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The Tale of the Cosy Cottage

Apr 20 2008 | Views 2418 | Comments (163)

Dearest niece, I fondly remember the little girl in pigtails with a running nose. Are you st... Expand

Dearest niece,

I fondly remember the little girl in pigtails with a running nose. Are you still the same? It is a very long time since I last saw you. The reason for this letter is that your name is next on my list of ten favorite nieces and nephews. I have decided that I shall bequeath my Dehradun property to any of the listed ten, whoever is able to get the cottage vacated. Three of your cousins have already tried and failed. Your name is next so you shall have your chance now.

I end with all my best wishes for your success.

Lovingly yours,

Uncle Som

I read the letter twice.

“Whose letter is it?” asked my husband, Ritesh.

“You remember I had told you about my Uncle Cranks, the crankiest person I’ve ever know. Well, it is his letter.”

“How come he remembered you after all these days?”

“He owns a beautiful piece of property in Dehradun. I recollect we went there when I was a kid. There is a lovely double storied, old fashion cottage with fountains, surrounded by trees of mango, litchi and jackfruit. It’s a beautiful place.”

“Well, what of it?” enquired Ritesh.

“Read this letter and you will understand,” I said, handing over Uncle Crank’s letter to him. He read it twice and let out a low whistle.

“Wow, can you imagine? If we can get this cottage vacated, we can own it. It seems easy.”

“Yes, so it says. But I am very doubtful about the entire affair.”

“Why? If we try, we can definitely do it.”

“I don’t think it is going to be easy. Ritesh, you’re forgetting that three of my cousins have already tried and failed. They would have already tried every trick in the bag to get rid of the tenant.”

“Darling, you don’t recognize a genius when you see one, which is all I can say. You are under-estimating you dear husband. I’ll definitely get rid of the tenants and bag that beautiful cottage.”

On his goading, I agreed to give the matter a trial.

“Look, I will take long leave and we’ll go to Dehradun for two months and then you will see me in action.”

And so we landed in Dehradun. We were met by a plump and matronly lady who was in her early fifties. She was an Anglo-Indian spinster by the name Cynthia Clement.

She welcomed us with a big bear hug literally stifling me.

“Welcome to Cosy Cottage.”

Miss Cynthia greeted us warmly and led us in. we were treated to hot cups of coffee and delicious cookies.

We walked through trees laden with fruits and inhaled the sweet, pure air and sighed. The Cosy Cottage was beautiful. The prospect of owning it inspired us to hatch many plots to get rid of Miss Cynthia. Some were purely childish and impractical while others were devilish and wicked.

We sat under the Litchi tree and hatched plots for the rest of the day. Our minds were at their fertile best.

Miss Cynthia occupied the upper floor while the ground floor was occupied by the various nephews and nieces of Uncle Crank, who kept trooping in and out experimenting with their brain waves.

Miss Cyntha was immune to all threats and nursed a very philosophical attitude towards life. She had decided that she would not vacate the cottage and that was that. Nothing, however, came in the way of her genial greetings whenever she met us.

We did a little research on her and discovered that she was a health faddist and an insomniac and a music enthusiast. These qualities came to the fore one by one, eventually.

Night had fallen, and tired after the day’s relentless plotting, we snuggled into the warm and welcoming bed. We had just settled down to sleep when sudden loud music woke us up. Miss Cynthia was in a mood for music. She was banging away at her piano with all gusto and singing at the top of her voice, rather tunelessly.

We were to learn later that this was her usual routine. She suffered from insomnia and believed that a little bit of practice on the piano would put herself as well as the others to sleep; kind of lullaby, she explained later. We didn’t have the heart to tell her that her music was a nightmare.

We patiently waited for the music to subside but in vain. Unable to bear it any longer, Ritesh finally went up to her room to request for a cease-fire.

