Feast at Midnight

Feast at Midnight

Down the memory lane, back to school days,

Once, I was appointed to look out for one our midnight feasts. The day scholars had brought in all the goodies. The venue was the school hall, which sported a huge portrait our erstwhile founder ‘Sister Sarah’.  It also had this great big piano and story has it; she could be heard practicing her mournful musical talents in the dead of the night.

Anyway back to my story, the head girl who was responsible for locking up, had promised to leave one door open.  However, to my utter disbelief, she had forgotten.  The food clandestinely smuggled in with great risk was stashed in the green room behind the stage.  So no change in the venue was possible.

Alternative, check the ventilators.  One of them, providentially had a broken pane, reached in and undid the latch, but no way could reach the door bolt (hands were too short). Now what to do?

My accomplice had a solution to the thorny problem, but in no way was she going to incur the wrath of the founder, so it was self, through the ventilator. Round as a pumpkin, it was akin to squeezing a pillow through a bottle.

I got stuck, trembling in my pajamas; I sneaked a glance at ‘Sis Sarah’, headlights of cars, driving by, shone straight into her eyes, staring at me in all the malevolence.  I sent her an unspoken prayer, unstuck me please; I prayed.  I think she smiled her sardonic smile.

I sucked out every bit of breath from my body and with a great heave ho, my partner in crime pushed through to the other side. I landed on my rear with an earth-shaking bump, undid the tower bolt, thinking of the choicest words I had in my extensive street vocabulary, to burn the head girl’s ears with.

We had a marvellous feast.  I nursed a sore posterior for a week.  I kept my memento of the ripped night suit for great many years.

I missed out a crucial detail, to avoid detection, my bed sported a dummy, made of rolled blankets for the torso and navy uniform sweater formed my head.

My bed-neighbour in the dorm so arranged her and my mosquito nets, that night inspection by our matron, with only a torch for illumination was a cinch.  Any closer inspection, would be deflected, "oh, she is not feeling too well madam."

However, on that day, I received a letter from my pen-friend. She heralded my name from the door, for a heart-stopping moment I paused, undecided whether or not to turn back. You see; I was stealthily making my way down the stairs, nearly half way to the venue. However, thankfully Daya quickly ran to collect it, advantage twin.

Thenceforth, every morning, prior to the assembly as teachers and students stood in neat rows, and to their bewilderment, made ten bows to Sarah’s portrait.  Thank you, Your Ladyship.  Thank you…….

One for the road,

Mom comes to visit her son Ketan and stays for dinner.  Ketan, as with new age youngsters shares his flat with a girl, Meera.

During the meal, Ketan's mother couldn't help but notice how pretty Ketan's, roommate was. She had long been suspicious of a relationship between the two, and this had only made her more curious.

Over the course of the evening, while watching the two interact, she wondered if there was more than met the eye between her son and Meera.

Reading his mom's thoughts, Ketan volunteered, "I know what you must be thinking, but I assure you, Meera and I are just flat mates."

About a week later, Meera came to Ketan saying, "Ever since your mother was here, I've been unable to find the silver chutney jar.  You don't suppose she took it, do you?"

"Well, I doubt it, but I'll email her, just to be sure.”  So Ketan sat down and wrote:

Dear Mother,

I am not saying that you 'did' take the chutney jar from my house, I'm not saying that you 'did not' take the chutney jar.  However, the fact remains that it has been missing ever since you were here for dinner.

Love, Ketan

Several days later, Ketan received an email from his Mother, which read:

Dear Son,

I'm not saying that you 'do' sleep with Meera, and I'm not saying that you 'do not' sleep with Meera.  However, the fact remains that if she was sleeping in her OWN bed, she would have found the chutney jar by now.

Love,

Mom.

Lesson of the day .....

Don't Lie to Your Mother...especially if she is Indian!