The Saviour

They came, they saw, they scratched themselves, and they conquered.



Within a few weeks of the arrival of the first red-bottomed monkey in my parents' neighbourhood, several houses had been broken into, messed up, fridges raided, fruits pureed onto the floor, eggs crunched with bare, hairy hands, and sofas and curtains tattered.



Suddenly, balconies were out of bounds as no one could enjoy the early-winter sun for fear of a simian visitor. Pickles left to cook in the sun were reduced to remnants of smashed jars, flowers and potted plants were ruthlessly torn up. The people cried for relief. 'Save us, save us', they told the perturbed housing management society.



And so came Punnu Singh. He strode around our campus. He glared. He glowered from under his bushy eyebrows. He bared his teeth. He made menacing sounds. He intimidated the intruders and drove them away without batting an eyelid. The mischief-makers saw him and hastily retreated into the wilderness of Noida. A man of few words, his expression was enough to tell us: 'All in a day's work.' And so he came, he glared, he scared, and he departed.



Punnu Singh does not like to be photographed. Detracts from his dignity, he thinks. So he refuses to smile for pictures. Here is a photo I found of him on the Net. I think he's quite handsome.