THE NIGHT WATCHMAN

                                                                            Unsplash

                                                                          

There he stood, a six-footer, in front of the feisty old lady who was interviewing him for a job. His bald pate shone in the sunlight, as he stood to attention, holding a faded cap in his hand.

“What is your name?” she asked him.

“Manoj Kumar, madam,” was the subdued reply.

His supervisor nudged him with a sharp elbow. “Speak up…!” he hissed.

“M…Manoj Kumar, madam!” the voice rose a few decibels.

The short-haired lady, who had an impish smile on her face, looked at the tall man.

“Why do you look so worried?”

The man looked down at the tiny pugs who were sniffing at his ankles, trying to shy away from them.

                                                         Images: Deepti Menon

“Madam, I am scared of dogs. I was bitten by a Rottweiler years ago, and hence…” his voice petered off.

The 84-four-year old lady looked at the 40-something man whose forehead was speckled with sweat.

“Are you telling me that you are scared of these two?” Her voice rose in amazement. “They are such tiny little creatures. Besides, they don’t bite. Make sure that you don’t bite them instead.”

She laughed and so did her companion, a pencil-thin lady who loved to throw her almost imaginary weight around. She said in turn, “These two are harmless. Besides, you tower over them. Even if they do bite you, they will not get very far.”

The man blanched at that. The older lady shushed the younger one.

“Don’t you scare the living daylights out of the man now!” The supervisor scratched his head doubtfully. He had never seen a household like this. Three ladies, and two pugs, and the most spirited of them all was the gamine lady with short, unruly hair, who seemed to exude an irrepressible spirit. She asked the new guard myriad questions. What was his name, where did he live, how many children did he have, and the like. The man answered promptly enough, occasionally sneaking a wary glance down at the pugs who had now graduated to licking his feet. He probably thought that was a prelude to a quick nip.

The supervisor nudged him again. “Stop floundering!” he whispered. The man was from his security agency, and he needed to show him off as the perfect candidate. This was not turning out the way he wanted it to.

There was a moment’s silence. The conversation resumed as the ladies pointed out the desk and chair in the corner of the balcony that would be his little nook.

“You can sit there,” remarked the feisty lady. “And relax there…,” she continued, pointing to a comfortable looking armchair. “Of course, you can find a corner to sleep, anywhere in the premises,” she ended.

                                                                         Unsplash

I wish I had been a fly on the wall to remind my mother, for that is who she was, that a night watchman was not meant to sleep. He was attuned to sleeping during the day, and staying awake, wide-eyed, peering into the dark for any sudden noise or commotion.

The interview got over, and the watchman was appointed. That evening he would don his uniform and resume duty at seven in the night to seven next morning. Mom was relieved that there would be someone to keep a watch at night and the other two ladies and the pugs remained stoically silent.

Come evening, and the watchman was there, uniformed and punctual, stick in hand, and after a few pleasantries, he sat himself down in his chair, prepared to while away the uneventful hours ahead. What could possibly go wrong on a slightly rainy night, when the whole town was asleep.

                                                                           

                                                                        Unsplash

The next morning, at 6.15 in the morning, my husband suddenly got a frantic call from the watchman. “Sir, emergency here!” His voice was panicked, distraught.

Apparently, a huge tree had been uprooted in a sudden strong wind early morning, and it had fallen over the car shed, crushing my mother’s car under it. And what was worse, it lay sprawled across the road, its tips almost grazing the neighbour’s gate. The car was a mess, the branches had fallen on the power cables and the entire road had been blocked. Too much for a brand-new night watchman to take in, judging by the quaver in his voice.

To cut a long story short, that evening, the new night watchman decided that too much excitement was not good for him. While my 84-year-old mom, her 65plus companion and the 30plus maid took the mishap well, relieved that there had been no casualties besides the poor car and the tree, the watchman nervously asked his supervisor, “Do you think the power would have come on?”

The supervisor’s response was classic. “No! Shall I arrange an air conditioner for you?” The sarcasm did not go down well. By evening, my husband got a call. “Sir, I am too shaken up to report for duty tonight. Shall I come tomorrow?” He got a mouthful instead.

Mom was mighty amused when she heard the whole story. Apparently, she had already predicted that the poor man would not turn up in the evening.

As she was about to put the phone down, she said, “Guess which character he reminds me of in ‘The Wizard of Oz?” leaving us in splits at the end of the conversation.

*Please delve into ‘The Wizard of Oz’ to decipher the last line. 😊

This post is part of #BlogchatterHalfMarathon