The "Miss Take"

It landed on my doorstep with a thud. Curled up on my sofa, Agatha Christie in hand, half asleep over the possibilities of 'who dun it,' I fell off, with a stifled curse. Nursing my sore head, dark threats raging inside me, i stalked to the door. Flung it open. Fell back ! For standing bang, splat in  my door, obscuring all else, stood a huge Piano. Gobsmacked, i tried peering around it. Hearing many faint squeaks from somewhere below it, i located a small dark head struggling desperately below it.

No, innocent reader, no!  Before you tell yourself, 'Hah! she's lost it! and denounce my imagination, listen, do.

The monstrous piano, did not lie flat as pianos' are wont to lie.No! This one stood on its side and projected straight up, as if someone had tilted it towards the ceiling. From below it, came the squeaks and the aforementioned, dark head with a face attached, from the mouth of which emanated the said squeaks, accompanied by several exortations and implorations of help. Frantic, i looked left, i looked right, i circled the thing like a demented Atlas, and shot off questions like, "Kiska hai ? Kyun idhar laya ?" Even a frantic, "Kaun bheja ?" ( Whose is it? Why did you bring it here? Who sent it ?) The head listened mournfully, fingers tapping on the ground, before it indignantly erupted into another series of squeaks, much like a highly affronted squirrel. Listening intently, i could make out something that sounded like, " tuzhatuzha, malakaimalakaimaite." Followed by a series of imploring squeaks, followed by something that sounded strangely like, "love kar, love kar."

Now, i had shifted to Mumbai, just lately, and was not very versed in the local dialect, but i know a cheesy line when i hear one. Doing an about turn, i veered off  kitchenwards, and grabbing a large saucepan, a la 'Tangled', started back towards the 'wailing wall, ' when the phone rang. Backing again to answer it, i slipped.


All hell was let lose as gravitating towards the head, i joined it with a loud clang, saucepan and all. The squeaks changed to a peculiar anguished snort, that sounded like a cross between a laugh and a shriek of pain. By now, the neighbours had joined the fray. Unable to get in, they formed the phalanx of the army. The nosiest of them, a not-so-old-aunty tried to peer below 'headless Nick's ' body. Finding herself very close to his privates, she retreated with an affronted snort. Having brushed off my behind, and dignity back in place, i explained my predicament as best as i could. But no one was listening. The security man had been summoned, and heaving with their collective mights, they managed to right the piano. Triumphantly the 'head ' reconciled with the rest of the 'body', and sat down fanning itself vigorously. Just then, a fiery being erupted into our midst. Volley after volley of  'parsi ' gujrati was fired off, with lots of "Akkal vagarno"s (brainless fool)  flying around the place, before it dawned on us that he was the errant, highly indignant owner, whose precious piano had landed at the wrong address.

As the poor 'head ' prepared to go back under the piano, with generous help from the security, i mopped my brow, then asked my neighbour, 'Whats the meaning of 'Love kar,' ?" She grinned at the saucepan and replied, " Marathi for 'hurry up'. Why, what did you think? " Smirking she went on her way, smiling, i went  mine.