I’m Being Recruited by The Army
Absurd Comedy in 800 words
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” I say. “I’m being recruited by the army”.
It’s to serve under a man with a green head and one nostril. He wears his socks inside out, and hates white underwear. We fight for the underwater army, against the octopi who claim to have three hearts. Such a ridiculous claim! He oft tells us: nature is the ultimate evil, and must be destroyed at all cost. I try to point out that nature is what sustains us, and he looks at me with bloodshot eyes and yells: “Shut the fuck up, you idiot! That’s simply the nonsense of indie films.” At such moments, I have to meditate — I remind myself that a book written by Osho referred to meditation as the first and last freedom — and that fact gives me peace. In my blissful thoughts, I imagine torturing the Colonel, sawing off his fingers and putting hostile amounts of pressure on his wounds as Radiohead plays Creep in the background of my mind. For some reason, the band members always wear pink antennae as they play out the deliciously malign rock music. Such reveries are often broken by the barking of the Colonel, and I have to stop thinking of pouring burning oil all over his bloodied face. I yell back at him, calling him a monkey with no balls. The Colonel considers such lack of respect “a concerning malady”.
I am prescribed guitar lessons to control my temper. But the instructor refuses to teach us anything until we swallow a frog — and I refuse to swallow a frog. He raps for a living, and rides Lamborghinis with the hood down. His pretentious analog watch is cerulean blue by day and sunflower yellow by night. He often turns into a pencil at twilight; it’s his only weakness. I wouldn’t mind such a quirk, but the pencil he transfigures into has one of those erasers attached at the bottom, fixed to the pencilwood with a garish metal band. The very thought of it makes me laugh, almost making up for the agony I have to endure during those excruciating “lessons”.
In the army, we are only allowed 30 minutes of free time per day. I utilize my time efficiently: I watch one episode of the space-jazz-western anime Cowboy Bebop and talk to my family during the remaining 10 minutes. I tell them that everything is fine — except that the rats scare me sometimes. They are glad that I am eating well and keeping fit, but my mom doesn’t want to put the phone down. Her accurate but biased Islamophobic facts start convincing me; I sometimes wonder whether I am really becoming my father.
The washroom of the general quarters doesn’t have air-conditioning in it, which makes my skin itch unbearably — I have an allergy to direct air. We are transported to the ocean in limousines, and drop into the water butt-naked — we have no gear because all the funds have been depleted on the fleets of limousines. I try to think of my Doraemon plushie back home — and the thought comforts me. I center myself — and start swimming.
It’s true — the army has injected us with ampoules of a citric-smelling liquid that is supposed to give us webbed feet. They’re just experimenting. The pain isn’t intense, but I wish it would stop nonetheless. The sweet smelling stacks of liquid always remind me of the countryside; how Dtymix and I would peel the oranges and squeeze their juice into our eyes, screaming with delight.
The karate lessons are my favorite. Our instructor is a Chinese with a crippling addiction for Indian chaat. He wears a diaper underneath his black belt. He says it’s just for style, but that doesn’t stop him from earning the nickname “Nappy”. He likes room fresheners, and buys only the ones that smell like meadows (now you know what to gift him). He has a concerning amount of affection for the guitar instructor, and has asked him out at least 34 times. His karate moves are impressive, and his body 10/10 — but who would date a person with yellow hair?
At this juncture, you ask me how I know all this if I had merely been recruited by the army and hadn’t joined yet; the only answer I can give is that “Sometimes, these things just come to you.” Deep down, I know that you’re not convinced, but I shrug the feeling off as sleep arrives in mournful waves.
