The Great Escape

We escaped under the cover of pollution-obscured moonlight. Breaking out of Yelahanka was risky. If the guards had known about our plan, who knows what would have become of our fate. But there was no choice. It was only a matter of time before the intense claustrophobia and the tireless boredom of rummy would have crippled us, emotionally and physically. My wrists had already felt the wear of dealing. Our escape route was set. A getaway car, headlights off, crept onto the dirt path in front of our prison, and we bolted… or rather unbolted the 8 locks, moved the couch and TV stand that were piled up behind the front door to keep it shut, and armed ourselves with Simone’s secret all powerful weapon.

This weapon, which to the untrained eye looks like a TV Remote Control, and is just as easily misplaced, is known to those of us in the industry as “The Dog Clicker”. The mythology has it, that in the early stages of the universe, when Lord Brahma created the primordial canine, he also fashioned a magical charm that would be able to defeat even the most ferocious of wild dogs, by singing them a beautiful lullaby… well not exactly a lullaby, but a high pitch scream, so loud and so high pitch that the gods and ordinary ears of human beings would not hear its shrieks. Only the canine would appreciate this deafening sound, and would, upon hearing it, vanish into thin air. Countless explorers and Greenbaums have searched out its services, but Lord Brahma, knowing better, hid this magical weapon under Mount Kailasa, in the Himalayas, where it has rested for many thousands of years. Unfortunately, Duracell Batteries don’t last that long, and “The Dog Clicker” takes a nine volt. So when “The Dog Clicker” found its way, via the internet, into Simone’s hands, the thing couldn’t scare off a mouse. We didn’t know this at the time.

Those four days in Yelahanka felt like an eternity. The time was upon us. I motioned to Simone to put down her Indian Vogue, and draw arms. We let out a battle cry, with one big kick, four massive pieces of luggage proceed ahead of us, rolling down the stairs, announcing our imminent departure and killing any ambushers laying in wait below; we run after our bustling projectiles, Simone furiously pushing “The Dog Clicker” with both hands, her menacing growls and violent twitching are enough to scare off dog and human alike; I fling a wad of Rupees across the room at the stunned barefoot man standing behind the reception notebook to appease him for our stay. It hits him in the chest. Before he could thank us for coming, we were in the getaway vehicle, fresh out of that desolate hellhole.

“To the Bangalore Club”, I proudly announce to our chauffeur. He nods horizontally, as Indians do. He was impressed. Simone and I exhale, I look into her eyes, she looks into mine, and we raise a toast of Larium to celebrate our near-death escape. Off we were to the Bangalore Club in style.