Freyan S. Wadia

It was 7 :00 am when Jehaan was jolted out of the sleep of the dead by a praying mantis on his face. More precisely, by the praying mantis placed on his forehead by his 6-year-old entomophilic cousin.

“Hiya!” chirped Parvez, like a happy cricket, while his cousin was fell off the bed, screaming. “Isn’t she pretty? I found her on the steps outside. I think I’m going to call her… Minnie! Do you like her?”

“What,” said the 17-year-old, sitting up on the floor, the colour drained from his face, “in the history of human existence makes you think I would?”

“Oh, come on! Look at her feelers and her wings and her eyes…”

“I’d rather not,” said Jehaan, shrinking away from ‘Minnie’ in his cousin’s cupped palms. There was something about creepy-crawlies that made his blood run cold and his hair stand on end. When his aunt had enough of Parvez accidentally dropping caterpillars and suchlike into the tea, he’d come to Jehaan’s home to do the same. Either her nerves are getting shorter or he’s getting more annoying, thought Jehaan. Possibly the latter, for it’s seven in the morning!

“Why aren’t you at school?” he asked, deciding that sleep was now impossible with both Parvez and a praying mantis disrupting the feng-shui of his mini-landfill.

“It’s a holiday today.”

Jehaan racked his only three working brain cells for the reason behind this serendipity. Before he was able to chance upon this, Parvez piped up, “Today’s Saturday!”

“Big whoop. College works on Saturdays,” he said, holding his head as he went to brush his teeth. He hadn’t been planning to go to college, but if it meant mukti from his high-pitched squeaking cousin, he would.

What kind of being has this much energy? At seven in the morning? he thought, dragging himself to the kitchen, cousin trailing behind singing some scout song. And who let him into the house? Guess I’ll never know he thought, as Parvez babbled about school, then branched out to scout camp and then about all the creatures he chanced upon there.

“Kerman said he stepped on a dead lizard with his bare feet – his bare feet! And I asked him what it felt like and he said it was kind of soft, but also tough and rubbery. I wish I saw it but I was in another tent. I’d have loved to pick it up and take it home, but mom would probably not allow it.”

At this point, Jehaan’s dark circles looked particularly prominent – almost like a raccoon’s – and he looked like he might nod off into his cereal bowl.

“Whatcha drinking?” asked Parvez, after taking a second to breathe.

“Old Monk,” said Jehaan, sipping the strong ginger tea while wishing it was.

“Whatcha eating?”

“Monkey brains.”

“Those are fruit loops,” sniffed Parvez. “You mustn’t tell a lie. It is bad scouting.”

Jehaan, who had been kicked off his very first scout camp along with his best friend and told with particular emphasis never to return, shook his head solemnly.

“I’m not. They cut the brains in rings, splash them in bright colours and then dry them. Look closely – can you see the holes on the surface?” he lifted one solitary loop out of his cereal- “That’s what happens when monkey brains are dried.”

Parvez cocked his head to one side. Jehaan was looking at him earnestly over the table, enthusiastically shovelling the loops into his face.

“Why are you eating them if they’re monkey brains?”

“See, you like insects and reptiles and other unholy creatures that tipped out of Pandora’s box. Why can’t I like eating monkey brains? To quote Shylock from the Merchant of Venice – ‘It is my humour’.”

Parvez’s eyes widened considerably.

“Can I… can I try one?”

“Sure, go ahead,” said Jehaan, pushing the bowl towards him.

Parvez took a mini-bite out of a loop, the overpowering sweetness spreading over his tongue.

“Is this – is this what monkey brains taste like?” said Parvez, in an uncertain tone.

“Absolutely. Scrumptious, isn’t it?” said Jehaan, reclaiming the bowl and crunching loudly. “You notice how all good cereals have an uneven texture and are crunchy and delicious? It’s because of the monkey brains. You’ve been eating it all this while, just nobody told you.”

“No way!” said Parvez, turning pale.

“Swear on my life,” said Jehaan, throwing his hands up like a cornered robber. “That’s why we suck at math – we’re slowly turning into monkeys! I mean, I’d stop eating it, but I like monkey brains way more than differential calculus.”

At this point, Parvez was trembling. Jehaan was about to tell him he had been pulling his leg, but Parvez said something that made him change his mind.

“I- I think I’m going to go home now,” he stammered. “B-bye, Jehaan.”

“See ya, Parvez,” said Jehaan, waving his spoon at him, unable to believe his luck. Maybe he would bunk lectures now – there weren’t even any redeeming computer classes on Saturdays. No one attends on Saturdays. Screw it.

The rest of the day, he lounged and wallowed in a way that would make any self-respecting hog proud. He watched some TV, skimmed over a chapter in organic chemistry (“May God bless and keep aldehydes far away from us!”) and scrolled through his infinite Instagram feed – all while assuming a posture only invertebrates and teenagers seem capable of.

At six in the evening, as he dozed, splayed out on the sofa, the doorbell rang. His mother opened the door and Jehaan was half-conscious of it being Shenaya, Parvez and Ushta’s mother. She was also his mother’s younger sister. It wasn’t anything unusual – she liked to stop by off and on, often with baked goods.

Today, the smell of mava cake roused him, along with the greetings exchanged by the sisters.

“So, Jehaan, there you are, sleeping for an army,” said Shenaya with a wide smile.

“If you give me a couple of minutes, I’ll be eating for one too,” said Jehaan, managing a simultaneous yawn and laugh.

His mother shook her head as if there was no hope for the world as she cut three generous slices for each of them.

He stuffed the slice into his mouth, nodding animatedly at his aunt (“Thip fing is goopf!”), as he headed for his room.

“Even Parvez loves his mava cake,” he overheard Shenaya tell his mother. “The strangest thing happened today- both twins are terrified of cereal. Parvez told Ushta something about… dried monkey brains and that she’d turn into a monkey. I had to read out the ingredients out thrice to prove them wrong. These kids and their stories, I tell you!”

“He must’ve picked it up at school,” said Shehrevar, a primary school teacher well-acquainted with their ways. “Only a six-year-old could’ve thought of that!”

Well, at least it’s a compliment to my imagination, thought Jehaan, sheepishly licking the last of the crumbs off his fingers.