, “Yeh perfect flip nahi hua to main aadhi mooch rakhunga”.
I had to bring him back to reality, “You have no mooch”.
It would be a different story if he decided to grow only half his “mooch”; if not a great story, it would at least be a great spectacle.
Every once in a while he would get all master-chefy and help with the cooking. It was painstaking to have him there. He could never spot the salt, or the pepper, or the pan, or me. I was always in his way, he said. Eventually, he would demote me to a chotu like character who would hand out the salt, the pepper, the poison, and everything else he dictated.
So, on an absolutely boring day when we were busy belittling each other in the kitchen, I spotted a mouse. I shrieked, threw the pan at that little devil, and ran out to save my life. I was also in tears.
Here’s the full story.
Apart from the husband and mighty me, there were other inhabitants in this house. There were lizards (yes, plural), spiders, a baby snake, wasps, frogs of different sizes, and other insects I couldn’t identify (they weren’t there in my nursery picture book either). Over the months, I had permanently planted a poisonous black spray in my hand (no, not pepper. Although, that’s safely tucked for a good time as well). So, any potential threat would be sprayed upon (the snake was for kamlesh aunty to handle).
I had made peace with the fact that I was living in a zoo, so I had marked out our territories. The snake was to be in the backyard, the mouse was not to enter the house at any cost, the wasps were ruthlessly murdered, the spray strangely didn’t work on frogs so, after a shocking gasp, I would summon the husband to drive them out.
When the mouse went out of bounds, I made up my mind to poison it. I sent for the new age rat kill (I don’t know what they did back in the days but now you have green cakes to poison them). As instructed in the manual, I kept these unappealing cakes in different corners. To be a little innovative, I also mixed this cake with some laddoos and placed it at a prime spot.
Kamlesh aunty warned me about me trying to poison Lord Ganesha, but honestly I was a little tired of Mr. Ganesha shocking me out of my wits everytime I set foot in the kitchen. Once I found Mr. Ganesha hanging from one of the curtains. I couldn’t allow for such suicidal stunts in my house. I chose murder instead. I took a quick glance at my murder trap and dozed off peacefully.
The next morning the laddoos were gone and so were the ugly looking cakes. I felt triumphant and thrilled at the thought of the sin I had just committed.
This win was only momentary when the following night I felt the mouse crawling on our blanket.
Kamlesh aunty put forth two arguments when I told her about how Mr. Ganesha was tormenting me. Actually three.
First: Bhagwaan hai, beta!
Second: Zeher nakli bechte hai aajkal (Should I have tried it before?)
Third: Choohe ne pani pi liya hoga!
In other news, the husband has a full grown mustache now.
Picture courtesy: Google Images