“Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain…did shouts screams and squeals reach my

auditory system AS I am jolted out of my engrossed state while trying to gather the mock
epic characteristics of Alexander Pope’s famous poem ‘Rape of the Lock’. I had
slumbered into the upper class aristocratic society of the eighteenth century England, at
my writing table, waltzing into a world of lacy frilly gowns curly wigs and coat tails; violas
and violins….

‘This music crept by me...no its gone’ mingled with Shakespearean expressions
‘no it comes again...the winds did sing it to me the name of.

‘Mother Mother’ loud cries resound over the staircase raising a Tempest, rushing into the
calm seas of the lounge where I am trying to memorize the heroic couplets…Ah! Exam.
in English Literature, but alas! These precious moments must fade…

‘Its moving its moving” My six year old daughter frail and skinny in physique but so sharp
in sound, is now standing straight on the sofa chair with her eyes fixed at the corner of
the ceiling. I just manage to see my teenage daughter gather her legs, hastily I feel, on
the other side of the sofa. Gracefully majestically, the lithe movement is discovered to be
of none other than the Queen of Reptiles, a common but unwelcome visitor, the innocent
looking domestic lizard.

‘Slight is the subject but not so the praise’ O Cleo Muse, descend and raise in me, the
courage never to yield’. I sing a praise for the Muse of History, Maybe I am about to
create History.. Behold! with daring but careful steps I descend the staircase feeling no
less than Cleopatra...But Oh there is a job to be done ‘Save the two damsels in
distress’...er...I mean the two human beings now perched on the sofa and settee
respectively...I gather my thoughts as I step down. .I know where to reach for the long
and deadly instrument which in times of peace is used to demolish the labors of the
industrious spider...er...I mean the broomstick, now placed behind the kitchen door.

The kitchen situated in one corner of the lounge is easy to approach and soon I have
laid hold of the epic weapon. Thus armed like Achilles out to rout an enemy I raise the
broom, just then my gallant knight in armor. Prince Charming appears in the doorway of
his chamber, ‘How now mother dear? What in the world is Alexander the Great
attacking” SSSSHHHHH I caution him ”You will scare the enemy away” There should be
complete silence. My son smiles he knows. The enemy has been recognized.

“Mom let me face the challenge Oh Boy! Er...I mean OH Lord how I have waited for this
day! At last the time has come. Mom wish me luck! Pray! Sacrifice something to the
Gods”...What a heavenly sight! What black eyes! Darting lashing tail...It is waiting to kill
its own prey...how the hunter becomes the hunted.. the fragile lucid trembling moth
sticking beside the illuminated fluorescent tube is unaware of the attacker. Stealthily
now. Tension is greater than the Gulf War situation, but luckily no oil slicks...just dry
open challenge...physical courage bespeaks moral courage.
Thin lanky Prince Don lunges forward. Up goes the broom Victory is within sight, ‘doubt
not the guile of your foe but with deliberate valor breathe’ .move, swish. My hero heaves
the long handle, as the princesses sit stiff and breathless, lest the creature of the other
world would fall on their heads...eyes fixed super glued UHU’d to the ceiling...but as if it
felt the movement of the missile in the air, sensing the invasion to take place,
dangerously flipping quivering the earthly creepy creature flurries across the creamy
plastic emulsioned vast expanse and evaporates into thin air...the heroic spear which
seemed taller than the largest pine on the Norwegian mountains loomed across the
ethereal plain, narrowly missing the hoisted chandelier; amidst further screams and
squeals down flumps the tragic hero followed by a thunderous volley of multi colored
pencils which stand at grand attention with grace and dignity in a used diet coke
container on the top shelf of the book rack.

Victory was ours as the Evil queen has been defeated and dethroned out of the sacred
home sweet home though she makes her slithering exit through a crevice in the wall. Up
rises Don, smiling from the heap, a conqueror in the field where the books like carcasses
of the Memphian army in the Red sea lie thick bestrewn…
Upright he stands and so speaks” ‘Princesses! Delicate and brave! Lo behold (with
courage never to submit or yield, to be weak is miserable’ ‘Awake arise, the enemy has
slipped ..er...has been killed!

The breaths of the princesses thus restored, my Prince with uneasy steps emerges so
victorious. beaming as mama puts a laurel bough of her loving arms around the slightly
bent neck. Peace and harmony prevails as life returns to normal. I survey the battlefield.
books scattered dust all around tumbled cups, each item will have to be carefully picked
up the area to be cleared soon, the reality of the housework.
But nothing in the world will equal or even match the united force of the love and
laughter we had all joined in to retrieve the treasures so dropped. Till late, the episode
was narrated with all the suspense and excitement, fun and laughter seemed to burst
the seams as the heroic act was remembered time and again. Much as the family life is
filled with hardships trials tribulations struggles and moments when all seems lost….
these moments of childish apprehensions sudden drama fill the hearts and souls with
everlasting joys and a strange comforting satisfaction...we were in it together.