The Curious Case of Mrs. Norris

So, here’s the thing.

I found Mrs. Norris.

Not the cranky and creepy Mrs. Norris from Austen’s Mansfield Park, but the cranky and creepy Mrs. Norris from Harry Potter, aka Filch’s cat.

Here I was, wondering whether the crazy cat is still prowling the corridors of the imaginary but awesome school of Hogwarts, when all of a sudden I realize she has been in India all along, and what do you know, she wasn’t even possessing her feline shape. She is, in fact, currently occupying the old, withering mortal vessel of my land-lady. Well, technically not my landlady, but her mother to be precise; who will henceforth be referred to as Lady Norris – (even though “lady” is a rather generous concession).

I cannot tell you how Lady Norris’s temperament was before Argus Filch’s fine companion decided to ditch him in pursuit of a life of harassing the youth of Delhi. But, what I can tell you is that I have never been more certain of the supernatural! It is possible! I have seen the misopedistic soul of Mrs. Norris sneering at me every time I turned around to find Lady Norris lurking behind me.

Lady Norris finds some sadistic pleasure out of sneaking up on people unannounced and scaring the bejeezus out of them. She displays blatant disregard for common social practices such as knocking, not staring at people to the point of discomfort or even not commenting about the amount of vegetables you have ladled onto your dinner-plate; and has a flair for ignoring obvious hints.

If ever you find yourself tempted to break one of her gazillion rules, even something as harmless as cracking open the window a tiny bit at 5 in the morning, to let some healthy breeze circulate in your room, well, take my advice and don’t. Lady Norris has an uncanny ability to sniff out misdemeanor and will be upon you within seconds, even when you could swear that she had been locked inside the basement only moments ago.

Though Mrs. Norris has never really revealed any particular fondness for shiny galleons, I am sure, had Hogwarts shared India’s economic conditions, she would surely have. And I can say this with such conviction because Lady Norris here never ignores an opportunity to squeeze out pennies from her hapless victims. If you do not believe me, you can try sneaking in a pair of socks into the washing machine, in the middle of the night. You will be accosted with a greasy palm demanding fifty bucks as laundry fee almost immediately. Incidentally the previous tenants of my humble abode had been caught red-handed trying to use the geyser for hot water in months that cannot strictly be classified under ‘winter months’. Till this day, I have had to pay for her indiscretion by having my mind rubbed raw and ears reeling from her hours of grumbling; which brings me to my ultimate directive – under NO circumstance should you ever engage her in a conversation. Unless, of course, you have an enemy on whom you want to inflict permanent cerebral impairment. In which case, you can expect a rather satisfying result.

Okay, I think I have been a little too harsh. Maybe she does have a heart-wrenchingly tragic romance in her past which haunts her till date, making the Lady a misanthrope. At least, that was what I sensed as I was surreptitiously entering the perimeter of my lodging yesterday after paying the “pizza guy” his due. I was, once again, startled by her lone figure sitting on the steps leading to the porch staring into the infinity with unblinking and seemingly lost eyes. My vivid imagination immediately started piecing together a pitifully anguished tale involving a reckless romance, a fleeing paramour and a broken heart.               

Even though her imagined yesteryears have warmed me to her just a little, here’s to hoping neither my land-lady nor Lady Norris ever happens across this blog entry. I sincerely DO NOT want minced roaches for dinner. Ever.

An Apple Abandoned...

“They want me to lead a team to a dispute zone near the border. Nothing I have not done before – piece of cake. Don’t worry, Dad, I will be back before you have the time to miss me”, Rajeev had insisted.

He drained the last drops of what was once a steaming cup of coffee and set it carefully on the coaster. The chipped edges of the cup gave away its decrepitude. The wooden chair creaked it’s protests when he leaned back and closed his eyes in exhaustion and despair. Much like the cup, he too was struggling through his winter years. Slowly and with painstaking precision, he etched a small straight line, with a worn-out nail that he had produced from his pocket, on one side of the table in front of him. This carved line was accommodated by 456 of its brothers next to it. The parched leaves above let out a rattling sigh, surrendering to the gentle breeze. 

He took one last bite of the apple and set it back next to the waiting chess-board. His trembling fingers started to edge towards the pieces on the game-board. He braced himself – it was time to stow away his scrupulously laid out game. 

As he shuffled back towards his cold and lonely hearth, Nature seemed to mirror him mockingly. Weary birds returning to their humble abode were being engulfed in love and warmth. Crickets indulged in cheerful harmonics and the heavens were adorned in an obscene display of celestial hues.

But his attention was focused elsewhere, on the morrow. Another day had passed; another unfinished game that did not see its players reunited. Yet, his conviction remained unwavering; as it had been since the beginning – tomorrow would be the day. It had been over a year, 457 days, to be precise, when Rajeev had got that phone call….. That one phone call that had brought all of their lives to a standstill…. 

After seven months in the trenches, Rajeev had finally come home to him….. His mother worked tirelessly in the kitchen preparing every dish that their son had ever relished. Every nook and cranny of the recently painted house had to be scrubbed, the lawn mowed, the garden trimmed. He fondly teased her about her compulsive need to clean everything till one could use it as a mirror. Though he would not admit it aloud, he was working hard to mask his own jubilance and love. His eyes shone with fierce pride as he sat across his son at a small table out in the garden playing chess. As his son made his next move, he could clearly see the inevitable outcome of the game – in just a few more moves, Rajeev would score his 3^rd consecutive victory. As their eyes met, he could see that the spark of the imminent victory had induced a breathtaking smile on his Rajeev’s face, enhanced by the glow of the setting sun. But this moment was forever marred by the shrill call of a ringing phone.

 “They want me to lead a team to a dispute zone near the border. I have done this many times – piece of cake. Don’t worry, Dad, I will be back before you have the time to miss me”, Rajeev had insisted.

A fortnight had passed when, on a stormy afternoon, a military officer appeared at their doorstep carrying an official letter. 

There had been no remains to cremate. They had to bury an empty coffin; which is probably why, to this day, an old man could be found at every sunset waiting for his game to be finished.

The world dismissed his actions as that of a mad man. The world did not adopt his abject optimism. The world had grieved and learnt to forge on.    

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This blog entry is dedicated to my brother in soul and spirit and an extremely close friend - Pravesh Parekh.

I think that, judging by the quality of this piece, you would have already guessed that this is one of my first foray into fictional writing. During my almost year-long writer's block, he had inspired me to write this piece. I finally worded the images that had been painted in my head about half a year later.... well, that is just me... the master procrastinator! The words were then further enhanced by Labani Biswas, another great friend ( I am blessed in the friends department, I know!).

Pravesh Parekh maintains an excellent blog of his own. If you are not already following him, you can do so at:

http://requiem-for-a-lost-soul.blogspot.com/ 

To follow Biswas's blog, use the link:

http://biswaslabani.blogspot.in/