I love to mess with peoples’ heads. I often set out to deceive and delude.

I claimed to a friend I ate raw chitterlings for breakfast.

Do you know what chitterlings are? They are the small intestines of a pig.

I showed my friend a soggy plastic replica of the innards of a pig.

He looked stricken…as if he had ruptured his own insides…and began a sideways walk as though he were being lashed at his legs.

‘Prankster Pratik’. Friends who root for me call me by this title. They find my charm hard to resist.

When I pull my pranks and split people up with laughter and victims with fright, I play my ace.  

Pranks are my zone, my ideas in action. In my twelfth year, such escapades warm me in body and spirit.

When people exclaim, “Oh man, you have got him again!” I am at the edge of rapture.

Playing slowly on the mind is key. One must resist temptation to overshoot or the prank will come undone.

Every once in a while I do get into trouble, far more than I bargain for, while overshooting.

Let me tell you about one such flameout.

I believe April Fools’ Day pranks are my answer to the injustices of my parents.

For the times they said homework before play, relatives before friends and food before dessert.

Oomna and I grew sick of our tame April Fools’ Day tricks. Pa’s staplers in jello and Ma’s cake made with mayo icing.

This year I sought to nudge the prank dial up. Stir things for a larger dose of tomfoolery.

My plan was to frighten my parents into believing Masti had got into the washing machine, been through the whole rinsing cycle and was in the midst of being tumble dried.

I bought a stuffed toy dog the colour and size of Masti.

Oomna and I planned to holler “Masti in the washing machine” at the end of the machine’s roundabout, as it whirled with maniacal fury.

The problem was Masti. He sensed something amiss and scurried helter-skelter.

To quieten him, I locked him in our car. I left open half a window.

Everything went per plan. The stuffed dog was in a whirlpool of movement, spinning, twisting and gyrating, when we let out our yells.

Ma and Pa were frantic in their attempts to shut off the machine. Ma was in tears.

It was the most satisfying fun windfall ever!!!

But the trick turned on us. Poor hapless Masti took fright. I forgot he has a metabolism of a grinder.

He went on a volatile poop-party inside the car. He pooped the poop of a thousand. The stink was unbearable.

A shower of pale brown liquid hit the insides of the car: the ceiling, the windows, the seats, the front and rear glasses and the floor.

The ooze had hundreds of pellet-sized seeds. I don’t wish to venture a guess on what it was.

I can positively say though there was enough methane in the car for a time bomb. 

In his fright, he even got a scotch tape roll entangled on his snout.

A neighbourhood kid let him out to ease his panic.

It was Oomna’s and my turn to cry as we could not find him for hours.

When we finally did at his secluded hideaway, snout and tape, strut and posture, yap and leash, there was a sea of happy tears.

We had lots of stinky cleaning on our hands. And a miracle to perform, turn a brown dog white.

We are not sure who the greater fools were that day.

I would have you know I am still learning to perfect pranks. I hope to get better.