So the thing is that I died and stood somewhere between the gates of heaven and hell, with Chitragupta looking at me and opening up his magical books in which he keeps tab of all your sins down to the last cockroach you flushed down the commode for fun.

“Creature, you have to go to hell,” he said giving me a go-on-and-don’t-waste-my-time look.

“Excusez-moi?!?” I said. I looked around believing that he might be talking to a cow soul who was following me on my way up.

It was then that the clouds parted and Yamaraj descended like a feather from the upper floor of the floating city.

“What’s all this brouhaha?” he said raising an eyebrow at Chitragupta.

“The creature refuses to go to hell.’

‘And why is that so?’ Yamaraj said as he brought his huge nose sitting on a neglected garden of a moustache close to my face.

“What sins have I committed? Why am I sentenced to hell?” I said squeaking like a mouse.

Yamaraj told me that he was not supposed to give reasons and follow the protocols, which he admitted, have been changed in the last few centuries. I argued for more clarity but he was adamant. I stood my ground. This went on till eternity.

Suddenly the clouds parted again and a light shone through.

“YAMA! If you cannot do your bloody work of kicking creatures towards heaven and hell properly, let me know. I will replace you with Rajnikant. The next time you disturb my beauty sleep by your clamour, it will reflect in your yearly report card,” God thundered.

Yama shrank a foot and Chitragupta hid behind his tome. The spotlight moved on me.

“What is your problem creature?” it bellowed as it intensified.

“I am a human!” I said. Frankly I was disturbed beyond words to be addressed like a mosquito.

“Everyone is a creature here. You are not different from a cockroach in my eyes. It took me an awful lot of God hours to create both of you.”

“Surely humans are more complex to create?” I suggested.

“Do you fly?”

“No.”

“Do you have antennas?”

“No.”

“Can you squeeze through cracks?”

“No.”

“So there. A cockroach can do things you can’t do. Stop swathing in your false idea of supremacy, stop wasting my time and tell me your problem.”

I patiently repeated everything that I had patiently told Yamaraj. God laughed. It was like a mini earthquake. The spotlight shook.

“Have you killed anyone for me?” he asked.

“Excusez-moi?!?” I said.

The clouds grew darker. I was scared and close to wetting my Ariel white robe.

“No,” I said, now sure that God was not very good at French.

“Have you raped a woman in my name?”

“Holy moly. No.”

“Did you behead a man? Cut him to pieces? Did you kill people with guns for me? Did you explode yourself in a crowded market? Did you fly a plane in a building? Did you smash children on a wall? Did you torch a train screaming my name?”

“No. And that is why…”

“…you should go to hell,” God completed the sentence for me.

Stunned silence. I was sure I have landed in the wrong place – some sort of alternate villainous heaven-hell-swap reality.

“You see creature, I changed the rules a few centuries back. I realised that love would not make you remember me. If all the creatures cuddled and played ring-a-ring-a-roses, then I, their bloody creator, would vanish into oblivion.”

“But you sent prophets, avatars, your own son, messiah to teach us to love you and each other.”

“THAT was a mistake,” the clouds grew dark again and there were distinct sounds of thunder. Yamaraj motioned me to shut the fu*k up.

“But people are waiting for you to make a comeback.”

“Bollocks!”

I wanted to tell God that he was bordering self-blasphemy but I kept quiet.

“And after that I have sent more messengers of destruction than I could possibly accommodate in my office hours, I have instigated creatures to kill each other, to destroy themselves. Somehow, the fact that humans have multiple religions and brain of the size of a peanut helped me in my cause. People remember me more than ever. My name is a money-making machine, which gives me such a high. And since you have not done anything to keep my name alive other than maybe remembering me when the hour was dire, YOU are hell material,” God said as I stood transfixed in the spotlight.

“I have killed ants!” I said as I saw my inevitable doom looming large.

“2,34,453 to be precise,” Chitragupta said looking in his book.

“So many? Who are you? Hitler?” God roared, laughing at his own joke.

“It was an accident.”

And so I was sentenced to hell for not doing anything to glorify God and sitting on my ass all my life. Chitragupta assured me that I would be comfortable there as hell was half empty. It was heaven which was overburdened.

“Bad God. Bad Bad God,” I muttered as I moved towards the gates of hell.

The spotlight which had almost left me was suddenly upon me.

“I heard that,” God said.

“Doesn’t matter. I am already off to hell,” I said.