Odysseus in Kurta

There I lay, innocently chatting with my parents and lying on my bed in the bleary-eyed morning. Mumbai's a good deal cooler than Delhi, especially out near the Tata Institute, but the window's propped open to let in the breeze. Just then I notice a blurry, lanky form sitting on my windowsill. I scramble for my glasses to discover a blank-faced monkey watching me watching him. "Just a minute," I tell my folks, dropping the phone to grab a chair, the nearest, cheapest, potentially noise-producing weapon of war I can find. Banging it on the ground and sort of hissing, sort of clicking, I start inching forward, a menacing foe to behold.There he sits, watching me blandly, defiant in his ignorance of the force with which he reckons.

But oh, adversary, what business I meant! Business and how! Clapping now! Clapping, bug-eyed, lunging forward, mumbling and chair-banging, fury incarnate! Now, now he wavers. A step back, a turn towards the outside, apprehensive paw raised to defend against outright assault.

Now. Now I have him. I let loose my whistles, quicken my claps, wave my legs like tomahawks and crash red chair like Thor crashing hammer. He knows his goose is hopelessly cooked and retreats to the outside, safe and away from this merciless God, the raging master of Room 406.

Window slams shut and rapping knuckles pummel his transparent protector - a warning to his brethren and heart-trembling reminder of their fragile, fleeting, mortal lives.