“Welcome dear, don’t tell me that you also suffer from insomnia. Or is it another woman that keep you awake, you naughty boy? Wait, wait let me guess…there is another possibility… you like my music enough to come up here just to hear it better?”

Gathering up his courage, he mumbled, “Actually, I was unable to sleep so I thought….”

“Sure, I understand, you thought it best to come and listen to me singing. How, nice, I am really touched. Not many people have the fine taste required to appreciate my music. It calls for a discerning ear.”

And my poor half had to bear with her singing till the wee hours of the morning till she finally decided to call it a night. “I think that’s enough for today,” she declared, shutting her piano. “Tomorrow night, we’ll take it up from where we left.”

Ritesh who had been dozing away on her sofa, thankfully plodded downstairs and flopped into the bed.

“Don’t wake me up in the morning before ten o’clock,” he warned.

I didn’t have to wake him up. At sharp six thirty am the roof above our head began trembling and a rhythmic thumping woke us up.

“Oh, no,” groaned my hubby, burying his head under the pillow.

I wondered what was happening and rushed out to check if there was indeed an earthquake. Soon, I realized it was Miss Cynthia busy with her health routine. She was a health faddist to the core and couldn’t afford to neglect her exercise sessions. She went on with her thumping for the next forty minutes while we groaned with misery.

“This woman is really a nuisance,” cried Ritesh pressing a hot water bottle to his throbbing temples.

We sat under the large mango tree for the rest of the day, with a pen and paper, going over the various plans for making Miss Cynthia vacate the Cottage.

“Let’s have a session of brain storming. Come on, generate ideas, fast.” Ritesh goaded my somnolent brain.

“Alright, here goes – 1. Use witchcraft, 2. Burn the cottage down. 3. Murder Miss Cynthia….”

‘Stop joking and get serious,” rebuked my husband.

He sure seemed determined to drive Cynthia out and inherit the cottage. I wasn’t too sure!

“I was just trying to be brainy,” I protested.

And so we went on listing and planning till we had about 33 plans, ranging from absurd to homicidal ones. After careful scrutiny, we finally selected six of them, rejecting the rest.

The day went by as we dissected and analyzed each of the selected plans.

The next morning, Ritesh suddenly woke up with a loud cry.

“Eureka, I’ve found the perfect plan.”

He sounded as excited as Archimedes must have done when he rushed out of his bath after having discovered an important theory.

“What now?”

I was a little apprehensive about his plans.

“I had a dream; it gave me all the answers I required. I had a fantastic dream. I dreamt that we had got Miss Cynthia married and she was leaving the cottage with her husband. Wow! What a lovely dream!”

He did a little dance with delight.

“Yes, that could be as a solution,” I agreed.

“Could be? It is the only solution and the best one at that. Imagine we would not even have her blood on our hands!”

“But, how do we get her married? Will she agree to get married?”

“Why not? After all, she is very lonely and neglected. Like everyone, she needs love and laughter in her life. Wouldn’t she be happy to have someone to care for her?”

“Which woman wouldn’t...”

Suddenly I was hounded by doubts.

“So, you are going to play the Cupid and do match making?”

I knew how dumb my husband could be when it came to romance.

“Yes, I intend doing that. Nothing would give me more pleasure,’ he declared.

“And how do you intend going about it, my dear husband? Where will you get someone who will agree to marry Miss Cynthia? After all she is in her fifties,” I said doubtfully.

“You seem doubtful about my capabilities, dear wife. Your husband is a resourceful man. Doubt not his competence.”

“Well, well, my brilliant husband. I would like to hear the rest of your plan, too.”

“I have already thought over the matter. You remember Gonsalves; the confirmed bachelor who had come over for our New Year party?”

“Oh, that jolly, cute fellow with a round moon like face, who kept cracking jokes throughout the party?”

“The very same fellow! We call him Jolly Joe. He works with us. What you don’t know about him is that he is a fantastic singer. At one time, he used to play the church organ, too.”

