Humour: In the Jug, with Love (FWE motivation)

 

When he is cooped up in the jug for fourteen days without an option, a lad of some twenty summers has nothing much to do except rue the events of that fateful day which brought his fledgling career as a young man in love to an abrupt end and forced him to tap his way through solid rocks under the influence of the searing sun with nothing but a sledge hammer.

 

After spending hours as an infant on my mother’s lap learning to value truth above anything else, I would not take the liberty to lie to my audience now. I would rather most regretfully admit that I am this same young man in question and would assume complete responsibility for my actions.

 

On second thought, allow me to rephrase my last statement. Yes, I was the very man serving his sentence in the chokey but I was not the one entirely responsible for my current state of affairs. I’m a fair-minded man who believes in giving credit where credit is due. I won’t go about robbing banks with my team of professional robbers without even tendering a single word of appreciation to my accomplices on a job well done. I won’t yarn that had I not furnished Brinkley with the right sized hammer, he would not have been able to break the lock or incessantly harp that had I forgotten to dip the handkerchief in chloroform, Corky would have failed to put the guards under. Following suite, I’d hold Ms. Brown, my ex-betrothed, equally responsible for the delicate position I was in.

 

At this juncture, I’d request my most astute reader, that is you, to take her eyes off this memoir for a moment, stare into the vast nothingness inconspicuously sprawled around her and put two and two together. Readers who know me personally or have been reading my reminiscences for quite some time now, would vouch for my inability to perpetrate any crime that could have me sentenced and manacled. They would know the type of gentleman I am, apart from being an impeccably dressed one of course; one whose tongue ties itself in knots and whose gray matter stops functioning without notice when their proprietor, that is me, comes in direct contact with a member of the fairer sex. With this as the background information, my readers would now begin to scratch their respective beans furtively in order to fish the hitherto unobvious means and motive behind my recent cooping up. They would do this, the scratching of their respective beans I mean, and while their fingers are busy making inroads in their scalps, like a flash of lightning everything would suddenly dawn upon them and from then on their lives would be one grand, sweet song. They’d convince themselves that it’s that lady named Ms Brown under whose influence and motivation I might have perpetrated some crime that had me sentenced. This done, running through the remaining anecdote in order to establish the reason behind the perpetration of the crime would present itself as a mere formality to them.

 

Now, those readers who haven’t had the opportunity to know me till date would either dismiss me as verbose and castigate me for my inflated ramblings or go ahead and read the entire anecdote and leave their judgement for later.

 

For the reading pleasure of both my readers’ types, those who know me and those who don’t, I state the facts in the following lines.

 

Ms. Brown shimmered into my life as uninvited as the rays of the morning sun that steal into the home of unsuspecting individuals via French windows and leave their souls thoroughly refreshed and rejuvenated with their tender and soporific touch. My jaw dropped at her sight and my eyes almost left respective sockets in excitement. Her beatific beauty was breathtaking. God might have destroyed the mold,  accidentally of course, after creating her for we don’t see similar specimen nowadays. Her eyes met mine and her soft luscious lips moved in coordination with her lissome arms. She was saying something which I could not fathom as my brain was busy elsewhere. I kept staring at her goggle-eyed with my lower jaw hanging until I observed that she was waving vigorously at me in order to attract my attention. My senses returned to their throne and I endeavoured to hang as attentively as possible on to every syllable she cooed in her soft voice.

 

“I was saying that I moved into your neighbouring apartment today. My phone does not seem to be working at present. May I use yours, please?”, she asked politely.

 

The learned reader might have noticed that my memoirs are verbose and hardly laconic. I would not blame my reader if she takes the liberty to assume that I employ similar lashings of verbosity while dealing with the members of the fairer sex. But if you be kind enough to take my word, I can assure you that I can only articulate myself as substantially as a parrot in the presence of a woman because my tongue ties itself in knots and my brain stops to function without prior intimation or notice. In order to surmount the outlined inadequacies and answer Ms. Brown’s question, I had to put in a lot of effort.

 

“Oh yes, yes, yes, of course. Why not? Phone...phone...phone...where’s that blighter? Oh yes...there it is...right there”, I answered with imposed geniality as I directed her gaze towards the device.

