"This grass has to go," heaved my father, as he slid the long blade of the scythe into a patch of overgrown wet grass, under the mango tree.
"Oh! It's stuck, Renu," he yelled to Ma who was watching from a distance. "What? What's stuck?" she asked, looking a little perplexed.
"This damn scythe," he swore.
"What's the problem?" she asked, craning her neck to catch a better view of the scythe. "Just swing it from right to left, and pull hard," she instructed.
"It's simple!" she grinned, shaking her head, as she hastened towards him, wishing silently that Rajan our gardener would come back soon.
Gripping the wooden handle of the scythe even more tightly my father gave it a tug and swirled it so hard that it practically sent him into a spin.
"Ohhh…ohhh!" he gasped and then stood still!
There flying high out of the grass and right towards him were two long black pieces of what looked like finely sliced meat.
"Oh no!" he yelled, as he picked up his sarong from his ankles and dashed toward Ma.
"Renu, let's buy a lawnmower next time!" he screamed.
"I hate cobras, dead or alive!"
The writer is a consultant clinical hypnotherapist
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