Monday, August 13, 2012

Rats and reds

A haggardly object the size of a Coke can shuffling across my cone of sight. I realize what it is; a repulsive rodent. Could be hiding in any nook of this house - in the shoes, in the helmets, under the boxes, inside the boxes, under the bed, inside the carry bags, under the fridge, in the almirah, hanging to the bedsheet, crawling up the book rack. Even though you anticipate your enemy now, it's still as much a shock-and-awe moment when it comes out in the open.

And the day goes in rodent elimination tactics; not a kill, FYI, since kills make one a murderer and also a lesser man - there's nothing swell in cornering and pulping a creature with confused eyes till the last breath. You plan good in alternate ways, laying out no traps but a cookie trail, and finally when it walks out in the open on the trail, you fright it into flight with a trekking pole - best alternate use of this device. A girly scream also rends the air, but luckily there's nobody else to notice that.

The day dons a red tint with passing - the red of ants, and the red of the stings that bloom all over the stomach and hands. So it happens that when the queen of ants decides to take a flight, she finds the sleeve of your tee to take refuse, and then her troop of soldiers follow her trail to clamor all over your body; those nihilists then gracefully bite all over, as if that rat had paid them to, and force you to quit your science of sleep and the dal chawal to take a frantic bath.

Sting sting sting
They make me sing

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