Bats in my Attic

Bats In my Attic

My husband and I were driving back from Chennai late in the evening. By the time we reached Porur it was raining cats and dogs. Visibility was near zero. To add to the melee, every lunatic on a motorbike or bicycle had placed plastic bags on their helmetless heads  and appeared to be driving with eyes shut as well, often on the wrong side of the road.

“Look”, I said, “there is a hotel. Let us stop for the night. We can continue tomorrow.”

The hotel was alright. It seemed mainly to cater to patients undergoing treatment in Ramachandra Medical College. We got  a room and retired for the night.

My husband started stroking my cheek.

“Stop it!” I said. “We have to get up at 4 AM.”

He did not answer.

Every time I nodded off ,he started again. The fourth time was too much for me.

“What is wrong with you? Leave me alone!” I switched on the bedside light. There was a large bat (looked like a giant) rubbing its  wings against my cheek.

“Aah” I shouted and ran to the door. “Come , Come” I yelled at my husband.

Used to obeying, he ran out too, groggy and quite unsure of what was happening. We fled outside.  ( Me without ankle support and crutch). The door slammed behind us, with the electronic key inside. I was in a nightdress, my husband topless in a pair of running shorts.

“Go to the reception” I said hysterically, ”tell them there is a vampire bat in our room.”

“I don’t have any clothes” protested my husband, “and there are no vampires”.

“Haven’t you read Dracula? Go downstairs. Otherwise we have to stand here all night!”

The receptionist sent up a couple of flunkeys. They were skeptical and obviously did not believe our story. Before entering the room one of them asked the other,

“Did they order room service? Brandy?”

They opened the door. The bat seemed to like me. It came straight at me. I started screeching again.

“Bat ! Bat! Help! Help!”

A few rooms opened and heads started poking out.

They gave us another room. I made them transfer my belongings, check the cupboard, under the bed and draw back the thick electronic curtains.

No more Vampires !

Velloretimes

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Kurkure Tales

Kurkure Tales

The middle-aged woman sat discreetly in a corner of the ornate pavilion put up for the Master’s Aquatic Meet in Chennai. Her dupatta was draped decorously over her head. Her incredibly fit husband, an older man with a washboard abdomen, accompanied her.

She got up after some time. She was incredibly obese. Her face sank into her chest. Her stomach preceded her. Her hips hung down to her knees. She had enormous saddle bags on both thighs, clearly visible through the slit in her kurta.

Breakfast was provided , so she bought four iddlies and two dosais. She also managed to carry two packets of kukure. After attacking all of that for breakfast she tackled the packets of Kurkure and finished them both. She offered me some, but I refused scared of vomiting after the races.

There was a sumptuous lunch, so she purchased chicken biryani, curd rice and sambhar rice along with two packets of chips.

After lunch she whipped out a little black book and started writing in it.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I am under the care of a dietician. She asked me to write down all that I eat. She needs to calculate calories.”

I looked in the book. Under breakfast she had written “two  iddlies.”

“What about the dosai and the Kurkure?” I asked.

“The dosai was my husband. He didn’t eat it.”

“What about the Kurkure?”

“She only said to record the meal. Kurkure is not a meal. Nor are chips. I can’t help it if my husband did not eat his biriyani . That is HIS meal. Not mine. ”

The dietician probably thinks she is a medical wonder, with incredible lack of weight loss, if she follows the calorie calculation recorded in the book!