Humour
Midnight comrades

By Saad Javed

The other night, I wanted ice-cream. I thought of going down into the kitchen and pampering myself with scoops upon scoops of praline, drizzled with the sugary blessing of caramel topping. Tired and laden with the burden of mugged up names of drugs and their side-effects, I crawled into the kitchen.

I was not the only thing crawling in there.

See how they run when you turn the lights on? And the way they try to find a dark corner of solace? And their freakishly athletic, jumpy legs that take them to places, nooks and corners where even air and light can't reach? And the eerie colour that's not red or brown or maroon? It's like the doomsday and the disgust of it all makes you think as if you had stepped on so many people in your life and now they are all rejuvenated…as cockroaches!

I muffled a scream.

I had absolutely no problem with the chloroform-drenched, near-dead ones on which we used to perform our biology practicals. And back then, we actually used to laugh reading about their 'exotic' and 'toothsome' common-species-names; German cockroach, Brown-banded cockroach, Oriental cockroach, Smoky-brown cockroach, American cockroach, Turkestan cockroach. And you'd predictably say that now I hate them because I know too much about public health and hygiene and because now I know these little shiny rascals contaminate food and eating utensils, destroy fabric and paper products, and impart stains and unpleasant odours to surfaces they contact. No, not really. So is it the fact that they come in contact with human excrement in sewers and transmit bacteria that cause food poisoning? Well, not even that. Than is it just that they also have been implicated in the spread of typhoid and dysentery and are an important source of allergens and risk for asthma? No, wrong again.

They just don't know their etiquettes, these filthy little Periplaneta americanas! And this is exactly what repulses me the most. I mean shouldn't they be following some  aspect of decorum; some code that governs the expectations of social behaviour, according to the contemporary, conventional norm within our society? I just want them to live in their own houses. I don't go barging into their homes, stealing their food uninvited, do I?

So now, you can all guess what actually happened that night. There's this huge recyclable cylinder of organic, ozone-friendly, bio-degradable insecticide with mint odour, in the cabinet. (See, we are a fashionably 'green' family...and we do love other animals...except for rats and lizards and snakes and crows and emaciated cats and scratchy, itchy dogs and well, we only love the ones that sing and dance in the Disney cartoon-movies). "WHIFF!" goes the spray and have you ever noticed, when they die they end up on their backs, showing us all their unsightly, revolting, occult anatomy?

The next night…I wanted ice-cream, again (Yes, it's a daily ritual). I was going downstairs and I thought how cruel and unfair I had been. How shamelessly I had enjoyed a battle and victory over enemies who were unarmed and the size of a chewing-gum. The thought of a deserted, lonely kitchen left me immensely sad. Well, the greatest guilt can not diminish the desire for eating ice-cream. So I entered the kitchen.

And there they were again! The kids and cousins and widows and all the extended family of the ones I had brutally murdered a night before. I had to smile as I walked over towards the huge recyclable cylinder of organic, ozone-friendly, bio-degradable insecticide with mint odour. You see, you can choose your friends but you are stuck with your family...and neighbours...and well... your cockroaches, too.