At Valanchery, a horde of schoolgirls boarded. Sunil could barely squeeze through to sell tickets. This was heaven.

At Vattappara, thirteen aunties got on. Commuters. Other passengers were in hell. Sunil attained paradise. Though paradise was slightly suffocating.

At Kakkad, the tension eased slightly, but before Sunil could exhale, twenty quavering old biddies surged into the bus. A handbag knocked against Sunil’s temple.

“You forgive everyone, right?”

“That’s right,” Baby Jesus said.

“Even those religious fundamentalists who preach intolerance?”

“Yes, even them.”

“I guess they’re lucky you’re a forgiving God.”

It seems like a no-brainer, but to understand the nature of my dilemma, you’ll need some background. As a graduate student, I lived next to a nursery. The enclosure had been shoddily built and one day I awoke to a pack of feral babies surrounding my bed. It was only with tremendous bravery that I was able to make it out of that ordeal alive.

There was just one rule to being an angel. Every angel learned, upon getting his wings, the one hard fast prohibition that could get you in hot water. Unfortunately, Brian had broken it three times this very first morning.

Now Brian was going to hell.

Simon soon realized the city of clouds was not an idyllic Avalon. He wanted very much to return to his house on 523 Broadripple Avenue but everywhere he looked, it was one majestic waterfall after another. Most frustrating of all, none of the fantastic creatures would speak to him.

“Deceit. Petty Theft. Cursing. Coveting your neighbor’s wife. Murder. Excessive Pride. You managed quite a tally.”

The man laughed conspiratorially. “Yes, I was quite the sinner in my day.”

Peter took off his glasses and stared down at the man. “And it seems you show little remorse.”

“Well, I figure remorse is for the Europeans, or people from developing countries.”

The lawn, fashioned by Satan in a controversial subcontracting arrangement, quickly became known as the infernal grasses. Michael hated that grass. It grew in all manner of wicked ways. It was nothing more than a hateful weed that choked all happiness and serenity out of Heaven. It smothered angels and tripped up the righteous souls of the newly dead.

“You realize who I am, right?”

“Yes sir, but rules are rules. We must follow the procedures.” God scrutinized the angel Zadkeil and lamented ever abdicating total control of heaven.

Another angel, God did not bother to recall her name, began a roll call of his offenses, beginning with the usual complaints, like unanswered prayers and genocide.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Seriously. It’s the best place ever.”

“So much better than I imagined. Like your imagination is rendered completely inadequate by the fact there’s no way to even conceive total and complete awesomeness.”

“The omniscience is a nice touch. Really puts the whole thing over the top.”

“Only one thing bothers me.”

“What’s that?”

“Why did we have to be alive at all? Why not just start off in heaven and stay here the whole time? Because not being in heaven really sucks.”