People
Life On The Farm
RAVNEET KAUR SANGHA
Houston, we have a problem ... but this one is closer to home.
We have been run over by rats in the outer quarters of our farm.
The rat here is not be mistaken for ‘oh-cho-chweet’ Jerry, Tom’s perennial nemesis, nor is he the Ratatouille who regales Paris.
This is the common garden variety rat that has invaded our farm.
A number of you are going to make fun of me and invariably say, ‘what do you expect, you do live on the farm, don‘t you?’
Others amongst you, I’m sure, are bound to find it amusing by referring to Maneka Gandhi and her animal activism, and point out that it is merely our eco system in its full glory.
Someone who lives in our complex and has been equally afflicted by these varmints, has tried everything in his quarter. He had gone to work one morning, leaving his room perfect, and when he came back for lunch, he was in for a surprise.
Here’s how he explained it: “When I had left in the morning, the curtains were in place and were of full length, the mattress was intact, and my trouser was hanging behind the door. Now the curtain is of half-length, the mattress has holes and the trouser has been bitten all over.”
He was ready to cry and went away after I consoled him that we would look into this matter. I handled everything in the manner of a government department -- it would’ve made any bureaucrat in New Delhi might proud!
The minute he went, I turned around and burst out laughing. The curtain reminded me of the chocolate advertisement where the tailor invariably shortens the trouser to shorts, thanks to the mumbling by the boys eating chocolate.
One of the operators at the cold storage, an ex-army Subedaar Sahib, even submitted a letter in English worthy of a classic piece to be kept in the archives for future generations. It was addressed to the Manager and had the usual salutations. The line that jumped out was: ‘Sir, the rats are jumping and not letting me sleep. Mind you, the rats there are white furry albino alien type ones that can scare the enemy away! We think breeding them may make a better defence against the enemies of our country.”
Rats are vermin for us and we set traps everywhere to catch them. The kaarigars (labourers) have a good answer; they say the rats don’t eat or spoil their clothes. If you respect them, they say, they respect you back.
One of them, Raj, said that just because his tarrka (seasoning) was so good is why the rats get tempted.
The gatewallah (watchman), a pro at this, got Ratkill to deal with the problem. These are small round balls of poison, chocolate in color, and they are strategically placed in corners. The rat comes in and eats them and goes out in the open and dies.
However, the ones here on the farm are smart and I think due to genetic modification, they just jump over the balls and avoid the poison.
They also cut the wires to the new hi-tech equipment sold to us unsuspecting Punjabis by this company which had actually promised that the frequency emitted by the contraption would not let the rats come near the premises of the farmhouse!
Thus, these rats have managed to outwit us in multiple ways: by not eating the poison, not being affected by the hi-tech equipment we put up, or by-passing our surveillance equipment, escape the traps dotting the house by the dozen ...
The servants and my neighbour have started wearing shorts. The curtains have been drstically shortened and hemmed.
The rats, mercifully, aren’t cutting them shorter, and are leaving them alone.
We have perfect harmony now. We live with the rats, and they let us co-exist by not spoiling our food or gnawing on our possessions.
Who knows, they may have found other distractions.
May 27, 2015