Water? Water, everywhere?

The Chronicles of SardarMan -

In the peak of the summer season, it is not uncommon for any part of the country to experience water shortage. Now just the other day, my mom was in the loo, when water got over. Thanks to the miracle-invention of the century, mobile phone, she could get in touch with the watchman to get the motor on. What should have taken less than 10 mins ended up in a full fledged water fight (read war) lasting days!!

Enter Sardarman. A menace. Lives in the building, on the ground floor, has a hobby of watering barren land, any piece of barren land that he can lay his eyes and water hose on. In the parking lot, he has made his office, and in half of the building complex he has made courtyards; courtyards, which can only be called encroachments. So anyway, that fateful day the Sardarman, with the Sardarwoman as his accomplice, washed every part of the courtyard and watered all accessible barren lands. What’s worse, they had blocked the water connection for the rest of the building. And when the watchman requested them to defer their washing plans for an hour, he was greeted with nasty abuses. The menacing duo then, in retaliation, turned all the taps on and left the building. Just to prove their point, whatever that was.

War had thus been declared. The guns and tanks, loaded with all sorts of household crap, were fired. As the policeman much later pointed out to the duo, its nature’s law (also called gravity in scientific jargon) that anything and everything will fall down. The much adorned, endlessly beautified courtyard would need another round of washing. The advent of the policeman did nothing but appease the duo.

Now the climax! A few days later, we were just leaving for the airport, to drop off my sister. And we see HIM, running frantically towards us, hands drawn out in front of him, motioning for us to stop. We glanced at the watch: 4.30 AM. In the middle of the night, he wanted to fight about what had happened the other day. Would not listen to anything we have to say, even the probability of missing the flight didn’t convince him. Only when another call was made to the helping-helpline 100, did he back-off and let us leave. But we couldn’t even relish the cake. No prizes for guessing who we ran into at the gate, awaiting our return!