"For a wonderful physical tie binds the parents to the children; and - by some sad, strange irony - it does not bind us children to our parents. For if it did, if we could answer their love not with gratitude but with equal love, life would lose much of its pathos and much of its squalor, and we might be wonderfully happy."

- Where Angels Fear to Tread by E. M. Forster

The Unexpected Guest

A lizard has crept into my kitchen sink. Seriously. And it refuses to vacate the premises. It is tiny and dark with a pattern of concentric white dots running down its tail. I let the tap water run at full force, but it perched unconcerned at the rim of my favourite cooking bowl (I use it for everything from boiling rice, to cooking veggies, preparing Maggi, pasta, pulav, soup, rasam etc.) I threw a plate that hit the sink with a resounding crash, but all I got of this exercise was a glimpse of the beady-eyed beauty as it disappeared further into unknown depths of another unlucky utensil. I told myself to ‘man up’ and get rid of it somehow, but no success. I’m now going to sleep on it and hope that tomorrow morning as I step into the kitchen to prepare tea, I am greeted by solitude. And not by lizard poop. Yes, I can hear you making a mental note never to eat at my place again. :’(

Meanwhile, I’ve been condemned to eating out at all times, which mind you is no fun when you’re alone. Try going to a nice restaurant and asking for a ‘table for one’. Quite apart from anything else, it’s just depressing. And there’s always a couple, lurking nearby, mocking you (and always the standard format, pretty girl – fat guy). So I have to lump it and eat at Hotel Saravana Bhavan.

This is not the first time, though, that some creepy crawly has attempted to interfere with my lazy style of home running. The first adversaries I encountered when I moved in were red ants. They took over my life. Starting with a packet of biscuits and the pack of rubber-bands, they moved on to other articles of their interest, infiltrated my packets of Maggi, macaroni, wheat flour, arhar daal, soup, rice, salt and samosas. I would see them delicately moving along in a distinct line now here and now there, eventually invading my dreams where they feasted on me. There are bulky lines drawn outside the cupboards with the anti-roach chalk now, for that is what keeps them at bay.

This package of lizards and red ants has been present in every house I’ve rented in Chennai. The lizards of course are multi-hued and in many sizes, they don’t just keep to the walls, they scramble across the floor. There are the flying cockroaches too, don’t you just love those?

The best encounter however was perhaps a year and a half ago, when I woke up groggy a Saturday morning to see the maid standing outside the kitchen pointing helplessly in stunned outrage. The offending party, it transpired, was a pair of debauched lizards, busily ‘at it’ on the kitchen floor. Stifling a mad urge to giggle, I very composedly drove away the salacious couple, much to the relief of the lady. I am a gentleman after all.