|Self-Analysis (standard:humor, 3638 words)|
|Author: Rattan Mann||Added: Jul 25 2003||Views/Reads: 12642/3011||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)
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