NOT AMONG THE FEW OF MY FAVORITE THINGS! I was visiting my sister in Manchester a few years ago. As I sat down for breakfast, I was amazed to see a little mouse clamber up the refrigerator and help itself to some snacks kept there. Neither my sister nor the others in the house seemed to be perturbed by the presence of the little creature. “Oh, he is a regular “ was all my sister said. As I watched little Jerry scampering around fearlessly, my mind went back to the days we spent in Nagpur. Papa’s salary was our only source of income then and Ma economized by cooking on a wood-burning chula. The fire-wood was stacked in a tiny 5’ x 3’ store room next to the kitchen. A clever mother mouse had converted this woodpile into a nursery. This was where she had moved her brood. It was from this fire-wood pile that she went forth and multiplied thereafter! Soon, we had mice of all sizes scampering across our kitchen floor when they thought they had the kitchen to themselves. It took them only a couple of seconds to disappear from sight when we entered the room. Whenever the presence and the numbers of our furry guests became unbearable, my older sister – a brave and determined twelve year old an I – would enter the store room. We’d jointly move the fire-wood out and then my sister, wooden club in hand, would throw herself into undoing all the hard work the mother mouse had done in bringing her kind into this world. Club raised above her head in readiness, my sister would wade into the army of mice, giving each scampering ball of fur a generous thump with the stick. She was quite skilled at the job and could easily have considered mouse extermination as a career option. These mice – like all others of their kind - were pretty nervous creatures and seldom stayed still long enough to take a knock on their heads. Some smart ones took advantage of numbers and tried to flee. An equally frightened me stood by the door, stick in hand, ready to pounce on such nonconformists. During one particular mouse-hunt (which followed an exceptionally prolific phase in the mother mouse’s reproductive life), the creatures were over the kitchen floor. We went crazy chasing the squeaky rodents around, reducing their numbers with each successful tap. One tiny mouse disappeared and we just could not locate him – till I felt something squirming in my shirt pocket. There he was – seeking asylum. His request was denied. My mind also went back to the time I was watching a movie in the famous Sheetal Theater in Surat. It was the only cinema house that screened English movies in the city. My friend Mukund Naik and I often took in the first show on Friday afternoons. I was enjoying the movie and munching on some roasted peanuts I’d brought along, when I heard a slight rustling sound to my right. Just then the screen lit up and I looked down – to see a large mouse sitting on the armrest of the (empty) seat next to mine, nonchalantly helping himself to the peanuts! I rewarded the brave rodent with the rest of the peanuts. I recalled the numerous nights I’d spent staying awake because of the little gray-furred friend who’d decided to share my ground floor apartment with me in Mumbai. Nothing I did was enough to persuade him to leave. Finally, our partnership broke up when I changed homes. Now I hate ending lives just as much as the activist next door, but when I think of the irreparable damage these furry friends can cause – to food, to clothes , to those documents that you have so carefully preserved and above all precipitate heart attacks by their sudden appearances, my sympathies for these creatures simply vanishes. Mice may be nice, and I love them – as long as they are restricted to being animated characters in a cartoon movie! They are OK, even likable in “reel” life, but in real life – they definitely are NOT among the few of my favourite things! Does all this mean That Im scared of mice? Well, what do you think?
Posted on: Thu, 16 Oct 2014 06:19:49 +0000