All for a cup of tea

A gentle knock at my door at an unearthly hour was good enough to throw me out of bed and send me scurrying for my mobile. I could hear my heart thudding inside. Before I could call for help the knocking increased, sending shivers down my spine. It seemed as if a childhood nightmare, which never shaped into reality, was coming true. I decided to wrap myself in a blanket and hide underneath my bed. Same moment, I was curious to find out the identity of my tormentor, forgetting for some time the age old maxim – ‘curiosity kills the cat’. In a brief while I made up my mind to encounter the demon that chose to be insensitive and terrorize his/her target at 2 a.m. Equipping myself with a flower vase, the only bulky thing in my room other than my suitcase which was full of a whole bunch of doodads, I slowly unfurled the door. The door made a creaking sound lending credibility to the whole scene. I put up a stern face deceiving the terror inside.
Much to my bewilderment, it was a 2 legged creature wearing a pajama. My eyes then scrolled-up to trace his head which was covered with a monkey cap. But I could see the eyes; its appearance convinced me of its masculinity for it seemed unlikely that creatures from the other world could have reverse biological systems. Without any suggestion my tormentor started walking towards me. I chose to hit the reverse trail. Soon I heard a broken voice come from inside of me, ‘who are you, who are you?’ Right then, the demon took off his monkey cap and flung it across my room. Still soaked in shock, I failed to recognize my friend, Mohan, who inadvertently became a demon.
There was calm in my room now. In a moment I imagined myself becoming the butt of jokes at the breakfast table in the morning. But to my delight, Mohan was unaware of it all, surprisingly for a guy known for his famous pranks. ‘I need your help’, he said in a hush tone, ‘I need to call Arijit, a colleague of mine.’ We headed for the living room where the fancy age-old phone was installed.

While he searched for the number, I inquired about the purpose of the call. ‘It’s an emergency’, he muttered. ‘It sure must be’, I thought to myself, what else will explain a call in the wee hours of the morning. A couple of attempts begot no response. The third attempt woke his friend out of his slumber, ‘Ramlal, do cup chai lana’ (Ramlal, get me two cups of tea), said Mohan nonchalantly. After waiting for about 10 seconds he quietly put the phone down. We looked at each other. I was dumbfounded. And then the house was echoing with sounds of our uncontrollable laughter. It was my turn now to call for some black tea.

I could barely stop laughing but still continued to call Mohan’s not-so-innocent friend. A hiatus of half an hour was enough for him to go back to sleep. (It had been years since we had put that thing called telephone to such a use). I called again, and after listening to the terrified and annoyed voice on the other end I spoke the golden words, ‘Ramlal, do cup chai lana.’ We had developed cramps and were tear-eyed by the end of it all.
The next morning Mohan, called me from his office apprising me about the state of his friend who was greatly angered but didn’t suspect any of his office mates to be behind this. Excitement was building as the evening came closer. After everyone in the guest house was off to sleep, we got together in the living room. Our eyes bespoke of sternness comparable with that of an executioner. The time was the same as the day before and so were the intent and desire. ‘Ramlal, do cup chai lana’! Mohan’s friend was taken aback with a little surprise for he didn’t expect a repeat act. He questioned angrily ‘who is it?’

Day 3 was a repeat of day 2 except that this time our target was awake and pounced on the phone at the first ring. Before we could order for another round of tea he showered us with the choicest Punjabi words laced with his colloquial accent (toom saalaa baheench#$). The guffaws were unstoppable!

Following morning, Mohan sensed something wrong; his friend had called the police who were going to tap his phone and trace the caller. Unfortunately, that was the end of our escapade. I guess it’s only normal in a country which lives on tea that people should go to such an extent for a cup of tea. Only thing, both of us were loath to tea drinking. But thanks to Darjeeling tea the memory of Ramlal lives on.