I write this from my bunker in Malabar Hill. A stone’s throw away from the Chief Minister’s house. Although, obviously, you shouldn’t really throw a stone. Too many cops, you might not be able to miss every one of them. Now that you brought it up, here’s a strange story.
The current Chief Minister does not even live there. He lives at Shivaji Park (I’m not sure which one since he never invited me home, still waiting), Dadar. He just keeps his utensils here. Oh, and a flat screen TV, in case it’s a working day.
But this is my story, so can we all stick to my utensils only, please? I want to share the rules of the lockdown, not as dictated by the government (no need to fear them), instead these are the rules conveyed to me by my spouse, who stands one rank above the prime minister and is apparently equal to God. My wife’s name will not be shared in case she wants to marry again. Keeps me off the hook. Now, those men whose only friends have been utensils, please, please pay attention.
Men, you have entered a very strange environment of your home that most of you are blissfully unaware of. You will find and discover a lot of peculiar things. I was amazed to find, for instance, that the room that I leave in a mess in the morning, and come to it being spick and span in the evening doesn’t clean itself. Surprisingly, my wife puts it all together, and by day 2 of the lockdown, I had found my life’s calling.
The reason why I was sent on earth, my meaning in life. Folding bed covers. Mind you, that is no easy task. It took me 26 minutes to accomplish it the first time. The wife said the folds have to be even and uniform. It was a real eye opener for me, I have no idea ‘uniform’ could be used in any other way than to describe apparel. Finding this ‘environment’ initially was like walking through a mine field. Now let us get specific, the one who pushed the PM to the second place has instructed me to do so. Toilette: Yes, I’ve used the French spelling because I’ve had so many happy memories in there.
Of course, most of them were when I had hair. Now, it is less about the time I spend in the toilette, rather a case of how much time I spend ‘on’ the toilet. The wife introduced me to a powerful weapon, whose name I can’t even pronounce. Why don’t you try, please? ‘katkaa’. In English, it translates to a ‘wet rag’, which is the same description we use for my great aunt Agnes. How I wish I could use her to mop the toilette floor. She has so much body circumference, the task would be over in seconds.
Instead, 9 inches of smelly, damp, slippery ‘katkaa’ has to be applied to wipe out water and dust which no else can see, except, the one PM reports to. She, obviously, has super powers. And anyone who is familiar with super powers knows that suer sight is the first of them. Thanks to our great leader (not your great leader, mine that outranks yours), I discovered a muscle called the hamstring. It may sound like a cousin of the common sausage. It is not.
It is just an area which gets injured, when you are working on cleaning your toilette, for the greater good. For those of you who just joined us, ‘greater good’ is the pet name of my wife. It is what we lovingly call her. Don’t ask, its too late to question these decisions. Kitchen: Now let’s talk about how Master Chef is a complete fraud. How they made a fool of us! Especially, aster Chef Australia.
None of the people in our kitchen have Australian accents. My chef (who is trapped here with us), doesn’t wear any fancy suits with cravats. Praveen, and I can swear to this on any holy book, does not even speak Australian. Actually, due to great fear felt by the presence of that person who keeps outranking the rest, Praveen the chef doesn’t speak at all, like the rest of us in the household. He only communicates with nods. The kitchen taught me a very valuable lesson. Never buy a dish washer.
That’s because, in spite of having a perfectly shiny, efficient, expensive one, the machine has been given an elevated position in our house. The machine has been rested, I think till the 2021 Tokyo Olympics, which will be called 2020 Tokyo Olympics, just to irritate all of us. In place of the dishwasher, I have been given the clarion call. The call to replace the dishwasher, er, with myself. Supreme leader says less than 10 dishes mean I am the shiny, new, less expensive dishwasher.
And here’s a futile point, even though we eat off the plate, I still am told to clean the underside. Who cleans the back of a plate? Er….me. And so, thanks to coronavirus and following the rules and regulations of the leader (did I mention: the one above all others?), I’m living ‘La Vida Loca’. Cooking, cleaning, scrubbing, brushing, mopping, and if I’ve been a good boy, I get to walk the dogs. Two more weeks, please! The writer is a comedian, TV anchor, theatre personality, satirist, podcaster and an author
