Rat Poison

We, my wife and I, were living With our son in an Indian Metropolis. It was sometime before I took up my assignment in Africa. I was just vegetating, When I came across an ad—for holiday-homes. Prospective customers were Invited to discuss their holiday-plans. And there was free lunch! Why not explore? We went, my wife and I. It was a conference hall in a posh hotel, With lots of tables around. There was a buzz: The company representatives were discussing plans With gullible customers. We were shown a table At which was seated a smart young man, Sporting a tie, who greeted us— With a beaming smile and a booming voice. He explained the various plans quickly And waited for our favourable response. I had a word with my wife, Took a deep breath and said: We must consult our son! The young man’s face went red. He responded angrily in an offensive tone: “You mean to say you can’t take A simple decision yourself—at this age? You need to consult people, eh? How strange!” I reiterated my stand, though. Then the young man said derisively: “Okay, have your lunch and go!” Now we could see the ad as a kind of rat-trap, With the lunch as the bait. Lunch? We had no go. It was too late to go back home for lunch. We weren’t prepared to eat out either, Having left our VISA cards safely at home! We went in to lunch. The ambience, in our sullen mood, Looked sepulchral. And the lunch tasted of rat poison! ***