The Suicidal Machaan

As told by - The Eucalyptus Tree

Cooking is pretty much an international activity. And it is undertaken, pretty much everywhere, under varied circumstances, under or without roof, in joy or sorrow, in hunger or pleasure; the reasons are many. But if undertaken on a hot summer afternoon on top of a wooden ‘machaan’ in a tree, it can have, somewhat, disastrous repercussions. Our brave little friend did just that.

“He did not. Oh! My God” Ejaculated a shocked cooking range. “He did too. But, let me continue”. Tree looked around, pausing for effect before continuing. “Our hero, all too full of experience and wisdom his seven something mind exposed him to, after a bitter ego hassle over a certain technical matter with Gira, Gassy and Sesa, decided to put his cooking skills to test, independently.

“What do you mean by a technical matter?” Inquired a rather fragile glass shelf. Being so delicate, it had never ventured out hence was quite naïve.

“It was nothing but an matter of self importance. You see Gassy and Sesa, being eldest had reserved the positions of head and assistant chef for themselves with Gira as a taster. Purja was to be a fetcher and Goltu as a designated watcher against unwanted intrusion by dreaded house hold staff. Now, Purja felt that a fetcher’s position was below his status. He wanted to be a chef or at least a taster. Also running in the summer heat to fetch stuff from the kitchen and water from the tap was not his idea of fun activity. He wanted to be in the thick of cooking action. And he did have serious doubts about Gassy’s cooking ability.” Explained the tree before continuing.

“While rest of his cousins along with little Goltu, set up a temporary cooking facility of three bricks variety, on the cemented top of an underground water tank, Purja looked around for an ideal and exclusive place. Luckily for him, and unluckily for rest of us, he found such a place- a machaan about six feet up, on me. Carrying two large potatoes, three bricks for a stove, some salt mixed in random spices in a battered aluminum pan, water in an empty coke bottle, newspaper, dried twigs, leaves, and a piece of wood along with a match box full of, all important match sticks, he lugged the precious cargo up the steps onto the machaan. It was difficult but we all know how resilient he was. He would be undisturbed and away from prying eyes of the rival group, namely, rest of the cousins, so he thought. Well! I offer no prizes for guessing what happened then. The machaan caught fire is to state the obvious. There were many heroes that day, but the garden hose pipe, an ancestor of this young water pipe knotting itself over there, could not stop bragging, for saving our budding cook from a burning machaan on a suicide mission. Purja jumped, a kind of jump normally witnessed only at the Olympics but I was checked from running by paralyzed roots, rooted into the ground. Even Gassy, Sesa and Gira were struck dumb not knowing how to react. Only little Goltu, the watcher kept running calling out for help to no one in particular. I swear am not exaggerating. I have told you what really did happen, and as it happened” stated the eucalyptus tree looking bemused at the young hose- pipe tying itself in knots laughing loudly, and the round eyed younger lot with disbelief writ large on their faces.

“Weren’t you harmed”, inquired a zapped Cordless phone. Its circuits were doing a tango in disbelief. “Luckily, Purja’s sworn enemy- the gardener spotted the fire. Anticipating the worst, he became a one- man fire department. With understandable vengeance and a rather satisfied grin that he tried to mask from time to time, he shot swift sharp water jets with the hosepipe, soaking Purja in gallons of water. He would have loved thrashing him though but was happy nonetheless. I was saved, but was badly scorched. Here, all of you can see these marks.” It was not amiss to show-off sometimes, the tree felt. “The two potatoes were charred beyond the level of edibility, the pan blackened and the machaan was never seen again. Probably admitted to some psychiatric ward where it tried coming to terms with Purja types. Gassy, Gira and Sesa were so busy being dumbstruck that their potatoes were burnt too. Goltu’s tongue kept tripping over itself, trying to relate the most happening event of its young life to all and sundry for next week or so. And of course the gardener walked with a marked euphoric swagger, singing heroic Bhojpuri folk songs under his breath. He was a happy man. Justice was done. As for our H2O soaked + carbon coated = Purja; his cooking career came to an abrupt but a definite halt. He had enough time to mull over other career options, as he sat on his stool in his home corner.”

The old bed, of now famous incidence of fainting nannies groaned. “He did play a lot with fire. Many a times I had near death experience. The very thought of what all he experimented with, still sends shivers down my spine. Mattress since it is your turn, do tell them of BMS.”

“ Please don’t talk in code.” Warned the walking stick. The mattress unfolded the BMS mystery.