“But, there is a flaw in your plan. I am sure he doesn’t want to get married…your Jolly Joe’s jokes are all about women and to my discerning eyes he appears a misogynist. And before you begin protesting, let me tell you that I know a thing or two about men, too.”

“You don’t know a thing,” retaliated my dear husband.

“I do! Anyway, how will you convince a misogynist to marry an ageing Cynthia, is something of a mystery to me.”

“Darling, you don’t understand,” he tried to mollify me. “Gonsalves has just not met the right woman. When he meets her he will want to get married, I am sure.”

“And you think that Cynthia is the right woman who will transform him from a chronic bachelor into a marrying man?”

“Yes, I do!” he stated with vehemence. “I truly believe that all we have to do is to make him fall in love with her.”

“You are forgetting one major thing. There is no guarantee that Miss Cynthia will want to marry your Jolly Joe.”

Ignoring my jibe, he continued. “I am sending a mail to Jolly Joe asking him to join us for a vacation here. He is one great nature enthusiast, so I’ll just have to describe this place in details and within two days he will be here. I can bet on that. And then your ingenious husband will go to work on him.”

My scathing looks had no effect on my cheerful half. He seemed confident about his plan ‘M’ as he called it.

True to his words, Gonsalves arrived within the next forty eight hours, clad in khaki shorts, hunter jacket and a straw hat. He looked every inch a hunter going on a safari. The only thing missing was a gun. In its place was an expensive digital camera slung around his neck.

“Hi folks, it’s a lovely place you have here. I am enchanted.”

Thumping my husband on his back, he continued, “You bloody rogue, you have hidden this jewel of a place from me, all along. I will never forgive you for this.” Observing the stricken look on Ritesh’s face, he smile magnanimously, “However, since you have invited me now, I will forgive you.”

He stomped into the room and settled down heavily on the sofa.

“I am dog tired. I walked no less than fifteen kilometers today.”

“What? Why?” we asked in unison.

“The answer to ‘what’ is yes I have walked that much and to your ‘why’ I will say that it is such a beautiful place that reaching here in a vehicle would have been a shame. So, here I am.”

Jolly Joe spent the next few minutes inspecting the room. “God, I am so thirsty! Would you be having some ice-cold beer, by any chance?”

After that, it was non-stop laughter, fun and jokes till the evening.

We had just finished our dinner and settle down for a cup of coffee when Miss Cynthia started singing in her off-key voice, pounding on her piano.

“What, in God’s name, is that?” shouted Gonsalves jumping up from his seat in an agitated manner.

“Oh, that’s Miss Cynthia singing. She is very fond of music.”

“You call that MUSIC? You should be ashamed, dear chap. I thought you had better sense than to term noise as music.”

Jolly Joe charged up to Miss Cynthia’s room. We followed apprehensively, at a discreet distance. To say that Miss Cynthia was shocked to see a total stranger charging into her room at that hour of the night would be an understatement of facts. She let out a loud scream.

“Help! Rape! Murder!” She yelled at the top of her voice, backing away towards the wall.

“Shut up and stop screaming,” shouted Gonsalves loudly. “I wouldn’t rape you for a million rupees.”

By now, she had spotted us behind him. The sight gave her confidence. “Who are you and how dare you burst into my room at this time of the night?”

“Doesn’t matter who I am. I am damned if I allow you to murder music in this manner.”

“How dare you call me a murderer of music?”

Her eyes were as cold as blobs of snow. Her nostrils had flared up and she was breathing fire.

“Yes, I dare and I dare much more. I’ll not allow you to touch that piano again, even if I have to kill you with bare hands.” He advanced menacingly towards her.

“You beast, how….how dare you threaten me in my own home?”

Her anger turned into sorrow. Words failed her as she tried to fight the tears out of her voice. She was not accustomed to discourteous men. No one had ever dared to speak to her with such rudeness.

“Get out this very moment!” she thundered.

“Not before I lock up this piano and take the keys with me.”

