About a month and a half ago, Perumal, newly-married son of (Rogue) Annamalai came to cut grass for his cow. It began to rain, and he sheltered in the cowshed.

The next day he came along with his younger brother Venkatesh and his wife Deepa. It began to drizzle and they all headed for the cowshed. A bit odd, but…

Varun said, “Do you think they will steal a cycle horn?”. He dismissed the thought, and I too, thought that that would be too outrageous.

Two weeks later, when we were getting ready to go to Jaga/Vimi’s place for Saraswati Pooja lunch, Varun discovered that his horn had indeed been stolen.
 And, of course, we knew by whom: A well-planned conspiracy of Perumal’s; he whom we weren’t thinking the worst of.

All of us were quite jangled by this latest devilry, but we had a lunch to look forward to, so we set off.

We stopped at the Thekambattu PO on the way and bemoaned our fate: “Naan nallathu pannen; avan ippidi pannitaan” (“I was doing good; look what he did”). Everyone commiserated with us; Tea-kadai Madhe said that Venkatesh has even broken into his shop and stolen biscuits. “Now he runs away whenever he sees me”.

But nothing happens.

A few days later, I see Rogue Annamalai skulking near our border. I went down to greet him, and said matter-of-factly, “Annamalai, tell your son to return the haarn-u”. Sheer surprise must have led him to reply, “Seri, saar; sollaren”

But nothing happens.

Meanwhile, I met Naataar Venkatesh, who told me that he had seen a new-style horn on the boy’s cycle. “We’ll do something”, he said.

But nothing happens.

A few days later, Rogue Annamalai and his brother Terthan were discussing some land selling: I went down and sounded the haarn-u motif. Terthan, holier-than-thou, said, “Oh, he shouldn’t have done that; tell him to return it” and so on. Annmalai said that he doesn’t know anything about it. To which I said, “But your son will know”.

Boochiamma (Annamalai’s mother) came along, and I told her also about it. Later that day, she came with a broken pair of binoculars asking if that was what had been stolen. We then showed her Badri’s horn.

But nothing happens.

A few days later, Perumal comes to cut grass, but I say, “Bring the horn back, and then you can cut grass”. He pretends to have been away and not know anything about the horn.

Nothing happens.

A few days later, I shoo Annamalai’s cow away from our land where it was grazing. It was there the next day as well, so I tie cow and calf together near the house. Boochiamma and Deepa come to retrieve the cows. And I rant about the cows. And the horn. The boys then see them cutting grass and I say, “Go away, you can’t cut here; my horn” and other unconnected stuff, accumulated over 18 years of being neighbours.

Nothing happens.

Until yesterday. After a great spell of rain thanks to Cyclone Gaja, Boochiamma showed up with the horn. And a story of it having been stolen by older boys from Venkatesh. And Sherlock Annamalai tracking it down. And “Look, I have brought it back”. She lost no time in taking advantage of her situation.”Can I have this?” “Can I have that?”; and went away with a laddoo and many flower cuttings.

The horn was sans the clamps, however. The clamps are essential to fix the horn. But Badri Baba quickly improvised a Cycle inner-tube and the horn — a little the worse for wear — is on the cycle again.

A month and a half after it went away.

Epilogue: Today, Boochiamma looking very virtuous, came to cut grass for her cow (“It’s not grazing on your land”). While she was leaving, I renewed the horn motif. “Ask Perumal to find the clamps and bring them to me”.