Anna and Shyamala

Just before dinner time, somewhere in Section 6, Petaling Jaya. A key can be heard in the front door lock.

“Is that you, Shya dear?”

“Yes, it’s me. How was your afternoon?”

“I was anxious for you to come home as the phone was going ‘ding, ding’ all the time you were out.”

“It’s your Whatsapp group as usual. The old farts work up their energy to chat more on Sundays. But, you want dinner or Whatsapp?”

“Whatsapp please.”

“Okay. Let’s see. Chak, Jasen, Henry, Henry, Henry, Henry, Henry, Henry, Henry.”

“How about Chak and Jasen first?”

“Newspaper delivery from Chak. Jasen’s Indian good morning message reads: ‘Love is like milk. Heart is like coffee. Make a latte each day and put love in your heart’.”

“I don’t get it. What about Henry?”

“Henry’s posts: nasi lemak, noodle, pig, pig, chicken, fish, selfie.”

“Selfie with hat, sunglasses, wine glass or beer stein?”

“All of the above.”

“Delete.”

Phone goes “ding, ding.”

“Who’s that?”

“Penny.”

“Say welcome to her from us! Haven’t talked to her since VI days.”

“Too late…”

“Why?”

“She’s already left the chat.”

“Who’s the other post from?”

“Kwen Fee.”

“What’s he on about?”

“Nothing.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“You know I can tell when you are lying to me?”

“Yes, lah.”

“Now, I know for certain you are lying to me — he was talking about his thingy again, right?”

“Can we please not talk about his thingy for just one day? Especially, not before a meal.”

“Sorry, dear. Thanks for the catch-up, let’s have dinner now, shall we?”

Midway through dinner, the phone goes ‘ding, ding’ again. Shya gives Anna a withering look.

“Really, you want me to see who it is? Right now?”

Anna gives a sheepish look across the table.

“Okay, let’s see — hmmm — this will spoil your meal.”

“Why?”

“It’s a couple of Don posts about vegan food again.”

“Delete and block.”

“Can’t block him, lah, as he will think that I am the one who is blocking him when it is really you. Just eat your rice and vegetables and avoid the meat.”

“Hmmmph,” he huffs as, grudgingly, he uses his fork to sweep the remnants of his lamb curry to the far side of his plate.

“Oh, he mentioned you in his Lap Chun Predictions of Propitious Careers in the Next Life.”

“Lap Chun predictions?”

“He makes this shit up all the time.”

“I know, but what did he predict?”

“He says you will be an ER surgeon or personal accident insurance salesman.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Neither do I,” she observes with a slight tone of irony in her voice. “Can we now finish dinner without interruption?”

Later that night in a darkened bedroom an unmuted phone goes ‘ding, ding’.

“Shya, dear…”

“Annnnnnnnaaa, for heaven’s sake it’s the middle of the night…”

After a pregnant pause, “Shya…?”

“Oookaaayyy!” she grumbles before fumbling for the smartphone glowing on her nightstand. “I knew it. It’s nothing important, just the bloody foreigners posting from a different time zone. Can we sleep now?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Remind me to confirm lunch with Don on 12 March.”

“OK, but I thought we were busy.”

“No, I just want the chance to be close enough to smack him in the face for waking me up again in the middle of the night.”

Soon, only the sound of gentle breathing can be heard and peace settles once more in that darkened bedroom in Section 6.

An imagined conversation between Anna and Shyamala
(Apologies to Anna and Shyamala for this blatant fake news)

Comments:

Shyamala — “???????????????????? Donald you nearly choked Anna with your imaginary conversation.”

Kwen Fee — “Brilliant. This is not even a caricature. Anyone reading from outside will think it’s all made up.”