XYZ (haven’t thought of the name as yet) was a miserable dame and she was fully aware of this cuz a lot of people has pointed the fact out to her over the years and she found no reason to disagree with all of them except that she liked to disagree with people, especially with people she disliked which included at the last count…. EVERYONE.
The hill was beginning to steepen and her old MS 800 (Maruti not Microsoft) groaned as it crept upwards carrying a huge load of various legal guides on civil and criminal defense procedures, case laws and analyses of contract laws etc. etc. etc... She heaved a sigh and shoved down a gear.
Being alone, XYZ, wasn’t naturally predisposed to be as miserable as she normally is in the company of people, or at least she hoped not be so miserable. It was just the rain which got her down… always the rain.
And it was raining as she drove on, just for a change. It was a particular type of rain that she particularly hated, particularly while she was driving. It was Rain Type 17 according to Rob McKeena’s “Rain types for Dummies”
According to McKeena, the Eskimos had over two hundred different words for snow, without which their conversation would probably have got very monotonous. So they would distinguish between thin snow and thick snow, light snow and heavy snow, sludgy snow, brittle snow, snow that came in flurries, snow that came in drifts, snow that came in on the bottom of your neighbour's boots all over your nice clean igloo floor, the snows of winter, the snows of spring, the snows you remember from your childhood that were so much better than any of your modern snow, fine snow, feathery snow, hill snow, valley snow, snow that falls in the morning, snow that falls at night, snow that falls all of a sudden just when you were going out fishing, and snow that despite all your efforts to train them, the huskies have pissed on.
Rob McKeena had two hundred and thirty-one different types of rain entered in his little book, and XYZ did not like any of them. She shifted down to 1st gear and the 800 heaved its revs up grumbling about all the legal crap it was carrying in the back seat.
Just then, the Civic that XYZ had been diligently blocking for the past 20-30 minutes finally overtook her. XYZ swore loudly pounding on the steering wheel so hard that the CD player started playing Beedi Jalaile. XYZ swore loudly again and thumped the steering wheel again and the CD player stopped at Dhuan na nikali o…. XYZ swore and swore and swore and swore and swore. Then she swore a little bit more (now that rhymes... cool)
At that very moment, when her fury was at its peak, there loomed swimmingly in her 800’s headlights, hardly visible through the blatter of Rain Type 17, a figure by the roadside, waving frantically. It was holding a sign board that wasn’t legible from the 200 meters or so of rain, road and rage that spanned between the figure and XYZ.
A poor bedraggled figure, wetter than Stuart Little in the front loading washing machine, and apparently hitching.
"Poor miserable idiot (or should I say DHA)," thought XYZ to herself, realizing that here was somebody with a better right to feel hard done by than her, "must be chilled to the bone. Stupid to be out hitching on a filthy night like this. All you get is cold, wet, and cars driving through puddles at you."
Just then she made out what was written in scrawly handwriting, “Big Fat COW -->”
Taking it that he was trying to make fun of her, she shook her head in fury, heaved another sigh, gave the wheel a turn and…
And hit a large sheet of water square on and, opening the window a bit, screamed, “@$$#0!e”
“Serves him right!!” she thought to herself as she ploughed swiftly through the puddle, “Abusing me!!! Should have run over him for that.”
Splattered in her rear-view mirror a couple of seconds later was the reflection of the figure, drenched by the roadside. For a moment she felt good about this. A moment or two later she felt bad about feeling good about it. Then she felt good about feeling bad about feeling good about it and, satisfied, tried to go on. Suddenly another shape - big, burlesque, grayish brown or was that reddish brown- loomed right in the middle of the road. XYZ slammed the breaks, turning the steering to one side sent the car careening into the foot deep mud by the side of the road. XYZ turned around to check if that was actually something or had she been hallucinating.
She saw a big fat cow sitting right in the middle of the road oblivious to Rain Type 17 and to XYZ as well, blissfully enjoying a session of rumination.
Now if only women would listen!!!
P.S.: Ever wondered why Cows like to sit in the middle of the road and not to one side???
