A Thanksgiving present

This happened on November 27 last year on Thanksgiving day. The morning was uneventful till we reached our gate. Since I walk a little slower than my husband, on reaching the gate, I saw him talking to someone I was not familiar with. This man had a cycle with him and wore a genial expression, and my husband was talking to him as if he knew him from before.

This was because the man in question, who called himself Natarajan, said that he came from Tiruchi, and had found out from my husband that he (my husband) was from Madurai. Having found this connection of hailing from the same state, he became a little more friendly and shall I say, a little bolder.

He said that he was in search of an air force officer, some wing commander or the other to whom he should deliver some bottles. He wanted to know if this officer lived in our building. We said no.

On hearing this, he became a little dramatic and said “What am I going to do with these bottles? If I can’t find him  I will have to destroy them.” He lifted his shirt and what did we see? Tucked around his waist were four or five bottles, neatly wrapped in old newspapers. I couldn’t believe that so many bottles could be concealed in his anatomy.

“If I can’t deliver them I’ll have to destroy them,” he declared emphatically again. He appeared like one of those suicide bombers, threatening to explode the dynamites around their waists. Only in this case, we had Natarajan threatening to destroy those precious bottles adorning his waist.

The thought of all those bottles getting destroyed, and all their contents flowing in front of our gate, brought shudders to us. Quickly, we told him that we may buy some bottles. He looked relieved and we were relieved at having averted a river of liquids flooding our gate. Soon, money changed hands and his parting words were, “I can get you more if you want.”

On reaching home, we discovered that the liquid inside the bottles was something like cheap vinegar. How we got rid of this liquid is another long story which, to be dealt with another day. My husband, the good man that he is, said, “I thought he was in dire need to sell those bottles. So I wanted to help him.” I don’t think this man needed any reforming , because we are never going to see him again.