I’m going to start off with a statement – our childhood is incomplete without insects.

Look back at your life, and you’ll find some insect playing some part in your life. As for me, let’s just say it started off with termites and ants, and progressed to spiders, and then cockroaches.


So, this happened back in 2010, when I was in Wellington, Ooty. My brother and I were playing cricket in the huge garden outside the bungalow we were residing in.

Each time he bowled, the ball would bounce off this clump of sticks lying in the middle of the field.

I, the batsman would constantly make big statements, like “this ball is going out of the park!” (I was nine years old), and then, the clump of sticks would make sure I would never get the ball anywhere close to me.

So, I was obviously irritated. I shouted in frustration, and walked up to the pile of sticks and picked all of them up.

And there was big mistake #1.

A tingling sensation ran down my entire body, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the feeling Harry Potter got when he held his phoenix core wand.

One of my friends, who was fielding, shouted in Hindi, “Deemak(termites)!” I ran back into the house, and rushed into the bathroom to take a shower, and get the creepy crawlies off my back.

I filled the bucket with water, and poured it on myself, and, until the feeling subsided, kept filling more water and pouring more water.

And then, buck naked, I looked around the bathroom for a towel, which, of course, I forgot to take, in my rush. Then, I saw the other creepy crawly.

A huge spider of an untrustworthy black colour, making its way to the tasty human foot. With a huge screech, I took the spray hanging on the wall next to me, and sprayed it with waster for all I was worth. Once it had moved a few inches away due to the force of the water, I jumped out of the bathroom, eyes closed, hoping no one sees me, and rushed into my room. With a huge sigh of relief, I closed the door, changed my clothes, and lay on the bed for the next hour.



This is a more recent event than the former, one that occurred last year.

It was the middle of the night, and a cockroach was slowly making its way to the human hand that had eaten pizza and forgotten to wash his hands.

It was a brave cockroach, for sure.

It crawled onto my hands, and I awoke with a shock. I felt teeny tiny feet travel across my hand, and my eyes snapped open. Instinctively, I moved my hand so fast, the cockroach flew out of my hands.

Jumping up, I turned on the lights and rushed as quietly as possible to the shoe cupboard to pick my brother’s favorite sandals to beat the cockroach up so badly it wouldn’t recognize itself in a mirror.

I couldn’t find it in the darkness, so I settled for a stick.

I ran back to the room, and I found the cockroach crawling over my brother. Slowly, I rotated around the cockroach, finding the best possible angle to hit it.

Shouting “Good night Wisconsin!” I raised the stick to hit it, and then successfully managed to hit the tube light behind me. It came crashing down behind me, and in my surprise, I dropped the stick on my sleeping brother. I turned to assess the damage, and noticed that the entire tube was broken.

As I turned the other way, pure anger radiated off my mother, as she looked at me, the tube light, and the stick on my still-asleep brother.

The next few events are well described in two words: chapter, and finish.


The weird thing? To this date, I have no idea where the cockroach vanished. Last I saw it was as I was about to hit it.

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