The Youngest Rose, the late Daddykins’ youngest sister, called me this afternoon. She wanted to know how I was doing and I told her about my routine and she told me about hers. And then she relayed her headline news. She saw, actually saw, the big brother this morning, relaxing in bed, eyes shut, fast asleep. “Really?” I said. This was not good news. “Your father was snoozing. I’m telling you I saw him. Right there. In front of me.” This didn’t augur well for me. Now hell choose to visit me in my slumber tonight. He’ll yank out the cardboard box from the trash can outside his bedroom. He’ll fish out the torn sachet of red chilli flakes. “So this is what you do for dinner after I’m gone?” he’ll say. “Order in a Paneer Makhani pizza.” He’ll look towards the dining table. “I dont get a single slice out of the Personal Pan you polished off?” He’ll linger a little longer. “What else did you get?” he’ll ask. “Nothing,” I’ll say. “Garlic bread? With a little cheese, perhaps?” “Nope,” I’ll say. And then he’ll look at the bill lying on the table and tell me I probably overtipped the delivery boy. Just before he flies away into the drapes in his room, he’ll give me one last warning: “Next time, baby, don’t order in on New Moon Day. Respect tradition. At least in my house. Thank you.”
Posted on: Sat, 26 Jul 2014 13:57:18 +0000