Singing at the pitch of a soprano, I dusted the knick knacks decorating the bureau in the living room. Although a daunting task, I did it with an ease and the expertise of a professional. I was exceptionally high in spirits, nimble on my feet and swift in my action.
I had hoards of odd jobs to complete, for, my part time assistant, true to her unpredictable conduct, had failed to keep up with her appointment. Normal human behaviour called for a cursing of fate and the lady responsible for it. Yet, here I was, singing and trying out ballet steps while sweeping the floor.
The reason for my unusual ecstatic mood was due to a prediction made by the Tarot cards in today’s newspaper. It predicted an excellent day for all fellow Aquarians, with good news pouring in from all directions. It would be a day to cry out loud with happiness. The absence of my maid early in the morning, failed to weaken my die hard belief in the power of astrology.
I sat down with a cup of steaming coffee, trying to replenish my fast ebbing spirits, while mentally checking out the series of jobs remaining to be done. First of all, the piled up unwashed dishes would have to be seized and tackled with a valour matching that of a soldier. Secondly, the chopping of the vegetables and the grinding of the spices required an artistic precision. Finally, my expertise at the day’s cuisine had to be proved beyond doubt.
Before embarking into the kitchen with a battle-whoop, I decided to hang out the washed linen in the balcony.
Lyra, my Labrador, had been watching my experimentation with ballet warily. She lay down on the floor with a sigh of relief, when she saw her mistress repose with her coffee. As I carried the bucket of linen out to the balcony, she stood up, shook herself vigorously, and followed me. Suddenly she looked up and whined. I squeezed out the excess water from the sheet and said, “Be quiet Lyra! I’m busy, can’t play with you now.” She reciprocated with a louder whine followed by a deep throated growl.
Alluring thoughts of good luck which the tarot cards promised (a new sari? candlelight dinner perhaps? Or maybe, the magical appearance of my assistant?) induced the humming of a popular tune and I paid no heed to Lyra’s warning growl.
As I flung the sheet across the line, its edge hit a wasp hive, which the army was on the process of building, and all hell broke loose.
The enraged force, with their war cry drone reaching a crescendo, charged at me in a full throttle, their yellow and brown uniforms dazzling in brilliance. Even in that moment of fear, I could not but admire the polychromatic hue of the advancing terror. They stung with a vengeance at every inch of my exposed skin. Some of them ventured to the extremity of piercing my eyes and blinding me temporarily.
My happy humming was replaced by a long painful cry. Lyra jumped, pawed and growled, trying bravely to shield me from the winged attackers. She too howled out in surprise, when some of them showed the audacity to penetrate her thick skin with their sting.
The drone of the wasps, the wail of the human and the howl of the canine, succeeded in creating a cacophony, which could put the hard-core acid rock enthusiasts to shame. My nimble feet no longer repeated the morning’s ballet steps, but took on the African Samba instead.
I stumbled towards the room, trying to brush off the unmerciful predators. After what seemed to be an eternity, I reached inside with Lyra on my heels and succeeded in banging the door shut. An agonizing pain shot through my body, especially my face, neck and arms.
“Ouch! Woof! Ouch! Woof!” the duet, not only livened up the usually quiet and serene atmosphere of my apartment, but also permeated to my neighbour’s house.
Continuing with my acrobatic rendition, I opened the front door to let my neighbour in. She rushed in, and taking me to the faucet, splashed cold water on my face and arms, trying to soothe my burning skin and perhaps literally drown my shrill cries.
The combination of the cold water and her sympathetic cooing eventually eased the pain and calmed me down a bit, and my gaze fell on the mirror above the sink.
I shrieked out in silence, “mirror mirror on the wall, which’s the ugliest of us all!” A gargoyle stared back, whose tear streaked face was covered by a mass of peanut sized angry red swellings. The gargoyle grimaced, smiled, grinned and finally broke down into hysterical laughter.
My friend was convinced that the pain had made me lose my equilibrium. Clucking like a mother hen, she led me to the bed room and made me lie down.
Just then, the telephone bells chimed, heralding my husband’s voice. “Listen! A meeting has been called at 7, and so I won’t be back till late.” “Eureka! Good news! There seems to be no dearth in my good luck today! Exactly as the cards predicted!” Perhaps my husband failed to detect the sarcasm in my voice, for the silence that greeted me in return was a puzzled one. I dispelled his bewilderment by narrating in details of my tryst with the wasps, and promising that I would never ever again glance at” today’s prediction” in the newspaper, let alone believe in it.
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