Pyro
Thursday, February 25, 2016
You'd think a cyclone warning would dampen the spirits of
Guy Fawkes himself but the amateur pyrotechnician of Madras proves to be of a
different breed altogether. He watches the dark clouds that appear on the
horizon signalling the arrival of a cyclone on the Eastern coast. To the
untrained eye the rain that follows seems relentless. The pyro knows better. He
has lived through many a Diwali monsoon. A lesser mortal packs his fireworks
away for the next year. The pyro simply waits for the lull before the
rainstorm. He has always considered meteorology a pseudoscience, relying
instead on his uncanny ability to understand cloud patterns. A sign from above
is all he needs.
The office worker, on the other hand, looks at the clock. At
the stroke of dusk, he emerges outdoors, ready to brave the elements. Home
beckons.
Their paths are destined to cross.
The pyro has planted his explosives. He lets the weak pass,
waiting for a challenge. The office worker appears. He sizes him up. He is
sized up in return. It is a battle of wills now.
The office worker walks forward. The pyro bends down to
light the fuse.
====================================
The last thing on the mind of an office worker making his
way home after a hard day's work is his Hindu identity. He calls upon the Gods
sometimes when he is in need, but those moments are few and far between.
Fervent appeals are dispatched to the Heavens above on tortuously long
workdays: Could you speed up Time, O Divine One? At other times, he begs favour
from a specific God like Kamadeva. Kamadeva appears, pulls out an arrow and looks
at the target, a remarkably attractive young woman. He then shakes his head,
puts the arrow back into the quiver and tells the office worker, "Alas,
mortal, this young woman is so out of your league that even I, the God of Love,
cannot help you."
On this particular day, the office worker is reminded of his
Hindu identity as he encounters the amateur pyrotechnician of Madras once
again. Regular readers will recall the previous standoff between the office
worker and the pyro. It was a topic of conversation among the idle youth in the
hours of the day before liquor shops open for business. The pyro had brought
out his secret weapon, they said in awe, a string of firecrackers with the
fastest fuse anyone had ever seen. In response, the office worker announced that
he was as fleet-footed as the Flying Sikh himself. The idle youth promptly
divided into two camps, betting on their favourite horse. The office worker
would have been dismayed to learn that the pro-pyro camp was far bigger than
his. "He can run code, but can he run?" they asked, chuckling. In the
end though, the office worker prevailed. He had leapt over the string of
firecrackers and continued on his way home. "Cool guys don't look at
explosions," he was rumoured to have said as he walked away.
On this particular day however, the officer worker finds
himself facing the pyro without his trusty running shoes. Can he survive this
encounter?
"You're back," the pyro says, in Tamil. "Are
you here to challenge me again?"
"Why would I?" replies the office worker. "Do
you bring out your firecrackers every day?"
"Not every day. Don't you know what day this is?"
The office worker knows it is the last day to file his taxes
but he can't think of anything else that would define this day.
"Look at the lamps all around you," the pyro
offers, helpfully.
"Oh, Karthikai Deepam."
"Yes, Karthikai Deepam," the pyro replies, "A
day very special to me."
"Special?"
"My name is Murugan. Skanda Murugan."
It dawns upon the office worker that Diwali was merely a
precursor to the main event. This boy who was named Murugan at birth unleashed
terror every year on Karthikai Deepam.
"That is a simplistic interpretation of Hinduism, my
young friend," the office worker says. "Skanda may be the God of War
but he does not advocate violence."
"Pfft, that is no fun. Our names define us. What are
you called?"
"Shivankar."
"Do you know what it means?"
"The devotee of Lord Shiva."
"Not devotee."
"Then?"
"A minion. A minion of the God of Destruction."
"Merely a minion?"
"A soldier then. A soldier who fights for the Destroyer
of the Cosmos."
The boy has clearly been playing too many videogames, the
office worker realizes. He smiles, thinking back to his childhood when he too
played too many videogames.
"Very well then, I am a soldier."
"And I am your commander. Follow me."
Skanda reveals his arsenal. Contraband Chinese firecrackers.
The office worker rubs his hands in glee. This is going to be a long, fun
night.
posted by foogarky @ 8:49 AM,
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The Author
foogarky
foogarky is the pseudonym of the fictional construct who battles for supremacy with other constructed personas in the mind of a crazed individual. He describes himself as a man living in a non descript house in Rio De Janiero, Brazil with two dogs and a parakeet.
About This Blog
The Loony Lampoonist serves to parody, spoof and satirize everything that needs to be parodied, spoofed and satirized. Due to the fictional nature of this electronic journal, any anecdotes appearing here ever so often that seem to be personal in nature, would suffer from the effects of conflicting personalities, the creation of fictional events and the inclusion of non existent characters who did not make it to the big league in the author's literary works. Thus, the Loony Lampoonist is also a purgatory for characters and ideas that have missed the limelight.
