"Ha...Bhai...Ha..." - the Coldarin saga

I opened my eyes today morning and felt just the way Arthur Dent once felt in the dreaded Heart-of-Gold when in its improbability drive. My head was shaking like a space-craft being hit by a blast-o-presto. The pain resembled a hangover of having 10 awful bottles of the blasted gargle-blaster.

I recovered very quickly, as the Woosters generally do and prepared myself to relish one of Jeeve’s trademark pick-me-ups. My mom very generously made some ginger tea for me, making sure of adding extra-pint of ginger to make sure the explosions inside my head resulting out of drinking the liquid has the desired effect.

I had got out of bed before tea to complete my brushing ritual, but the noise inside my head prevented me from adding other things to my list of worries, and these other things started to tap me all over to grab my attention. Each part of my body registered pain in my brain, which was pre-occupied with other worries.

Nevertheless, the enthusiasm of reading a newspaper pumped some eager blood into my limp feet and I looked around with half-open eyes for the paper. As soon as I opened page 1 and saw the face of the stinking Lalloo, my mouth opened and took in a gallon of air. Within a second, my body compressed all the air, turned my nose and mouth into a triple-barrel air gun and then blasted away. The outburst of energy didn’t stop with that. It played havoc. My eyeballs protruded out as if suffering from the second type of Goiter. Both my hands started to feel as if the blood vessels running inside were pulled out to make a violin or to be used as the string for a medieval Indian’s bow.

My dad heard the blast from the triple-barrel air-gun and came for my rescue. Looking at my half-popped eyes and seeing me clutching both my hands together to ensure that the blood vessels inside them don’t snap, asked me if I had cold, if I had head-ache and if I had body-pains. That’s when I said “Ha…bhai…ha”.

It was then that he wished me good morning.