Mr C is an old friend. Wait a minute. I am not sure ‘friend’ is the right word to use here. That will be stretching things a bit too far. Let’s just say that Mr C and I go back a long way. I have know him from when I was a wee little thing.

Mr. C seemed to be always around in my childhood. My parents of course were not too happy about this constant intrusion of his into my life, and as a result into theirs as well. Moreover they were worried about my safety. They tried to discourage him as best as they could. But mother tells me nothing worked and that Mr C loved me so much that he kept coming back. Uninvited.

Too little and too weak myself, to let him know that I did not enjoy his visits, I meekly accepted this unwanted affection. He anyway scarcely paid attention to my wariness of him and enthusiastically pushed his company on me. With a confidence that none could beat he. would walk in and make himself comfortable.

His arrivals coincided every single time with my health taking a turn for the worse. And yet no one really did, or could do, anything concrete about it. Times were such. The likes of Mr C were free to roam and harm little children, and in some cases adults too.

Years passed and I started seeing less and less of Mr C. Perhaps he felt I had grown stronger and might resist his advances. Perhaps he had found weaker children to prey on. Or perhaps the system was stronger and had banished the likes of Mr C. Whatever the reason, I was glad to have Mr C gone.

But was he really gone? Not really.

I came across him once or twice again. He tried to wheedle into my affections and settle down like before. Times though had changed and I had better weapons in my arsenal plus people willing to lead the fight to deter the likes of him. I fought, and how.

What angered me though was Mr c’S attempt in later years to ingratiate himself with my own children. Take that, and that, and that, I cursed under my breath as I chased him off. I had assistance now. No way was he going to make them suffer like he did me! Good riddance of bad rubbish, I thought as I saw his bent back vanishing.

As more and more years passed by with no sign of Mr C, I sincerely hoped I had seen the last of him. Maybe he was dead and gone. That would be perfect. One never knows, with the kind of vigilance exercised these days and scientists coming up with new solutions to solve problems such as him, it was definitely possible.

Apparently I was wrong.

Mr C is very much alive and kicking. He is back for me and clinging to me for all its worth. They say this time they can hear me in Timbuktu. <cough cough cough>

©️ Shail Mohan