THE HIT PARADE
By Neel Anil Panicker
“Aren’t they just adorable”?
Stanley, who’d just slipped in from the hallway chose not to reply; instead sprinted past her, his hands holding onto the grocery bag full of farm fresh vegetables including brinjals__Helena’s favourite, also his bête noire.
Helena caught him as he swept past her.
“I bought them from the flash sale yesterday. Hubby dear, tell me which of these do you like? Personally, I love them all__the first a bit more.”
Finding himself with his back to the wall and no way out, Stanley stopped in his tracks and stared at the cauldron of colourful miniatures__all painted fruity ensembles__that arrayed before his eyes.
The first had a pea sized wall clock drilled into what seemed like animal eyes, the second had long spikes for teeth, the third, painted a garish, darkish blackish blue had devil’s horns for its eyebrows, and the last reminded him of a blood thirsty shark with spiked pearly white teeth hissing down at you.
A certain Donald Trump, the North Korean Kim Jong Un Sun, a African despot and a Saudi ruler floated in his mindscape.
For once he didn’t knew who to bat for.
“They’re all beautiful” was all that he could muster.