Discussions Mar 06 - Apr 07 - Page 214

Folks, I got bored today and decided to write up a fictional episode for laughs. Enjoy.

In Captivity

It is a dark night. Priya is walking through a narrow alley on her way back from college. It is the day after her father had grudgingly given his consent for the marriage and she is beyond herself with joy. (By a fortuitous set of circumstances, her scooter seems to have malfunctioned.) It is a deserted lane, with not a single soul in sight. An oversized, hooting owl stares down at her, and leaves begin to rustle in the gathering wind. (Imagine an overenthusiastic music director and orchestra trying to simulate a storm.)

Suddenly, two burly thugs leap from behind the bushes and – you guessed it right – kidnap her.

Priya is gagged and blindfolded and then dragged to a waiting car to be driven off to some unknown destination. She struggles and even bites the hand of one of her captors but the men are very apologetic and as gentle as they possibly can be. After a bumpy, 45-minute drive through horrendously bad Chennai traffic, she is led to an upstairs room somewhere. There, the blindfold and gag are lifted and she finds herself locked up in a plush, air-conditioned room. She frantically runs towards the windows and tries to open them but they are locked. She rushes into the en suite bathroom only to find the windows there covered with metal grilles. So no means of escape there either.

Someone knocks at the door and enters obsequiously bearing a tray loaded with orange juice and sandwiches. He also brings her a towel, a bathrobe, soap and shampoo and says she is welcome to have a bath. The man then solicitously asks whether "Madam" would like anything else. "Coffee, for instance? A hairdryer?"

"Get me out of here or get out!" she screams. The man scurries away quickly, fearing her wrath.

It just then belatedly dawns upon Priya that she has a cellphone. With quivering hands, she punches in the pre-programmed number for her hero, A. C. Durai, but his cellphone has been switched off. Damn! She then dials the police station. A constable whom she instantly recognizes answers the phone. A. C. is not in the office, he announces to her great dismay. Priya tearfully tells him that she has been kidnapped and wants A. C. to get her out. The constable commiserates with her, dutifully takes down the particulars about the circumstances of her kidnapping, assures her he will immediately activate a search and promises to inform A. C. as soon as he is available.

Priya then decides to call her father. To avoid unsettling the old man and absolutely certain that her hero will rescue her before the crack of dawn, she lies that she has a make-up class that will end late, that her scooter has broken down, and that it would be best for her to spend the night at Vanaja's hostel room. Just then, the man who had brought her food earlier knocks, enters the room, spies her cellphone and immediately confiscates it apologetically. Priya again screams but to no avail.

She then turns to survey her cell. It clearly looks like the bedroom of a male by the line-up of designer colognes on the dressing table, a punching bag and gloves, and a Hugo Boss T-shirt flung over a chair. Priya tries to open the clothes cupboard and dresser drawers but they are all locked. There are no tell-tale signs on the walls either, only an ugly cubist painting by M. F. Hussain. She snoops around further and finds a CD player and a couple of CDs beside it. Pandit Jasraj's khyals, Illaiyaraja's symphony, arias by Andrea Bocelli, jazz by Diana Kraall …. Hmmm, the guy has good taste in music, she thinks to herself. She then surveys the bookshelf and finds an impressive collection of books – The Inheritance of Loss, Kite-Runner, The Tipping Point, The World is Flat …. Whoever kidnapped me must be a well-read man, she thinks to herself. He has read some of the books that I have long been wanting to read but haven't had the time to ever since I started daydreaming about ACD, sigh …

Priya is biting her fingernails nervously and pacing the length and breadth of the room. It's been 20 minutes since her confinement to the room. Suddenly, there is a gentle knock at the door. It is followed 30 seconds later by a second, louder knock and a muffled male voice seeking permission to enter. Irritated, Priya screams that there is no need for kidnappers to have social graces and that he could damn well enter the room.

A strapping man walks in. He is wearing a ski mask over his head and dressed in Calvin Klein jeans and a casual black denim shirt that is buttoned down to reveal a hairy chest and a red amulet on a chain that she can't quite place. She's seen it somewhere but she can't quite recall where.

The man locks the door behind him and faces Priya, arms akimbo.

"Who are you, what do you want, why have you kidnapped me?" she demands to know.

"Relax, Priya", the hooded man says in a voice that sounds strangely familiar. As with the amulet, she is having a hard time placing the voice.

This cannot be Kanduvetti Ramamoorthi, can it, she asks herself. The infamous Kandu that Shanthi Anni always dreads. He is said to have a distinct drawl but this man doesn't. And, I didn't know he speaks English. Maybe he has always been modest and pretending to be uneducated. Does he wear jeans? Perhaps. I was told he once appeared before Abhirami in an ill-fitting business suit. So it wouldn't be far-fetched for him to be wearing jeans. Or could it be someone else?

"Why have you kidnapped me?" Priya abruptly halts her own reflections and screams her head off.

"Oh, I just wanted to have some fun," the hooded man says and advances slowly towards her. He is now so close she can smell his Guy Larouche and then, horrors, the Listerine-freshened breath. Priya doesn't know what to expect. Suddenly the man grabs her and makes an attempt to kiss her. Priya ducks and his moustachioed lips graze her cheeks instead. She spits out at him angrily and screams herself hoarse, "You, rascal; don't you dare! You will never get away with this. A. C. Durai will come to save me and you will get your just punishment."

The hooded man laughs a sinister laugh, grabs her and this time pins her to the bed. Another piercing scream fills the room. "A. C. Durai will come anytime now," she struggles and then stares numbly into the man's mesmerising light brown eyes that are twinkling as he smiles. Priya blinks a few times to release herself from his captive stare. Gosh, I am supposed to be in love with A. C. Durai; how could I have had this momentary lapse of judgement. How could I allow myself to be attracted by a rogue's piercing gaze.

The man is now convulsed with laughter. He says, "There is no way your A. C. Durai can get me."

"Or course, he can. He is the bravest policeman in town. And he will come to rescue me. He already knows you have kidnapped me."

"No way, Priya, your A. C. Durai won't come."

"Yes he will."

"Now, get this clear, Priya. I know A. C. Durai will not come."

"What makes you say that with such certainty? Why won't he come?"

"You really want to know why?"

"Why, Why, Why?" she shouts hysterically.

"Because …" the man slowly removes his hood to reveal … A. C. Durai himself. "… Because he is already here", he laughs.

"Damn, you1 How could you do this to me!" Priya cries and repeatedly punches A. C. Durai on his chest, practically ripping off his shirt.

"Hey, relax, Priya", he chuckles. "Let me know if you want to undress me but don't tear my prized shirt."

"Why did you give me such a scare?"

"Your dad has given the go-ahead for our marriage, my parents are out of town and I thought I'd play a little game with you. The guys who "kidnapped" you were detectives working for me."

Priya is still scowling and then ACD gently runs his hand through her by-now hopelessly disheveled and tangled hair. Whereupon, Priya, as if upon cue, melts into his arms. ACD raises her head gently and edges himself closer to her.

Ting, ting, ting. Since this is an Indian TV station, at this point, there is a commercial break, probably for Vikko Vajradante toothpaste or Dove or some other deodorant, and it is left to the viewer to imagine what might have happened next.

The scene after the commercial break shows A. C. Durai sheepishly reporting for duty the next morning, keeping his Raybans on to mask the dark circles around his eyes. The constables meanwhile are shown gleefully whispering to one another about the tell-tale lovebites on their chief's neck.

excellent Bonheur!👏👏 what an entertaining story! it was so funny yet cute at the same time. great job! i loved it!😃