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Self-Analysis (standard:humor, 3638 words)
Author: Rattan MannAdded: Jul 25 2003Views/Reads: 12694/3043Story 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 


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