Hour Fourteen – “tell me an old story (like a folktale from your culture, a fairy-tale you heard when you were young, or a story passed down in your family). You can give it your own twist as well.”

 

Not Just Yet

Yama Raj waits patiently for his client to wake.

She looks peaceful, he does not want to take

her unawares.

She stirs, startles, stares

at this monstrous creature on her rocking chair.

In silken robes and a Viking hat.

‘Who are you, how dare you break into my home?’

A kind voice replies, ‘your time has come.’

‘My time? I’m going nowhere. My diary is full.’

‘But your time is up,’ meek now, this gentle bull.

‘My mate, the Grim Reaper, is in the area.

You can travel with him, but it’ll be a detour.’

‘I am going nowhere, except to my kitchen now.’

Imperious, she pushes her Zimmer past him,

‘Call him over if you want. We can discuss this over tea.

And cake.’

‘And samosas,’ she adds when she sees him light up.

In all his years in this job, no one had offered him a cup.

‘There’s no hospitality in my trade,’ he says.

They sit together, chatting like friends from old days.

The hostess resplendent in a frayed polka dotted robe,

Yama Raja in the splendour of Arabian Nights

And the Reaper, not so grim in his scythe and whites.

The new day dawns as she negotiates an extension.’

‘We’ll be back next year,’ they say, ‘no tension’.

‘I’ll be waiting,’ her voice unsteady.

And I’ll have the biryani ready.’