The dichotomy of a clobbered maw making a full mouthed wail for rescue is not dead on this city’s dwellers. We shall talk about the frequent joys, unabated spirit and random freetitudes of the ‘mouth’ that opens to voice us even in desperate times when it resembles a platypus’ beak.
The platypuses beak into a smile post session
The wordy flatulence of my city is a nurturer’s dream- rounded up through generations of volitional myth making and gossip tendering. A word coming from a mouth travels through others on a Marco Poloesque sojourn for the spices of lost islands. For a city that is afflicted by a premonition of cultural doom from frequent PDA, the eroticism of rumour exchange is a blatant moral bender that my city shall kindly overlook.
An innocuous drop in the car becomes a whirlwind romance before the two involved even realize, when undercover script agents finish with lunch and practice their brilliant skills to postpone the damages of afternoon siesta on their love handles.
This then stretches onto late afternoons, when the ‘back from work-hence more successful-hence have sharper skills’ batch joins in. Postures are assumed on all and sundry means of parking posterior devices, the comfort of which makes for better concentration and the slimiest of inputs. An unspoken law prevents two platypuses from expounding at the same time, one speaks, while the next in line quickly thinks of an additional piece of interesting bite(frequently made up)to add when its turn comes.
As the session progresses, while others rapidly start making up for the lost siesta hours of weight watching by swallowing every edible item on the table, the ones whose turn is yet to come, sit anxiously rummaging their mind for juicier contributions and secretly wishing that the climax scene is theirs to script.
The two most resourceful platypuses of the evening is the one that started the caterwaul and the other that shrilled out the highest pitch-that being the climax. Those in between add their notes of wauler frequencies but it is upto these two to make the session better than the food on offering. And that my readers can be a serious challenge! No script agent platypus will miss the food, its taste making having to make up for plot of next session due to thinned attendance of PDA in society park during exam time.
There are no strict eligibility criteria for a greenhorn platypus to join these sessions. The only expected qualifier being a continuous dissatisfaction with platypus life- in sleep, food, sex and other less crucial departments. A 9.9/10 in any of these and you can walk right in and indulge in beak speak.
The ritual caterwauling takes a different colour when “back from work in evening- hence OBVIOUSLY more successful-sharpest tools et al” joins in. These are the ninja caterwaulers because they carry the combined frustrations of work and life. The love-handled caterwaulers suck up to the ninjas in muted tones of wide eyed appreciation, secretly not believing that their society park theme is baby talk in front of corporate domed ladder climbing.
While the caterwaulers mouth myth after myth, soaking in the subdued majesty of glorious ‘god-sip’, the session is shrouded over with the repressed exuberance of mutual lie making. The evening is over, the host bids adieu, one platypus encounters a snogging couple in the elevator. It waits with bated beak for the next call to caterwaul for the start or the climax.