“Take the keys with you? How incredible! I have never heard such rubbish. I’ll call the police if you don’t get out this very moment.”

“Well, go ahead and call them. I’ll sue you on ground of creating a public nuisance. Imagine inflicting with headache people at such a late hour of night. It is an offence, I assure you.”

I was thrilled. I had never imagined Jolly Joe could be so authoritative. He was simply marvelous. I couldn’t help admiring him. Miss Cynthia, on the other hand, was shell shocked. She sat down heavily.

“And now, I’ll show you what’s music.”

Gonsalves began playing a piece of Chopin. It was heavenly. Miss Cynthia’s mouth fell open. Her facial expression changed from one of hostility to awe and admiration.

As he struck the final chords, we applauded. Miss Cynthia got up and planted a kiss on Gonsalves’ cheek. Now it was his turn to be thunderstruck. He quickly took out his handkerchief, wiped his cheeks and began fumbling uneasily.

“Let’s have an encore,” she announced.

“Yes, please Gonsalves, let’s have some good music. It’s been such a long time since I last heard such music.”

“I am not going to play any music on the piano of someone I have not even been introduced to,” announced Gonsalves petulantly.

“Alright, no reason to feel offended. I am really very sorry but things happened so fast. Here Gonsalves, this is Miss Cynthia Clement and Cynthia, this is our friend, Joseph Gonsalves. He is a musician, trekker, hunter and joker,” Ritesh introduced the two.

Gonsalves bowed courteously.

“Now that we have been introduced, can we have some of your heavenly music?” asked Cynthia coyly.

Jolly Joe lived up to his name and played some happy notes while Miss Cynthia busied herself in making coffee for us.

“Why don’t we go out for a picnic tomorrow morning?” I suggested when we had settled down for conversation.

“Maybe I could collect a few drift-woods for my collection,” agreed Gonsalves.

“Wouldn’t that be fun,” cried Miss Cynthia, enthusiastically. She had been lonely and neglected for too long a time.

Ritesh winked at me.

The next morning we set out early with hampers full of food. It was a lovely picnic. At the end of it, we requested Jolly Joe for a song.

“I am going to sing on one condition,” he said.

“And what is that condition?” asked Miss Cynthia.

“The condition is that you will not touch the piano till you have learnt to play it better,” he joked.

She was hurt, we could tell, from her fallen face.

“Oh, I was just joking,” laughed Jolly Joe seeing her crestfallen. “But, I must say, your cookies are simply fantastic and the chicken sandwiches are absolutely superb.”

His compliments pleased her no end and soon she began chatting in a friendly manner. Ritesh and I exchanged pleased glances over their heads. The ball had set rolling. The two seemed to get along like a house on fire. Gonsalves sang away merrily –“Oh, my Delilah,” and she blushed like a new bride.

The next few days flew away amidst picnics, hikes, songs and music.

“Have you noticed the changed in our pal, Gonsalves?” asked Ritesh one night.

“Yes, he seems to be spending a lot of time with Miss Cynthia these days.”

“Not just that, he has started teaching her music. I think we should celebrate, we are getting close to owning the cottage.”

“Don’t be so sure,” I warned, my cautious nature coming to fore.

“You will always remain a doubting Thomas,” teased my husband.

“I believe in playing safe. After all, he may just be teaching her music, with no ulterior motives in mind.”

“Ha, only a man can know the intentions and motives of another man,” Ritesh scoffed.

The next evening, Ritesh began sounding his pal on the subject.

“Gonsalves, haven’t you ever thought of marrying?”

“I never found a likeable woman,” answered Jolly Joe.

‘I don’t believe you couldn’t find a likeable woman in the whole world, all these years.”

“Maybe I didn’t look hard enough,” Admitted Gonsalves. “I am basically a shy person, especially where women are concerned. I would not know how to woo one.”

“What do you feel now? For instance, you are quite free with Miss Cynthia,” suggested Ritesh.

