LAUGHTER TUESDAYS (64)

THE MISADVENTURES OF THE COMEDIENNE SISTERS.: A COMEDY SHORT STORY BY Me.

CHAPTER 15:

ALL FOR THE SAKE OF COMEDY.

We had a couple of days off for Diwali. As usual, Mom bossed us around while the cleaning was in progress. We had started the dreadful, tiresome project, a week earlier and were now digging up treasures from all corners of the house, which included wrappers of chocolates and chewing gums, pencil shavings, scraps of paper containing some mobile number,( God only knows to whom those numbers belonged) and plenty of cobwebs. Yeww! I hate spiders. And then….. I screamed in horror and yelled, ” Murder! Murder! ” My sister, Rhea, dropped her dusting cloth and came to my aid. She poured a glass of water and winked at me, ” Ok, Sherlock! Stop your overacting and spit it out! Whose dead body did you discover under this queen sized bed?”

I took the flashlight on the study table and held it like a microphone and said, ” Welcome to the House of Horror. Breaking News! A young girl, Lekha Patel, nearly fainted after seeing the dead body of a lizard under her bed. Now, the question is who killed the poor creature and why? ” My sister, Rhea, snatched the phone from me and continued, ” This is Inspector Rhea from the House of horror. The poor lizard died due to asphyxiation. It held its breath for long after it inhaled the foul smelling socks of Ms. Lekha. Unfortunately, her carelessness caused the death of an innocent creature. Her punishment is to listen to her mother’s lectures for a whole day.”

Both of us were giggling like kids until the voice of the main villain ( Mom) echoed from the kitchen, ” If I catch you girls wasting your time, you will be sorry, for sure.” Finally, we finished the Herculean task of cleaning our room. We had piled up heaps of clothes that we had outgrown. As my luck would have it, I had to discard my favourite yellow and blue salwar kameez. But first, let me explain my special talent. My expanding waistline and an invisible knife at my rear end, always created holes in my pyjamas, for which my mother and sister always made fun of me. The salwaar ( pyjamas) had been torn at the seat and went through so many alterations that the dress almost pleaded with me to stop wearing it. That said, mom called us for tea.

Later, she went out with Mrs.Chatterbox and instructed Rhea to prepare Dal-Rotis ( Lentil Soup and Indian flatbread) for the family. Rhea dragged me to the kitchen and forced me to knead the dough. As much as I despised cooking, I could not avoid it, fearing the wrath of my sister. When it was time to make the rotis, the gas cylinder was exhausted. “Oh no! ” my sister groaned, ” What shall I do now? The gas cylinder is empty.” ‘I joked, ” Well, I can help you. I have been farting since morning. Shall I refill the cylinder by sitting on it?” ” Shut up,” laughed Rhea, “‘I already know this joke. Kapil Sharma has already mentioned it.” Then I suggested, ” Why don’t we follow ” Borrow from the neighbor” Policy? That’s what ‘we usually do, right? ” I just realised the value of having a good relationship with the neighbors. A neighbor in need is a neighbor indeed.

Rhea shook her head and ordered food online. We put the kneaded dough in a Tupperware container and kept it in the refrigerator. Finally, Mom returned at 7 PM, carrying a huge gift wrapped item. ” Girls,” she exclaimed, ” Look what I have got! ” Rhea and I were curious to know about the mystery package. So, we joined Mom as she unwrapped the gift to reveal a 10×10 framed painting of God knows what. The frame was covered in different shades of yellow. Initially, I thought the artist had a runny nose and had used his phlegm for the painting. Rhea and I fought hard to suppress our laughter as I pretended to appreciate, ” Wow! Excellent, Mom. This is a wonderful painting.” Mom seemed to be highly pleased until I said, ” ‘I appreciate the artist for daring to use a child’s poop and smear it evenly on the canvas. How much did you pay for this framed shit?” Rhea burst out laughing as Mom glared at me ( which wasn’t unusual). Mom said, ” What do you know about the modern art? You don’t know how to hold the pencil, let alone sketch. You should not passing comments unless you have the knowledge of the subject. This painting has a hidden meaning.”
” Wait, ” I interrupted, ” How foolish of me for failing to recognize the meaning of this beautiful work ( ugly trash)! This is indeed, great.” Mom raised her eyebrows as I explained, ” You see, Rhea. The artist is saying that the whole world is a big toilet and everyone is leading a shitty life.” Rhea and I roared with laughter as Mom flung her sandals at us which missed us narrowly by inches.

We closed the door behind us as Mom was in a foul mood because of my teasing. Later, Dad came home, using expletives for his boss. ” Rhea” called Mom. She exited quietly and I followed suit. She summoned us and asked, ” Why didn’t you tell me that our gas cylinder was exhausted? When did it get over? ” Rhea told her the truth and that ‘we had ordered the food online. Mom thought for a while and then smiled, ” That was quick thinking on your part. Now, keep quiet and don’t say a word to your father. And Lekha, I forgive you this time but please learn to control your tongue.” We had dinner and went to bed quickly.

The next day was quite sunny and the reporter on the weather forecast had predicted it to be Sunny throughout the day. Mom usually made it a point to check the weather forecast before planning to go out. She went to the beauty parlor with her best friend, Archana, who lived in the building opposite to ours. After getting their facials, pedicure and manicure done, they started for home when suddenly there was an ugly twist in the tale. The sky was suddenly overcast with dark clouds and it started raining heavily, washing away the make up on their faces. By the time, Mom came home, she was completely drenched. When I opened the door, I held back the urge to laugh at her bedraggled appearance. Her mascara and eyeliner were running all over her face. She looked like Annabelle doll. She was screaming, ” Wait till I get my hands on the the man who did the weather forecast. ‘I wish to wring his neck for misleading public with his inaccurate prediction. Sunny day, my foot! It’s raining cats and dogs.”

Sometimes, it’s better to leave a wounded tigress alone. I made her a cup of tea and went to my room to read a mystery novel. Had Mom been an author, she would have been plotting a murder mystery with the title ” The Murder of the Weatherman “!

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