Strong Coffee

"How many times, son? How many times do I tell you – just ONE Z!"

"But Ma, you're the generation that worked all the time, and we're the generation that sleeps!"

"The sign should read Generation Z. If your father sees this ..."

Naren held up the sign he had painted. It read: Generation Zzzzzzzz. He gazed at it fondly and said, "If my father sees this, he'll say I'm being honest about what my ne'er do well friends and I get done each day."

"What it is to live with two men born under the Aquarius sign. Everything just flows off you like water. Instructions, criticism, even the yelling I'm giving you now."

"Yes, your words fall like drops of water, Ma. You'd do better saving your breath and checking on Uncle Sanjeev, whether he's got his sign ready or not."

"Whose idea was this family fun-fair, anyway?" his mother grumbled. "And who put me in charge of making sure everyone else does their work?"

"If I recall right, YOU said it would be nice for us to do some activity together now that the extended family has gathered after Covid. You said the pandemic put distance between us and we should work on something together to bring ourselves closer."

"I did, did I? What had I been drinking at the time?"

"Ma! Don't accuse yourself of – anyway, you've only been drinking Aunt Damyanti's strong coffee, that's it. You'd been drinking coffee and you said ..."

"Never mind what I said. Where is Uncle Sanjeev, and which signs is he working on?"

"Those time-things. You know, which year, which day."

"Okay, now you bring your sign down to ONE Z and give it to Rita, she's in charge of allocating stalls for each game. She'll put your sign up where it should be, at least I hope she will."

Wistfully, Naren began to blot out the extra 'z's on his sign. He could hear the rest of the family in other parts of the sprawling bungalow, or in the grounds. There were shouts, there was singing, a couple of the youngest cousins were wailing about something. Someone was working the mixie in the kitchen and someone appeared to be hammering at something somewhere.

Above all the other sounds, he heard his mothers voice.

"NO, Sanjeev, no. You are even worse than Naren!"

Dropping his sign and bit of cloth, Naren ran. He ran toward the shouting. He HAD to find out what was worse than him. He couldn't let go of the 'worst' epithet lightly.

He found them in the living room. His uncle had painted much faster than he had. "Year of the Dog" and "Year of the Earthworm" were already drying on the floor.

His mother, livid, was looking at the third sign. "It should say Year of the Snake" she was shrieking.

Naren looked at the sign. He sighed. Should he laugh, or should he regret the loss of being 'the worst'? He laughed.

The sign showed a guy in a robe. Well, you couldn't exactly see the robe, because the picture was a close up. A close up of the man's left profile, with emphasis on his hearing organ.

The caption was : The Ear of the Sheikh.