A whale in my bucket

The Whale in my Bucket

Everyday I and my little sister come back from school to a locked home. We walk the short distance from the school to our home. On the way we see a butcher, a mechanic and then a long deserted road that leads to a very busy intersection and then home, sweet home. Along the way, my little sister keeps asking this and that and then why this and why that. She is a bit stupid I think. I can tell her anything and she believes it. I only have to make sure that I say it as if I am serious about the whole affair. Not that she has any dearth of grey cells but she trusts me like only a little sister can. I am the senior of the two. Did you know, I was born two years, one month and 11 days before she was? Being a senior, it is my duty to wait for my little sister and make her cross the busy highway. Once we are on the other side of it, we are almost safe. And so everyday, I wait for her to say her prolonged goodbyes to her annoying friends who like her are fourth graders. The highway is the only thing that makes me wait for that nosy little pesky pig! I love pigs, but only in a funny way. I cannot stand them if they come near me but I like to look at them from a distance. I like to look at the way they run after each other with their tails up in the air when a junior pig tries to pick from the same rubbish dump. Its funny because the main pig never seems to finish the pile on his own but he still would scream and shout at the rest of the junta just if they take a tiny bit out of it.

Anyways, so there we were at our doorstep, finally home. My sister as usual went to her bed and flopped down. Cannot blame her for doing that, its July and hot and humid and very Delhish. The middle of monsoon season when there is a lull in the rains and the air is so humid that you feel like puking when you breathe. I like winters. They are cool and fresh, not like the summers, oppressive is the only word that comes to mind. Atleast home was cooler. We did not put ON the cooler as it makes the condition worse. I opened up the window and just turn ON the fan instead. Just standing under that fan is heaven.

Now, I need to get this pig to feed as well or else Mom will come back from her school and then tell me that I am the bigger of the two and that I should have taken care of this little thing. Why are little girls so very boorish? If I ask her to get up, she will refuse. If I force her to get up, she will make sure that the whole neighbourhood knows that I am forcing her to do something that she does not want to at present. And then it will mean further trouble.
“Why did you not take care of her?”
“She is small. You have to take care of her till I get back from work.”
“Just ask her to eat what I have kept for you both.”

As if its that easy to make this mule headed girl eat against her will. Well, Mom never listens when even the neighbours are taking the side of my little adversary. If I was Mom probably I too won’t, considering my famous short temper.

Well kid, you are faced with a veteran of many wars today. A sly fox, a cunning mongoose, a daring lion, all in all a very intelligent soldier! One who knows how to make you eat and that too on your own free will. And you shall not complain about it either. No neighbours will know about it and neither would Mom. Mom shall look into the box and find all the rotis gone.

I look into the fridge and find one plump red tomato. Tempt her with some home made chat by the best chef in the world. It’s a simple but effective recipe. I have used it earlier. A sure shot thing to make my sister start eating rotis. I chop the tomato into small pieces, add some salt, squeeze half a lemon on it and add lots of red chilli. Lots means lots… period. The strategy is to get her to eat just a few pieces of the lethal blend. The chilli will take care of the rest. You see I had earlier told her that it’s best to eat roti instead of drinking water when you eat something hot.

So, armed with my concoction of success, I ask her very nonchalantly, “Hey! Do you want some?”. She lifted her head out of her hair, opened her eyes just a little and I was looking at the end of the race. My mind had already moved on to what fun I shall have, now that the work is over, when came the ultimate bombshell. She majestically turned around, looked at the bowl as if it were some obnoxious reptile, screwed up her nose and said “No”. Then she turned over and went back to her sleep.

She said NO, she said No to my menu? I could not believe my ears. I tried again.

“Oye, do you want some lovely Tomato Chat? Its yummy!”

This time she came out with a definite “Nooooooooooooo”.

What was happening? I could not believe that my best weapon and by the way, only weapon, had failed. I was scared. All those things that Mom would say to me were coming back. She said NO! Was she ill? Did she have a headache? A tummy ache probably! Had I already fed her with too much of chilli? Was it not that I had been feeding her the same crap tomato thing almost every second day? What was wrong with this kid? I kept asking and she kept mum. I finally gave up and went out of the room to fret and worry in my room alone.

Oh, bother. Let her not eat. I could not resist anymore the heavenly smells wafting from the bowl and gobbled it up. Half in anger and the other half in desperation, desperate to find a way out of this mess. And half way through the bowl, the chilli numbed all senses and water poured out of every pore of my skin, my eyes watered and I lost the ability to hear. Too much chilli can do that to you. My brain finally gave out the most terrible warnings of overheating and I ran to the bathroom and plunged my head in the bucket that is always full. After a few dunkings, I felt better. I had resigning to fate. Why waste a good evening over a lazy kid. If she is hungry she will get up and eat. I cannot be held responsible for her stomach not being hungry, can I?

Just then I heard someone behind me.

The kid was standing on the doorway with a very sombre look on her face. “Have you gone crazy?” she said. I realised that I was sitting with my school shirt soaked, on the floor of the bathroom hugging a half-full bucket of water. How do I explain my precarious situation? She will surely tell this to Mom and then the mystery of the killer tomatoes shall be out. I remembered Mom muttering that the chilli had to be filled in the bottle early this time. My God! Will Mom be angry at me for eating so much chilli? I just could not let this stupid girl tell her. I have to be smart. After all, I am older than she is.

I replied, “Do you know that there is a whale in this bucket? I am trying to harpoon it with my fingers. Do you want to see it?”

“You really have gone crazy na?”, she sarcastically smiled this time, “I know that a whale will not fit this bucket.”

“Well have a look for yourself.” I played my trump. She never could resist a dare. She drew closer and peeped inside.

“Where is the Whale?”

I started churning the water in the bucket. Round and round and round till there was a small whirlpool in the bucket. She stood there mesmerised and then I suddenly brought my hand out with a scream.

“Ayiiiiiiii… the brute has bit me.”

She screamed too and I am safe. She believes that there is a whale in the bucket.