Mind over matter

Its midnight. I’ve finished watching all manner of idiocy and mayhem on TV and feel just in the mood for a nice, juicy murder mystery. I creep into the box room and fish out an old Edgar Wallace from mama’s stash of books. This one I haven’t yet read. It’s called ‘Coat of Arms’ and the cover says it’s about a madman who escapes from an asylum after bludgeoning the watchman to pulp.

Madmen and murder, killing combination, I tell myself and settle into the crook of an armchair, preparing to be deliciously terrorized and cunningly misled.
By the by, (when the madman steals the family silver and sets the house ablaze) it occurs to me that the house is uncommonly silent, save for the unconcerned snores coming from ‘the dog,’ who has placed herself strategically under the fan and that done, wandered off into a habitually sonorous, slumber.

It’s strange how silence and darkness can befuddle even the most rational people. The brass Centurion with the side-whiskers and the head fluff gazes balefully at me from the corner, his ornamental scabbard and crooked sword glinting menacingly in the lamplight.
Pity he stands so near the fridge, because I’ve just remembered that there’s a big slab of almond chocolate somewhere inside that has suddenly become terribly appealing.

Should I? Shouldn’t I? It’s only a question of mind over matter. That’s all there is to it. Yonder lies the prize, I mutter. Avast, Barbary corsair… Or something to that effect, I encourage myself.
There’s no way he’s digging that blade into me, because he’s only made of metal, besides I’m too fast for a rusty old soldier to catch. Thus saying, I skirt the wicked blade, open the fridge door, grab the prize, (never taking my eyes off my silent adversary) and reclaim my position on the armchair all in one fluid motion.

Never before was an exploit so fraught with peril, so prompted by greed and so richly rewarded.
Minutes later, flushed with bravery, and stuffed with chocolate, I go so far as to wave a bit of the 'booty' mockingly in the centurion’s face. I then proceed to give the madman my wholehearted and well-fed attention.
In the morning, with the sun streaming into the dining room, the centurion looks less formidable and I almost laugh out loud at the nightly skirmish.
But not too loud... there’s still some chocolate left in the fridge.

Heard on the train to Bangalore last week.
Passenger 1- “I think you are sitting on my seat.”
Passenger 2- (Belligerently) “What you mean?”
P1- (Severely) “You are sitting on my seat.”
P2- (Offensively)“Aap nonsense bath math karo.”
P1- “You are not understanding only. This is my seat…”
P2- (In a rapidly ascending crescendo) “You are acting stupid. I will not move.” (Roundly)
P1 - (Looking around) “What is wrong with this man?”
P2- “Nothing is wrong with me. You are stupid.” (Goes on to offend P1’s genealogy, progeny and constabulary in an earsplitting tone.)
P1- (Too shocked to react)
Enter TC- (Looks at tickets and informs P2) “This is not your seat. Your name is on the waiting list. Please wait for your seat. I will accommodate you.”
P2- (In a much milder tone) “Oh, is that so? I will move immediately.”
P2 to P3- (With an air of confiding to P3) “It was a misunderstanding.”
P3 to P2- “Yes,yes, but in society one has to learn to live with others.”
P2- “Haw, haw, haw.”