Evil Mousey
The term for one's mother's sister in India is Mausi or Mousi. It quite literally translates into Ma-si, or like-mother or mother-like, or motherly. You get the picture.
My mausi is not evil. Infact far from it.
This recollection is just an anomaly.
She arrived, one summer day of '95, with Mausaji and my cousins Tanu-Chinu (Da), in tow. Salutations given, respects payed, I wait, with my arms folded against myself, also known as the 'Where's my gift' pose.
As the "DIIIDDIIIIIIIiiii / SEEEMMAAAaa" exclamations die out, all I want is for it, the gift that is, to not be a chocolate. If it does be a chocolate, let there be two so I don't have to go halfsies with my brother. Unless its a Kismi bar. Then he can have it all. Clearly the entire production team of Kismi bars had no taste buds.
Mausi reaches into her bag and behold! out comes a toy truck. I am playing with the truck in my hand, checking for wheel spin and such and my Mousi says "Peeche dekho kya rakkha hai uskey".
Peeche, meaning 'at the back', lay Four stacked Milky Bars. Four! Mausi had just outdone the GI Joe she had gifted a few years back. (A cracked skull was the occasion. More on that some other time)
So no, not evil Mausi...
Until..
Next afternoon, we leave for a place called Fantasy Land. Not the kind with rabbits and tinker bell. Fantasy land was an adventure theme park like Essel World, but way more accessible. So far, for me, a place like this had been all mirror houses and cotton candy. Though occasionally, when we were passing by this "Fantasy Land", I would see tracks snaking their way in the air and wonder what they did.
This time though, I was close enough to hear what the roller coaster sounded like. Or rather, what the people trapped on it sounded like. Their screams of terror. I decide right then, in my 7 year old head, that I am never getting onto that ride. I will get my lifetime of thrills skidding my bike, proclaiming, 'Kyaa skitt maari!!' or the unfortunate 'Main skitt maar raha tha aur gir gaya' which means the skitt was too much of a success.
Here I was, hopping and skipping, not a care in the world, slightly delirious from an entire milky bar. This reverie is broken though, when I hear a train travel on tracks. Despite earlier determinations, my family is in line to ride the roller coaster.
My stomach clamps down on the Milkybar as one does to a teddy bear on a stormy night. But Do I say anything? No. I was the wimpy kid who was too wimpy to admit to being a wimp. Because even that takes courage.
The death-cart arrives, my cousins get in and then, my mausi. She holds out her hand to me, like the gods did to man, to check for static electricity. Why else do you think they have kept their distance? Or keep sending their sons/daughters/messengers? Chatka baitha.
All I muster is 'Nahin Mausi, hum, nahin".
"Arre aao to. Baith ke dekho.. Nahin accha lagey to utar jaana" she reasons.
Sound logic.
So I hold out my hand (maybe with a slight nudge from my mother. WHO KNOWS?), she grabs it and sits me down next to her.
"Dekha? Accha to hai" Mausi says.
I look around, at the green plasticky seat and nod in approval, now ready to get back on level ground.
Out of nowhere, *KHATAAANK!! comes the bar that pins me against this seat. Im trapped!
I looked at my Mausi, my eyes wide with the DHOKHA!. Her face then bore a smile that inspired the Evil Mousey flag.
Very clearly, the Milkybar-truck was leveraged to engineer this vishwaasghaat.
I try to wiggle out, but to no avail. Clearly, they have dealt with such fattus before.
The roller coaster begins its slow ascent up the slope. Click Click Click Click. Click.
Impending and doom were two words I wasnt quite familiar with.
I'm like "Eh, this aint so bad. There's my home! My 504, Buniyaad, Gokuldhaam, Goregaon!" I neary wave out, to nobody in particular. In this elated and elevated state, I take my most courageous vow. Misplaced courage, as you will see soon. I decide, that no matter what, I, Karan Prabhakar Srivastava, will not be screaming like a little girl.
Then comes the drop, and the real ride begins.
So as my family goes
"aaaAAAAAAAAoooooooOOOOaaaAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOAAAaaaa",
I go "HUU!uu......."
All the drops, swirls, whirls and whoops, in one constipated HU!uu.. till we are back to where this ride began.
When we are stationary again, the safety bar has to be prized from my white knuckled grip, which matches my face in color, or lack of. I take the third most precious gulp of air in my life. My first, was, obviously, when I was born.. second, when my father tried to drown me but I ended up learning to swim and then, this.
Back on solid ground, I have to keep myself from hugging sweet mother earth, for I might go into foetal position. A hand falls on my shoulder, nearly buckling my wobbly knees. I turn, dazed and confused, to see my Mousi looking down at me.
"Mazaa aaya Karan?" she enquires sweetly.
Not really Mousi, I wanted to say. Instead, I nod in the negative.
I needed my next fix. Not adrenaline. Enough of that already. Where was my Milky bar truck?
P.S:
The sound and feel of "HU!uuu...." was to become a regular occurrence. A couple of years later, I'm in boarding school and I am running, hurtling, towards an intermediary level pullup bar, brimming with ambition, raging with desire, to, if not perform a pull up, atleast hang, from this bar. I accelerate, feeling Jesse Owens in my knees, my fingers outstretched, my eyes wide in anticipation, I leap.. and then...I'm hanging! I'm swinging! On the second level pull up bar!!I did it!...
Till I reach, whats known in Latin as Swingus Maximus.. And then, I feel nothing. Feel like I'm flying My hair ruffle in the breeze, the sky is so blue in color, birds so chirpy...so on and so forth till I realise that my hands have let go of the bar and I fall, flat on my back.
And out comes a HU!uu. Part II.
In a recollection that would soon follow, my friends, in particular, Veeral Bipin Shah (99063), would use the sound effect "DHADAAAM !"
DHADAAAM !
se gira Karan.
Saans uski atki,
Moo se nikla HUuu..
Mann mein bola
Sudhrega kab?
Ullu.
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