Wicked Dee is back!
These two I had written for Sandy’s last contest.

The brief was - ”true life incident where you deliberately planned, strategised and carried out an entire gimmick to simply scare/con someone. You were a child then, under sixteen and you thought you absolutely had to do it…it could be serious, funny, rude, whatever…”
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number one
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Mrs. B

She was a demonic, Luciferous teacher.

We were the inmates of an all girls’ convent school.

She taught Moral Science and had managed to convince us that even one dirty thought about a boy, would send us to Hell. She frowned upon inter school events with the co-eds. She even got the Principal to ban all boys over 12 from our annual school fete.

Mrs. B was the Terror who ripped open the hemlines of our skirts if they rose above the knee. She took mean pleasure in seeing us squirm as she announced surprise checks for our bags. Her thin-lipped witchy smile was in place each time she enforced a new tyrannical rule like No Long Nails, No High Ponytails ' Two Oiled Plaits Only, No Big Earrings, No Waxed Arms Till class XI, No Loud Singing, No Talking, No Running, No Breathing!!!

Mrs. B was Terror squared for me as she also lived near my house. There was a gargoyle outside her house ugly enough to scare off the postman, let alone an evil eye.

She was a devout woman who made daily trips to the local temple. There were elaborate pujas at her place almost every month. Her husband was never caught without a red tilak on his frowning forehead.

My grandmother attributed their sullen faces to their being childless. Maybe Mrs. B just needed to have her own. Meanwhile, I panicked at the thought of being caught buying V Day cards in the local market!

But, Mrs. B’s efforts to purge our minds were proving to be useless. In class IX, at the age of 14 my classmates & I were fantasising about George Michael of Wham. [Don't look at me like that! He was cute and still very much in the closet then! ] Our hearts bled for him when he sang ‘Last Christmas I gave you my heart’. We thought non-stop about cute boys and their bikes and riding pillion on them.

As my misfortune would have it, I got caught with worse than just a V Day card. Horrors of horror, Mrs. B during her routine Surprise-Checks, found an MB in my bag. [For those who missed out growing up normally, an MB is a Mills & Boon novel with romantic covers depicting a couple in a passionate embrace. It has torrid affairs and hopeless mush as content.]

Her face red with anger, Mrs. B hollered at me. Stopping just short of calling me a you-know-what, she hauled me to the Principal’s office, called my mother and announced my characterless-ness in the assembly too.

The Princi made me kneel outside her office for a whole day.

The assembly sniggered at my misery.

My mother laughed off the whole thing and gave me a hug.

[She also taught me how to smuggle them more cautiously.]

But I smarted from the treatment meted.

I seethed and swore, till I schemed a killer get-back in my head.

Some ten days down, there was chaos at Mrs. B’s house. There were relatives and friends streaming in all week. Temple priests were fed elaborate meals. Mrs. B flitted about with nervous eyes. She wore red sarees and a morose face. Her house resounded with non-stop chants. Conch shells were blown and yagnas performed.

The girls at school had a week of peace.

The neighbourhood was lost in a melee.

My parents wondered aloud and hoped all was well.

My grandmother, in a manner unique to senior citizens, simply walked up and asked what was wrong.

It seemed Mrs. B had received a mysterious letter.

The envelope was tied with mauli, the sacred red thread of the Hindus. It also had an ominous red tilak smeared on it. Inside there was a square piece of red cloth with a stick figure pierced with a pin. There were dried petals of marigold flower, some grains of rice, tumeric powder, a lock of hair and a few pigeon feathers. There was also a picture of Goddess Kali smeared with what looked like dried blood.

There was a massive discussion at our home about tantrics.

Debates ensued.

People split in two groups.

My grandmother put black kajal spots on all my cousins’ faces.

My dad got serious about writing a letter to the school. Such a pagan teacher was just not suited for his daughters or any one else’s.

My mom wondered how could the postal department let through such a thing.

I just kept out of way.
 

P.S. Camlin does an excellent shade called Vandyke Brown in poster colours. It appears like dried blood if you mix it in transparent glue and smear it cleverly.


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number two
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We were 15 going on 16. My best friend from school turned magical sixteen a few months ahead of us. Three of us decided to perk up things a bit. And so a picnic was planned with three boys.

Boy, were we excited.

I invited a neighbour of mine. He was 18, had a car and a licence so he qualified.

Other two boys were classmates of the birthday girl’s brother. They were two years senior and very with-it. Our friend swore them to secrecy. She dreaded her brother ’s ire if he ever caught a whiff of this plan.

Permissions were sought. Alibis were bought. And we were finally off to Suraj Kund Lake on Delhi border. Basking in the January sun, we played Dumb Charades, Antakshari and Hide & Seek. With baskets full of food and a portable stereo we were a happy bunch.

Trouble showed up, as it does whenever things are too smooth.

One of the boys [Lets just call him The Idiot, shall we?] pulled out three beer cans. Everyone else refused; so he went on to guzzle all the beer all by himself.

Good food, warmth and running around rendered us useless. Lazing on the grass we took a snooze under the sun. Sweet dreams were not to be for soon I was shaken awake.

I opened an eye and saw the girls in a panic mode. The Idiot, high on beer had managed to kiss the birthday girl on her mouth. She made all the right noises and protests. But he played the sleaze ball. Managed to keep her quiet, by just mentioning her brother’s infamous temper.

Oh the bloody nerve, we bristled. Furious but helpless we huddled and put our heads together. I glared at The Idiot, lying face down at some distance, sleeping off the beer, his jacket thrown carelessly on the grass.

And then the sun shone brighter. My friends looked horrified & excited at the same time. But how, when, where? They twittered. Just smuggle me his jacket I begged and they did.

This episode was to become The Story of Our Lifetime because The Idiot and the birthday girl are now married. And to date, he doesn’t know the truth. He appears baffled each time he narrates this one to his buddies even years later. No one believes he is innocent and they backslap him about being an early starter.

Incidentally, a few days after the picnic, his mother came upon a bra stashed away in his jackets’ inside pocket. She was checking the pockets before she sent it to the dry cleaner. At first the poor lady thought it to be a white handkerchief, but when she pulled it out she let out a scream.

The Idiot was slapped awake by his father. His parents were devastated. They could not imagine their school going son, just 17 to be sexually active. Between his mother’s wails and his father’s cane, The Idiot kept pleading his innocence. His uncle was brought in to counsel him about sexually transmitted diseases and such. The poor virgin boy never knew what hit him. He still doesn’t.

He lives in Kuala Lumpur now with his wife and son. Before marriage, he swore to my friend that she has been the only woman in his life. He implored her not to believe anything his cousins might try to tell her. She still manages to look earnest and nods sympathetically each time he recalls that day. 

P.S.

Almost all women are masters of The-Art-of-Removing-the-Brassiere without removing their shirts. They can unhook and wiggle and reach and voila! It’s Off! It was my wicked idea, and I had to offer mine that afternoon. In bright sunlit winter afternoon, my bulky sweater and my friends stood guard while I pulled this prank. Only our girl gang still knew of this so far, but I will have to answer my husband’s raised eyebrows now.