A Gory Shawarma Story

we were getting one of our jaded, this day has been hell sort of tea time shawarmas at the Al Bake. these snack times consist of grave silences and blank stares, punctuated by Al bake's usual violences. One of these suddenly caught our attention.

'Mutton Shawarma!', someone to our right shouted out, 'mujhe mutton shawarma chahiye.'

for the unacquainted, this lebanese chophouse only offers chicken shawarmas.

the boy was doing his best, travelling more than the linguistic length from Lebanon to here, to convince him that mutton shwarmas didn't exist. there was the clanging of cleaver past making mince of meat on the pan in the background, with a rich garnish of expletives that expressed Oedipus Rex and other such disorders with an unnatural fervour.

'Kya bol raha hai', the man said, 'maine pichli baar hi mutton shawarma khaya tha.'

the boy smiled. a group of girls behind him followed suit. the tension broke and the man whipped out a country made and held it to the boy's face.

the cleaver stopped. the abuses stopped. like this was the crescendo they were building up to.

'hansi ura ta hai saale', the man said, 'ab hans.'

suddenly, the boy who was mincing the meat appeared behind the man, grabbed his hair and with a single swipe, took his head off.

there were no animesque spurts of blood like i had seen in Kill Bill. In fact, there was almost a placid calm about the man's headless body as it lolled onto his plate of shawarmas and animal cud they call mayonnaise. Abhinav, who was sitting across the table immediately went into denial.

the rest of the place soon returned to its conversations and petty violences. it was as if the man wasn't there.

except abhinav.

his number is +919810428071

call him up and he'll still deny it.