Step by Step

Of Winter Monsters

My favourite Calvin strips are the ones with Calvin in bed, fretting over the monsters under the bed and hiding in the closet. (Once I figure out how to post pictures on a blog I'll insert one of those here. Till then, please to imagine one such.) Unlike calvin, I had an elder brother who comforted me (mostly) and protected me from my monsters. But on occasion, I'm glad I got to sleep alone and dream up such wonderful things.

There are vile bats living in my room
Black and hairy, terribly unruly.
I huff and puff and sweep and broom
But it's only Prince that they find groovy.*

Here's a tyrannosaur in the corner
Waiting to jump me in my slumber
If I should turn but for a minute
He'll have me on his breakfast skillet

Now this bedspread springs to life
Adding insult to my strife
With evil intent thick and rife,
Attacks me, sharp as a kitchen knife.

The toothbrush too joins the chorus
And drags along the plastic lotus
The pencilstand takes on the onus
Conductor of the magnum opus.

"Ammaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!". Footsteps. Doorknob. Lights.
Suddenly, nothing. Everyone's acting cute.
Back in their places, even the ghastly passion fruit.
Amma thinks I'm making it up - "Crazy sights",
Hugs and kisses, "Sweet dreams, you naughty brute",
Footsteps. Doorknob. Darkness.
I think she's in on it. God, bless
Me, and get me through these wintry nights.


* For almost all of the last year, there was a small, untroubling bat that lived in a corner of my room. It fed on God-knows-what, mostly my clothes I think, especially anything remotely resembling a butterfly or lizard(that, in combination with Sidin, will account for the loss of all my Goan shirts), and was mostly harmless. Every night at around 3 a.m., it would get hyperactive and start shrieking, restless, and probably hungry I guess. More than the academics, I think it is responsible for the complete annihilation of my sleep cycle. I tried many things to rid myself of it, all in vain, and finally, defeated, and with maybe a tinge of morbid curiosity about rabies, I just carried on with my life, noisy shriek and all. One day, it happened - Prince, with no less a song than Batdance, turned up on the Winamp shuffle, and Cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die, I swear it, the bat shut up to listen.

It became a daily ritual after that.
3 a.m. Glass-breaking, shrill shriek from the bat.
3 - 3:30 a.m. I ignore the spoilt brat. Defiant shrieking in return.
3:31 a.m. I give in. Vicky Vale. Time for the Batdance.
3:37 a.m. Peace and quiet.

I shifted room at the end of the year, however, and I hear from the current occupant, that the bat left too. Pretty soon, I missed the guy, and I kind of figured he'd left my life. But it's 3 a.m. now and up in the corner, I can hear a shrill shriek. And the little fella's (I hope it's the same guy) is welcome here. Time to root out that favourite number of his. After all, one can always use a little excitement in life, no matter how batty it may be.

posted by cue. @ 11:03 PM