A slow blush appeared on Gonsalves’ face.

“Oh, Cynthie is different. She is a good sport and a good cook, both of which I admire. Not only that, she admits her faults so readily which is such a rare quality in a woman. You know, she is quite a gal, this Cynthie.”

The fondness in his voice was unmistakable.

“I wonder why she didn’t get married,” mused Ritesh.

“I asked her that. She had a tragic affair with an Englishman. He died of some disease. After that she never wanted to get married. Basically, she is quite a sensitive lady. I feel sorry for her.”

“So do I. she is so lonely, there is no one to take care of her. I wonder how she will live through this life all alone, in this big house.”

“Yes, I wonder too,” replied Gonsalves dreamily.

I nudged Ritesh not to carry things too far. Thankfully he understood my point and refrained from pushing the matter. It wouldn’t help to have Gonsalves smell a cat.

We didn’t have to wait too long. Gonsalves sauntered in the next evening with a sheepish grin on his face and Miss Cynthia in tow. “You know Ritesh, I have been thinking over what you said,” He began.

“Thinking about what, Gonsalves?” Ritesh feigned ignorance.

“You remember, we talked about Cynthie and her loneliness?”

“Oh, yes, what about it?”

“I thought it was time I did something about it. I’ve asked Cynthie, too. She agrees. So, we have decided to tie the knot and we wanted you to be the first to know since you were instrumental in brining us together.”

“That is a real good piece of news. Congratulations!”

We both leapt up and kissed them.

Cynthia blushed furiously while Gonsalves played with his cuffs, self consciously. We were frankly taken aback at the suddenness with which the event had taken place.

“We’ve done it, Ritesh,” I exclaimed hugging my husband that night.

“Imagine! We will own this place now. Our plan worked.” He let out a whoop of joy and danced around the room. “You’ve always underestimated your husband. I’m an enterprising man,” bragged Ritesh.

Preparations for the wedding, Cynthia’s trousseau and guest lists… there was so much to do. There were no relatives on both the sides, so we had to give the bride away as well as play the bridesmaid and the best man. It was a hectic week.

Finally they were wedded in the local church. Cynthia shed buckets of tears. Gonsalves fussed around her all the time, never deserting her for a moment.

“I’ve never been happy all my life. I just can’t believe it to be true. It is almost like a dream, Joseph is the most wonderful man,” cried Cynthia, hugging me.

They smiled at each other and gazed into each other’s eyes.

“What is your plan now, Gonsalves? Are you taking Cynthia some place for a honeymoon or going straight to Mumbai?” queried Ritesh anxiously. His leave was about to end and we had to lock up the cottage before we went.

“Why go anywhere else for a honeymoon? This cottage is the best place for it,” confided Jolly Joe. “You know that I have just two years of service left before retirement. I have decided to take premature retirement. With the amount I will get and my investments we can live happily and peacefully.”

“Where have you decided to settle down?”

“Why, Cosy Cottage of course. We will live here. It’s the loveliest place I’ve known. Moreover, I have some sentimental reasons for living here. It is here, I found Cynthie.”

“What?”

We were shocked beyond words. Our visions of owning the cottage dwindled into a distant dream.

We packed our bags to return home with heavy hearts.

“So much so for your plans,” I cursed Ritesh.

“Who could ever think that Gonsalves would decide to move in here, lock, stock and barrel? Anyway, let us go back. Maybe, some of your other cousins can get rid of both Mr. and Mrs. Gonsalves, now.”

The final shock arrived in the form of my Uncle Crank’s letter.

“Dear Niece,’ it read.

“I have just learned of the unfortunate happenings at Cosy Cottage. Since you have destroyed every possibility of my ever getting that cottage back, as a punitive gesture, I am removing your name from the list of my favourite nieces and nephews. That also means that you will not be given a chance to get my other cottage at Nainital vacated.

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The Tale of the Cosy Cottage

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