The Post-Holi Morning

'So, here we are, investigating the murder of the watchman of our building, but the murder has taken place in Bandra, which is freakin far from where we live, but we’re still investigating it. Good riddance to the watchman. I just knew he’s better off dead because he must have done something wrong that made me feel that way, and at that point of the investigation, I actually knew what he’d done.

The next day was the day off, so I did what I do best, pick up a camera and run to the beach, only the beach was this gigantic stretch of black rocks, much like Bandra’s land’s end. I spend most of the evening taking pictures. I know its evening because I can see the sun set. I get pictures of people on picnics, girls and boys roaming about and the perfect black and white picture of a grandfather, grandson and their dog. The grandfather, however, doesn’t come within the frame. Just a bald patch of his head makes it. The boy must be five or six years old. The dog is fluffy and caramel colored.



Anyway, something reminds me about the case and I head home, fortunately, this time its not Bandra. I sit discussing the case with my mother when I noticed the couple living across the street spying on us, though their windows have dark glasses (X-ray vision I guess). They notice me noticing them and all hell breaks loose. They try to send us bouquets, tones of ‘em. Then they threaten me with shinny toy-like pistols. Now under normal conditions, I’d have turned my living room into a bathroom, at the very sight of guns (or whatever they were) but here, I’m brave. I barely flinch. As a matter of fact, I don’t flinch at all! I just slam the door on their faces.

Then the church choir comes and sings at my door on their behalf. (whacky where this is going, isn’t it?) After I manage to interrupt their singing with my (very justified) protests, I explain to them that I’d be calling the police since the couple’s harassing me, and they’d better leave unless they want to wind up in the lock up too (choir in the lock up! The thought itself is just downright amusing). They freak out. One of them apologizes and tells me that they were told that UTV and UTI (?!?!) would be covering this, so they came. They left. I see the husband of the couple hiding beside the door. When he realizes that he can be seen, he says “Ooops” and walks off. That’s when I recognize him. He’s my friend Nikhil (aka Gobi).'

Fortunately for me, I woke up. The dream was freaking confusing and I was more than happy to get rid of it. That, however, was the good part of my morning.

My real morning begins now. I wake up to find my face unusually swollen. It might have been because I tried waking up in the middle of the night to watch Manchester United (yes, I like using the entire name instead of just ManU) play, but kept dozing off so I skipped it. I got off the bed and realized that my download speed had dropped from sucky to suckier. Only 10% got done through the night (heartbroken). Then it happened.

Something began to rumble in my tummy. Must be last night’s raajma (kidney beans for all ye sophisticated readers), dammit! It was time to GO! I scamper around searching for a pair of slippers, coz the bathroom’s definitely wet. My eye still pokes. I can’t find my slippers. I can’t find my hairclip. My tummy’s making insane noises and doing its earthquake thing inside. I swear, if someone tells me that we have tectonic plates inside our tummies, I’ll believe them! In all the hurry, scurry and confusion, I dropped an open safety pin (yes, there goes the ‘safety’ part) and stepped on it. The moment I stepped on that pin, I knew that this morning was blog-worthy. I spent the next 5 glorious minutes ‘doing er… morning stuff’ and I sat thinking of this article’s title. This is exactly why today’s title sounds so ‘crappy’ :(

On the brighter side of things, my friends, who non-miraculously downed around four litres of ‘bhaang’ with ‘thandai’, will be having one heck of a morning themselves – way worse than mine, come to think of it :D