|Self-Analysis (standard:humor, 3638 words)|
|Author: Rattan Mann||Added: Jul 25 2003||Views/Reads: 12835/3141||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|It is about a "nut" at odds with himself.|
SELF-ANALYSIS A Short Story By Rattan Mann It all started with mom. Frankly speaking, nothing started with mom. Nothing started with grand-mom, even great-grand-mom. It might have started long back. It might not have started yet. But I always say it all started with mom. I know I am lying. I am a born liar. Normally in three days I speak more lies than another would speak in three years. And when it comes to talking to foreigners in Cannaught Place , fellows, I become a dirty bundle of all sweet lies. And I am mighty proud of that – a chap has got to be proud of what he is, can't be proud of what he is not. I again say it all started with mom! Mom had her educated. Mom sent her to school. Mom sent her to college. And then mom asked her to look for a job so that she does not have to depend on my whims and fancies. Actually it all started there; though I still insist it all started with mom because I am a liar. And to my utter dismay she got a job. Of course I am referring to Geeta. Anybody can guess that. Of course she is my sister. Anybody can guess that too. But she is not my sister. But I still say she is my sister – because I am a liar. Some say she is my step-sister; but I don't believe them because they are also liars. What started with mom? My mental sickness, of course. Anybody can guess that. See, it could not have started with mom because I was not yet born. But I still insist my mental-sickness started with mom. But, fellows, try to understand the dilemma of a mentally sick liar. If he does not tell lies how will it be known that he is mentally-sick. Geeta got a job in a school as a typist. I at once let it be known within my circles that a night-club of questionable repute had hired her as a bar-maid. Geeta did nothing to counter these rumours. She is very gentle and docile. If you slap her on her right cheek, she would turn her left towards you. I love making use of such an opportunity. Can't help it! Fellows, try to understand a mentally-sick guy. Our age is after all an Age Of Understanding. Geeta is the only living creature I have been able to slap without retaliation. I tried to stone a cat but she jumped on my back. I tried to whip a donkey but it kicked me so hard in the stomach that I had to be admitted in a hospital. The day I came out of the hospital I was a bitter and angry man. So I went up to Geeta and as she began to embrace me, I slapped her. Nothing happened. I slapped her again. Still nothing happened. I got so encouraged that from that day on I slap her every day. To make sure nothing would ever go wrong in my newly-found paradise I told her what Christ had said. Then I told her if she would suffer quietly all the blows I showered on her she would reach heaven and enjoy frequent dances with the urchins there. She could even slap them as I slapped her and she won't be punished because there was no such thing as punishment in heaven. I don't know if she understood such deeply philosophical things but she cried. I loved it. I love it when anybody cries in pain. After a few days I spread the next rumour. I began to tell my friends that instead of being a simple bar-maid she is now doing striptease and having affairs with everybody coming to her night-club. One day I went so far as to say that she is having five hundred affairs every day. I even encouraged my friends to go there themselves. Fellows, spreading false rumours is to me what water is to a fish. Not that I don't believe in them. The real fun of spreading rumours lies in beleiving in them. At least in my case the real kick from that kicking around started when I began to believe in those rumours. Because then things became very serious. Now the honour of our family was at stake and so I could not remain silent or passive. I could not see the name of our family being dragged into dirt. There is a legend in my village that one day, thirty years after a very successful married life, my great-grand-mother had the courage to confess to my great-grand-father that all her married life it had been her greatest dream to go out on a walk with her husband. Surprisingly, instead of beating her up for her immorality, my great-grand-father agreed to take his wife for a walk with him. Probably he was too drunk Click here to read the rest of this story (284 more lines)
Authors appreciate feedback!
Please vote, and write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!
Rattan Mann has 11 active stories on this site.
Profile for Rattan Mann, incl. all stories
For a quick, anonymous response to the author of this story, type
a message below. It will be sent to the author by email.