Blowing It, part 1

Welcome to our first serialized romance story, which will be told in 5 parts, each Sunday morning from now until October 15th.

In this delightful romcom crafted by the immensely talented Nina Miller, tempers fly when a puppeteer used to pulling all the strings meets a balloon artist with an overinflated ego. Stealing each other’s audiences is the least of their worries. So without further adieu, here is

“Hey, kids! Wanna see me eat this whoooole sandwich?” asked Masti, a felt hand puppet sporting a black basketball jersey and a bright red mohawk.

“Yes! Masti!” said the clapping children huddled around an ornate puppet theater.

“Nooooo, it’s toooo daaaannngerooous,” quavered Balu, a puppet with neatly coiffed purple hair dressed in a polo shirt and cargo pants. Prithi, the puppeteer, shook him so his hands flapped. “Let me tell a story instead!”

“Balu, think of the children! They want silliness, not boooooring stories!” said Masti, holding a massive hoagie between his hands. He waved it at the children.

“Masti!!” The children were chanting and stomping. Many had witnessed the finale before; the rest enjoyed making a ruckus when they were usually told to sit and be quiet. Prithi lived for the rising pitch of laughter and squeals, a crazy, chaotic energy that pushed up against the stage and made her feel young again.

Masti placed the gigantic sandwich in his mouth. With each “Yes!” shouted by the children, Prithi pulled the sandwich into the depths of Masti’s mouth with her right hand while Balu shook his head in disgust.

When Masti finished the sandwich to continuous laughter, he picked up a napkin and delicately wiped both sides of his mouth.

Then he said, “BUUUUUURRRRPPPPP.” Glitter and confetti flew out of Masti’s mouth, making the children dance around and laugh until they collapsed.

It was all the standing ovation Prithi ever needed.

Squished between Carmen Caliente’s Salsa and We’re the Wurst sausage stands was Prithi’s Puppet Theatre. She relied on parents dropping off their kids for entertainment while they manhandled melons, haggled for haggis, or feasted on the latest foodie fad. What kid wanted to sample artisanal oils when there were marionettes and the beloved Masti and Balu?

As Prithi put away her puppets, she thought about her grandfather. He had warned her that puppetry was a dying art. Still, she’d wanted to learn. Each show brought her closer to him as his stories came to life in her hands. Sometimes, she would look out and see toddlers transfixed by their tablets rather than her puppets. She was glad her grandfather wasn’t around to witness it.

The following weekend, her morning show crowd was smaller. She figured it was the weather. At one o’clock, her usually packed audience was meager. Carmen came round to watch the finale out of pity, even though she complained about glitter in her salsa verde.

“Where’s my audience?” Prithi asked Carmen while setting up for the afternoon show.

“Not sure, mija. My sales are good. I’ll watch your stand while you look for competition.”

“Thanks, Carmen. Remember that musical act?”

“Banjo guy with his dancing cats. Didn’t stand a chance,” said Carmen.

“Exactly.” Prithi, in a black unitard, placed a cap over her wavy hair and hid her deep brown eyes with dark shades. “Whoever they are, they’re going down.”

Stay tuned for part 2, Sunday, September 22…

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