The two-timing, dirty rat!! To think that I was being driven up the wall because of new offensives being hurled, day in day out, by this slimy entity-with no tangible solution in sight- was driving me to distraction. My frustration increased exponentially with each passing day, as every new day bore fresh evidence of the escapades of the night before. These stared me in the face: half-eaten chapatis, chicken bones, bread leftovers and other remnants of food, strewn liberally across the kitchen floor, mute testimony to the sinful splurging the night before, and seemed to jeer at my helplessness. No mouse trap worked-its vacant interiors-the bait lying obviously untouched- added insult to injury. The insouciant creature was always one up on me!!
Till something within me snapped: no more of this, I cried; enough was enough. And very carefully-made plans were laid out. A potent rat-killer, that advertisers swore by, was purchased and placed in strategic corners of the kitchen and a few other parts of the house, where it had been sighted scurrying away hurriedly. Life, thereafter, took on a new dimension. Each morning, I would tread gingerly into the kitchen, heart beating in trepidation, expecting to see the fat rodent lying supine at my feet but no such sight greeted my eyes. The obnoxious adversary still eluded me, with all the dexterity of a pro, and evaded the death sentence I had pronounced on it with all the pomposity of a decreeing judge.
My mornings were as nightmarish as ever.
And then, one evening, without preamble, the stand-in maid (the full-timer having gone home on a well-earned, two-month leave had necessitated this one’s presence…but that’s another story) declared that a really foul smell was emanating from the study/servant room. Was there a dead rat somewhere, she wondered aloud. Her words were like music to my ears! The wretched scoundrel had been fixed. Finally! But this initial euphoria abated in the light of harsh reality. In my exultation at the news, I had quite forgotten the exact nature of the room euphemistically called the study. It’s pretty much a store room, or if I stop mincing words-more of a dumping-ground (more so with its rightful occupant having gone home) with old, discarded furniture, mattresses, quilts, old coolers constituting the interesting assortment. Apparently, the rascal had decided to sing its swan song in this madhouse of clutter. How on earth would it be located, and more importantly, disposed of? Finding the solitary, mousy carcass in that stack of stuff was no mean task: the creature had ratted on me.
The horrible stench that assaulted our senses the next morning made the erstwhile sight of food scattered over the kitchen floor seem almost welcome in comparison! And new problems stared me in the face. One was to contact the society’s cleaner the other, to ensure there was someone to oversee the activity. Getting both to happen simultaneously turned out to be more difficult than I had imagined. The hectic, mechanical lifestyles we have, preclude any such crises and short of taking leave from work, there are no provisions made, in Life’s Manual, to handle such contingencies. Everything has to me fine-tuned remotely. As happened that day, once again underpinning the fact that we live in crazy times- slaves to the inexorable movement of the clock.
9 AM-Arun the cleaner arrived on being summoned, and I heaved a sigh of relief. Rescue was at hand, all would be hunky dory soon. But he took one look at the scene of action and declared that it would take time so he would return after ten. Fine, except that the work couldn’t be done under my scrutiny, then. The presence of a supervisor to get operation-rat galvanized into action being imperative, I gave instructions to the part-timer and left.
10 AM- No action. Things are rarely as simple as planned. The fellow never showed up.
12 noon-Hectic parleys with home. Scene ditto; no news of Arun; the maid left after her chores were done.
12.30 PM-I was sitting in the IT office, to answer a fairly innocuous query but the very fact of being there was making me jittery. Overriding all those emotions, however, was a sense of anxiety-had the cleaner come? Had the rodent been evicted from the premises? “Any news?’I whispered, sotto voce, into the phone, just before entering the vaunted chamber. None.
(And all the time, surreptitious calls to Arun’s cell yielded the cold, metallic answer-this phone cannot be reached.)
2 PM-I was in an important meeting, discussing the shape of things to come. Product plans for the future and improvement strategies being chalked out; new ideas bounced off and debated-all very exciting. But the mind kept wandering off…..would the fellow have arrived by now? Would the hateful rat have been sighted and expunged? An agony of suspense!
3PM-The silent phone flashed with an incoming call. I squinted at the name-Arun it said unmistakably. I almost yelled with delight and made my way out of the conference room, as close to a run as was sedately possible.
“Haan, haan bolo” I said, and he informed me that he would reach my home within ten minutes. Another quick call followed, giving crisp instructions to the driver who was almost home, to drop Srishti back from college, to hang on and ensure that he supervised the cleaning operation….
3.50 PM ‘Home’ flashed the cell this time. I sprang and took the call with what must have appeared to be unseemly haste, inviting a couple of quizzical looks. Operation-Rat successful was the drift of the message and I heaved an almost audible sigh of relief.
All quiet on the kitchen-front now. But one disturbing query keeps rearing its ugly head: in the end, who trapped whom: had I trapped the rat or had the blighter trapped me???
