Is Lord Voldemort lurking close-by? If there is any truth in fiction, then I can almost sense his presence.
For nothing else explains this sudden bout of terrible weather in Bangalore. What used to be a bright blue cheerful sky less than a day ago is now dark and gloomy, with a heaving bosom. The drizzle has turned colic, without pausing to catch its breath even once. Everything is just so cold and gray and unsettling.
And nothing else can explain this sudden bout of unnecessary drama in my life.
Reached my workplace completely drenched on a day when CEO was down from Delhi on an inspection tour.
Greeted my dress code-conscious CEO in my gym pants.
Went on a hurried shopping spree to buy decent clothes before the evening review meeting. The overpriced kurta was much appreciated by the receptionist: “Aah, lovely pattern, very similar to the new bedsheet I bought the other day. eeeee….same material too!”
Turned out to be a waste of investment as the CEO didn’t turn up in the evening.
Drowned my sorrows in a slice of garlic bread (yummy-but-bad-for-tummy size Tomato Brushetta, sourced from Cake Walk, 100 Feet Road, Indiranagar), without realizing that it was about to shake my South-Indian Brahmanical household.
“What is this smell?” started Appa, his nostrils twitching, even before I could remove my slippers.
I didn’t reply, as that involved opening my mouth and letting bad breath out.
“Sulphuric acid,” said my dad knowingly, before more wisdom hit him.
“Aiyyoo…this is non-veg smell. Don’t know what lamb and chicken she has eaten,” he cried out.
“Appa, it is only garlic bread, that too one slice” (ok..two!)
“No, you smell of alcohol…have you boozed?” – a new dimension was duly added by my sister, who had, till now, led me to believe that she had 10 years of work ex with sinful friends in Mumbai.
“No! Are you mad?” I shout.
“You HAVE boozed.” she stated with a meaningful full-stop.
“What is this smell?”
“Ok, I have eaten garlic bread, so I smell of garlic. I have brushed my teeth twice already.”
“But it does smell peculiar.”
“Amma, she has boozed…Vodka, eh?” started my sister again.
“Have you boozed?” Amma shrieked.
“No Amma, this girl is mad.”
“No? God promise?”
And then in a more quivering voice – “Amma promise?”
“Amma Promise. Appa Promise. Shubha Promise. Boss Promise. CEO Promise. Autowallah Promise…. Oh god, I am losing it.”
“Enough, enough….I believe you,” said Amma.
Thank God. Finally!
4 hours later. 2 am.
“Get up, get up. I am not getting any sleep. Promise you didn’t go to a bar?”
“Uff Amma, No!”
“Keep your hand on my head and promise.”
I did as instructed.
Amma went to sleep, while I tossed on bed, cursing Lord Voldemort.