MONKEY BUSINESS...


Being a hosteller at AIIMS, New Delhi, there are some things you get used to ‘living with’. Literally. And monkeys are one of them.

It was a fine day, sorry evening, during the November of 2005, and I had just returned to my room. I’m not very sure where I had come from, but it must have been home. A first-year girl student of very average physical attractions doesn’t really have much choice of places to ‘come from’.

I knelt on the floor, and after much poking about under the bed, managed to lay my hands on the broom (There! Since I was thinking of cleaning up, I have to have come from home!) and brought it out.

Then having first dusted my forearm of all the dhool, and then the broom of all its share of dhool, I proceeded to sweep the floor.

Not much of floor to sweep really. I mean, a hostel room is not much of a room to begin with, and then I had conveniently laid down a gaddi on most of the floor remaining between the fridge and the table and the rack and the bed.

Scientifically, I concluded that no dust could possibly have come under the gaddi, and there was no point in disturbing the dhool under the rack and the bed. So, a cursory flick over a rectangle 1m by ½ m – and easily 50% of the dhool I finally swept out of the room had come from the one I dusted off the broom initially.
Goes to show how thoroughly I had cleaned the broom. Or how dirty the floor under the bed was.

Anyways, the jhadu job done, I slid it under the bed once again with a superb Michael Owen low cross-shot, and turned to settle the table.

But first my keen gaze fell on the socks I had thrown about the room.
The blue ones on the rack, the other blue ones on the table, and one green one on the fridge. The other green one was presumably giving the broom company under the bed.

So, in an effort to prevent the room from smelling (mind you, the socks were at least 3 days old, since I had gone home and come back), I decided to air them on the stand outside in the corridor. The stand was convenient that way – anything which had no place in the room could go on the stand, and then stay there – till my mother came to visit.

So I picked them up, and stepped out of the door, leaving it ajar, walked two steps to the stand. Having hung them, I turned around – and stood.

Exactly – you got that right.
Just stood – for the room was no longer unoccupied.

In front of my very own eyes (my very own, I’d like to emphasize) a monkey calmly strolled into my room, twice as large as life, and twice as scraggy as any street mongrel I’d ever seen. Without even a flinch or a casual glance in my direction.

‘Hey you! Hush now! Baahar chal! Abey!’

And then quiet.
For I could see it climb atop my little bench, and then mess about with the gaddi. And I could just visualize how much disinfecting I’d have to do immediately after divesting my room of accessory primates (I hadn’t even started to think about how I’d do the actual divesting bit).

I stepped into the room, starting to feel a little scared now, then stepped back. Man, his guy had amazing ‘room presence’. I mean, he didn’t even notice me earlier, and now was positively ignoring me. And anyways, I had no idea how to get myself in and the monkey out of a tiny room with an even tinier door with absolutely no forcep or scalpel in hand.

So I just stepped off the scene, having conceded defeat at the hands of a veteran star, and shut the door.
At least it would stay in the room, and no more superstars would arrive to overshadow him (or me) with their glamour and persona.

Then, I looked up and down the dimly lit corridor – most people were in their rooms, and the ones who were, were 9th semester students, studying hard, not deserving to be bothered about a starry aired monkey.

But….
I swallowed, and then knocked on Puja’s door.
‘There’s a monkey in my room. Main kya karoon?’

Puja smiled. ‘Is it still around? Go down, get the guard.’

‘OK thanks.’

I rushed down the stairs (my room was on the top floor) at a dangerous speed, and then skid and slipped my way down the corridor, finally drawing up to the gate, panting.

‘Bhaiya, there’s a monkey in my room.’

The guard slowly looked up. ‘Bandar abhi bhi hostel mein hai? Accha, ek minute main bulata hoon…’

He turned towards the other gate on the other side of the hostel and yelled.

‘Arre Murari, Bandar phir kamre me chala gaya!’

Now, this Murari was evidently too interested in picking fruits from the tree above – so it took two yells to bring him to consciousness, and then two more to make him understand what the problem was – five long minutes. And all I could do was stand and wonder at what all the monkey would have sullied with his sullied paws.
Damn! I couldn’t possibly sleep in my bed that night – he might have done the tandava on that too. That bench would have to be sold – I’d never be able to disinfect it properly ever…

The guards, meanwhile, turned out to be superstars in their own right. Slowly, they did the groovy walk down the ramp – oops I mean the corridors and up the stairs discussing the intricacies of this monkey business, even as my imagination of the monkey trying out my freshly starched shirts from home almost drove me to tears.
Finally, having proven their abilities equivalent to any Muzzamil Ibrahim or Milind Soman, they managed to scale Mt Everest and reach my room, and I opened the door.

I stood back.
And then the fun began.

Murari banged his stick about as the monkey, finally recognizing a showman better than himself gave up on the boiled egg he was eating, and came out of the room, and up the stairs to the terrace.

Boiled egg…I almost screamed. I had forgotten about the fridge. The little devil had muddied its door with his stupid paws, then finally having figured out how to open it, had laid his hands on the first thing he saw.

Which had been the dry fruit jar. And since its lid had been too tough a nut to crack for the monkey, he’d next attacked the oranges. And then the last two boiled eggs…
The dry fruit loss was OK – actually good, as it meant less calories being taken in, and the oranges were also conveniently uneatable, but the egg – I had my eye on that egg. And that stupid monkey ate it. Bad monkey…

The monkey meanwhile was proving to be quite a test for the guards – he’d gone up onto th terrace door, and was refusing to come down. And that huge stick was becoming ineffective by the minute…

Quickly, I shut the door, then called my mother. I needed to know how to go about getting my room whitewashed. The bed would have to be replaced; I’d have to wash the fridge inside out; goodness alone knew how much of the grime on his grubby hands would have found its way onto the blanket… the little imp...

‘Beta, don’t be silly! Just lagao pochha once with Surf, then once with plain water, and wipe the door of the fridge – he wouldn’t have got onto the bed, there wasn’t enough time…’
Slowly, as I listened to the plan of action, I got my perspective back. Ultimately proper cleaning would have to be done, including the dhool under the gaddi, no matter how unscientific it was.
In addition, I’d have to lagao pochha and disinfectant.

So, does this remind you of a proverb?

Think, think hard – finally the broom would have to be retrieved and its purpose justified.

And finally that sock would be found.

Yes, you got it – a stitch in time saves nine.

Or rather, a swish in time saves nine.
(And saves you the ignominy of being ignored by a monkey.)