3.2mp Spy Hidden Camera

3.2mp Spy Hidden Camera

In Key Chain wid USB.

Spy Video/ Audio Recording/ Clicks photo.

Expandable upto 8GB.

MRP: Rs. 4990

Offer Price: Rs. 1990

Sms ANAND 555 to 567678

Damn these stupid SMSes. Not for them, I wouldn’t have my leg propped up in a hospital bed. Multiple fractures, I know it sucks!! But you know, once in a while, an extraordinarily intelligent human being such as ‘Yours Truly- Me, Myself’ is desperate enough, is gullible enough to fall in a mouse-trap that these clever Chinese-Good traders lay in your path.

And anyways, as I said- I was desperate. Of course, I didn’t venture out to be a spy in patriotic mien for the welfare of the nation. I had an ulterior motive in buying such shit piece equipment.

Real Detectives are extraordinarily expensive, so much so that my parents couldn’t afford them. And the reason why they wanted one was to keep an eye on my younger, beautiful sister Shweta who was, according to the rumor-mongering Catty Neighboring Aunties, suffering from a case of Multiple-Boyfriends syndrome.

My dad of course wasn’t ready to believe that, because Shweta was everything he wanted as an ideal offspring to be, smart, sharp and a Board Ranker. A talented Gujarati writer himself (though a wee bit old fashioned) Shweta was the primary subject of his life’s chapter, while I was something to be brushed under the carpet as a mere footnote that no one gave a damn about. It maybe had to do with the fact that however much he tried (bashing me, beating me, swearing at me, fighting with my teachers over strict checking), my report-cards couldn’t muster much more than single-digits. In the end, he sighed and handed me in fate’s custody.

My mom, of course, more than made up for my dad’s aloofness regarding his elder son. And though, she equally loved my sister, she was more practical. While my dad immersed himself in a faraway mythological fantasy in Never Land, my mom fought with the demons of real life rearing up two warring, cajoling spoilt kids, who would not resist gloating over the other’s demise.

So when opportunity presented itself in the form of a Sleuth Job, with the primary target as my dear sis, requested by none other than, one and only- my dad, at the behest of my mother- with an economic incentive of a 75.33% raise in my pocket money, I immediately agreed.

So it was but obvious that I had to get my Hercule Poirots and Sherlock Holmes straight to the dot. And keeping up with modern times, a gadget might come handy.

So I sweetly asked by dad to cough up some cash, in order so that I can carry out my job effectively. He reluctantly agreed.

So during one of the nights of Navratri, when everyone else in the city of Vadodara, was busy getting ready for the ultimate traditional disco party (I must apologize for offending your sentiments reader, my only advice would be keep your sentiments from getting too sentimental!!), I was undergoing a make-up job, to partially alter my face, so that my sister does not identify me while I hound her.

It wasn’t difficult to follow my sister upto the Garba-Venue, as she was busy chatting away with her cute little friend Sheela, with whom she had hitched up a ride on her two-wheeler.

Nor was it difficult to follow her, once we have reached the spot, as she was busy text-messaging someone. Here, she parted ways with Sheela, and stood near the entrance waiting for someone.

It was not long before I get to click a juicy little photo of my sister hugging a puffed up, barrel-chested muscular shit-hole. But you might ask- didn’t my blood seethe with anger watching my little sister with someone, who definitely wasn’t her well-wisher. If I had to answer that question now, I would say- I didn’t at that time because I wanted her to get caught, but now, I no longer cared, as she broke up with the guy.

With time, we learn.

I did learn a lesson that day. And that lesson was to never ever buy a Chinese product- because however shiny it is, however sturdy it looks- it is like one of those Touch-Me-Nots, which would crumble under the slightest of touch.

So when my sister was dancing in full swing to the high-pumped beat of raas along with her boyfriend, and I was inching nearer to them, for the want of a better picture, the 3.2mp Spy Hidden Camera breathed its last.

In frustration, I tapped the equipment roughly. It caught the boyfriend’s attention.

In the end, an angry mob surrounded me.

“Look at the pervert, clicking pictures of our girls.”

“An unconscionable buffoon!!”

“He should be given away to the cops.”

“Let’s beat him to pulp.”

They all agreed to that latter statement. And they continued to beat me, irrespective of my crying hoarse that I happened to be her brother. But due to the make-up my sister couldn’t recognize me. And she was among the front-runners who participated in kicking my butt to a sorry plight.

So that marked an end of my sleuthing days. In a way, that Chinese shit piece succeeded where my mother could not, in bringing my dad closer to his good-for-nothing son. The two month sojourn in hospital gave me ample time to improve upon my scores, and I did indeed. And finally, when my sister realized that it wasn’t some creep clicking her photos, it was me- she was sad and happy at the same time.

The 3.2mp Spy Hidden Camera in key chain with USB did something that it was not meant to do. It brought an imperfect family of four together.