So The Brother snores. It's possibly his clogged up nasal passages but he motors mightily along at night like a poorly-oiled, too old engine. Twice I'm sure he woke himself up from deep slumber with the rumbling of his own internals. He'd stop mid-snore and take an uncomfortable pause before snuggling further into the monstrosity that is his razai and resuming the put-putting.

During the course of the night I was able to clearly distinguish three separate and distinct kinds of snores, each with an identity and persona of its own.

There's the typical motor-bike snore: each breath laced with the perfectlty tuned rumble. The up-take equal to each exhale provides the flawless balance that is the hallmark of a pure-blend snore.

There's a modified version of this motor-bike snore where the exhale is shortened and end abruptly. It reminds me more of a ricksha desperately in need of an engine tuning. Each snore ends in a muted backfire.

FInally, there's the growling lioness. This ferocious, guttural rumble is a constant, threatening reminder of the Animal Planet documentaries showing poor, miserable wildbeast being torn apart by a herd of lions. This is the one that kept me awake all night in fear of my own rump being bitten off. ("What's a little bite on the butt between friends?")

One of the bakras is gay. Dammit!