 

Our meetings became more frequent. We began to like each other. She said that she loved that dazed look which came into my eyes quite naturally when she spoke to me. It reminded her of  dog regarding a distant bone. Well, it was a compliment, don’t you know? She said that she dreamt of marrying someone like me since childhood. I did not venture to ask her what she meant with “someone like me” but assumed it to a fair and an accurate observation. Eventually she proposed and I said “Yes”. Thus, we were engaged.

 

***

 

Had Marcus Aurelius personally met me before I had landed in the jug and told me that whatever Providence has planned for me, good or bad, will fall in my lap no matter how hard I might try to avoid it, I would have either socked him in the right eye or dismissively asked him to boil his head. But not now; when I’m convinced that eventualities do manifest themselves stealthily and wreak havoc in an individual’s life.

 

Exactly fourteen days back, Ms. Brown stormed into my apartment quite peevish and almost shaken to the core. She was crying one of those sombre cries which women in pain usually cry. I mopped a brow and enquired the reason for her present state of being while trying to plant that good old embrace on her. Between sobs she said that her favourite Pekinese has been apprehended by Constable Wooles for biting him in the calf of his leg.

 

“Poor Mackintosh took immediate fancy to that fat constable (perhaps because he was shabbily dressed and smelled of garlic) who was then on his beat and chased him to the end of the world. When Wooles paused for breath, Mackintosh utilized this window of opportunity and dug his teeth into Wooles left calf. Wooles seared in agony and demanded an immediate apology from me for the dog’s unnatural behaviour.”

 

“Then did you apologize?”, I asked rather more curious than necessary.

 

“No of course not. Why should I? Poor Mackintosh did what every dog in his right mind would do after spotting constables like Wooles who can’t groom themselves even to the liking of a dog.”

 

“Yes”, I agreed. “Constable Wooles does look like a mess at times. Where’s Macintosh?”

 

Ms. Brown let out another sob which immediately struck off some vital vitamins out of me. “Didn’t I just tell you that he has been apprehended by that filthy constable. He has taken Poor Mackintosh to his home and won’t let him go until I apologize. I wish you paid more attention to what I’ve to say and don’t you stare at me like a half-witted whatnot.”

 

“Well...”

 

“Well, what?”

 

“Well...”

 

“Will you stop blithering for once? I’ve had enough since morning and I don’t want you to keep well-ing like a parrot. Sometimes I wish you were a parrot. Then you would have talked some sense”, she spat obviously miffed to the point of explosion.

 

After this brief tirade, she collected herself and spoke matter-of-factly.

 

“I want you to do something for me. You must steal Mackintosh from Constable Wooles’ house”

 

This had my bean swimming for a bit. I wasn’t sure whether I heard Ms. Brown correctly. “Did you just ask me to steal Mackintosh from Constable Wooles’ house?”

 

“Don’t you understand English? I wish for once you were not a lurid imbecile that you are. Yes, I want you to steal Mackintosh for me.”

 

This was getting a bit thick. However, I decided to fight my way out of the tough spot I was in by summoning my chivalrous self to my rescue.

 

“I refuse to commit robbery and that too in the house of the constabulary itself. I’m a law abiding citizen and a free one and plan to remain in similar state for the rest of my life”, I said defiantly and braced myself for the impact.

 

“So you refuse to act on my wishes?”, she asked getting quite worked up.

 

“I sure do”, I answered with a hint of iron in my voice.

 

“Very well then. I’m glad I came to know about the type of man you are, who can’t even fulfill the modest wishes of the women he loves, before linking my lot with you for life. I had a very lucky escape indeed. You may kiss our engagement good bye. Thank you very much.”

 

“Are you handing me the mitten?”

 

“Will do if you don’t galvanize into action right now and bring my poor old Mackintosh back to me within the next hour.”

 

I shall now take the liberty to stop pen and leave the rest to the vivid imagination of my learned reader.

 

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© All rights reserved, 2013 by Ratandeep Satwant Singh. Please visit me at DeadwoodEdition.com and tweet me at Poet_Ratan.