Good and Bad Neighbours

 

Aswathy’s a new neighbor. But our fights have reached epic proportions. A month back, I accused her of training her idiotic, lovable mongrel to leave turd on my door mat. The next day, I threw fish water across the wall on her well-cared roses. When she threatened to lodge an official complaint, I told her to go ahead, make my day, punk.

Yesterday, she was at my door with another complaint. But she caught me in a bad moment. I was lying on the couch, breathless, having a bad attack of bronchial asthma. She entered without invitation, told me to hang on, as if I was trying to do otherwise.

She bundled me into her car and took me to a clinic. I must have looked pathetic, hopeless, like a fish out of water, mouth open, trying to suck in air. She held my hand, I remember, and I kept looking at her concerned face, thanking god that I had that to see before any tunnel of light or the first sight of the gates of heaven or hell. When deriphylin was administered intra-venous and air rushed in, I smiled at her, silently promising to dedicate my new life to her and her happiness. She heard that, I think, and squeezed my fingers affectionately. She took me home and made a bowl of oats for me.

Today morning, she and her dog were at my door quite early, with the complaint she had forgotten to deliver yesterday. Her dog looked at me, vowing to be back in action. I stared at both, with silent oaths to make them both the recipients of my next consignment of fish water.