Beware police, aunties chasing down criminals

"Gundo chhe, gundo," my aunt retorted in a bloodcurling shout. (A thief, a thief!)

Half of us in the van, almost dozing off, were suddenly jolted wide awake. Where's the gundo (thief)? Who's gundo? Am I the gundo?  

I looked at my brother, then my cousin. Who was friend, who was foe? What the hell was going on? Everyone was clueless.

In a slight daze, I checked my pocket to see if gundo picked my wallet. We -- mine and my cousin's family -- had a fairly incident free trip down South India, so this was exciting.

Aunt artfully serenaded us with "gundo chhe gundo" not just once, but four to five times. She gave the rendition a melody that hit the right notes. The lyrics, peppered with a generous dose of "gunda," gave the strophes an artful rhyme. Unwittingly, my aunt was belting out a solo hit song.

When aunt's commotion settled, the mystery unraveled. Her nuclear explosion of rage was channeled at, if I remember correctly, some poor chap's minor overcharge for a service.

The incident didn't last long, but it was thrilling. We finally got a slice of villainy we craved to shake up the trip a bit. South Indians were weirdly friendly, and we were tired of their generosity. We wanted action.

One generous South Indian waiter gave us tea for free, but charged a hefty sum for the water in it. And early in the trip, another friendly hotel manager guaranteed us a malaria-free stay with the brilliant "mosquitoes not available" remark.

More than 25 years on, the biggest memory from the trip is "gundo chhe gundo." Sometimes the weirdest shit can stick in the head.

My aunt hasn't repeated "gundo chhe gundo" scene since. Like a crime scene she'd rather not revisit. The time has come for me to steal something from her place and recreate that moment....