THE DEAD BANDICOOT

Lavasa, Brigade or your neighborhood jopadpatti; on some mornings, after you have ensured that Mr. Sharma has left for office and Mrs. Sharma is at her sexy best, a common sight greets us all. No, its not the security forgetting to zip his pants. It's a dead bandicoot.

The kids cringe at it, the Jains feel sorry for it and the Brahmins are back to washing their eyes and chanting the holy Lord's name, and cursing the apartment's management. "This is not acceptable", is the common phrase that is belted out. The neighborhood kids see it as the perfect opportunity to place it on the ever grouchy & angry Mr.Anthony Pillai's front door and ring the bell. This is Grey's Anatomy of a different kind.

The mystery bunch has already secured the crime scene. This inefficient and namesake CSI has already drawn a list of possible suspects. Was it killed by Ms. Julia's cat? Did it commit suicide on eating Mrs. Lucia's bitter gourd cake? Or did it become over confident after watching Man of Steel? Conspiracy theories arise. 

No one bothers to pick it up, except 3 year old Alex Pandyan Gowda (a by-product of inter caste marriage). His mother immediately shrieks out, freaks out and gives him a scrub bath, till his skin peels off.

A conference of crows gathers  immediately. The Congress side wants the tastiest bits, the BJP side wants the tender pieces; a fight breaks out, till the regional party leader, a Bull Dog, decides enough is enough and lifts his leg,and sprinkles his own flavor on it. Everybody takes a flight, including the 80-year Vanitamma, who just had finished a breakfast of smashed bananas. This unpalatable sight washes it out, along with her medicines, braces and pacemaker. (RIP granny).

The maintenance guy, an ardent fan of Shree Ganesh, refuses to touch it. "Evil shall befall us for this crime", he proclaims. It sends shivers down the housewives group. They cannot afford to have their mothers'-in-law visit them. Finally, the garbage collector picks it up, for a fee of 500/- rupees. One man's belief is another's business my friend.

Everything is back to normal. That night, at the end of a very tiring day, half spent in his Audi Q7, Mr Deshpande jumps into the pool and shows off his Nicobar islands-like-potbelly. He practices his man-boob strokes and runs his chubby hand over his laser treated hair, only to find a fat, fleshy and hairy thing stuck on his hand.

One loud ear-piercing Dolby surround-sound sream later, the saga continues......