Friday, May 23, 2008

Happy Ending

born in the bylanes of patparganj east, mookase was delivered to hazrat majoomdar to have his micro palms read and destiny foretold. protocol involved the hazrat suggesting a clipping of the foreskin under distraction by steel bird, followed by gleefull approval by the mohemeddans and sudden denial by the hindoos (as in mookase's case), which led to the wise old man reading the child's palm and exclaiming in surprisingly fluent english 'a happy ending! this chap has a happy ending in store for him!' to which the assembled screamed 'angreji!' in joyous tenor and carried the child back home sure, albeit for only a few hours or so, that the child wouldn't rot and die here. for mookase, however, hazrat followed the reading of the palm by a grim face, followed by a handing of the bawling baby boy back to the mortified mother. 'a happy ending!', he said darkly, 'this chap has a happy ending in store for him!'

approximately forty years years later, we fly past the tangled electric meshes of chunktown past teedees ('quench your thrust' over the drinks menu) down into the lanes which cars can't enter and wouldn't want to either in a small wooden shack with a plastic window and with no signboard and a rusty bajaj chetak with hazel filing her nails (bright pink) at reception against a save tibet and an 80's sanjay dutt looking at the world with ugly sunglasses and the cheap cosmetics display unit with bright pink nailpolish and cobwebs and slither under the door to see hairy mookase under a towel being oiled vigorously by obese and heavily made up victoria in black spaghetti top with pink bra straps clearly visible like in foreign xxx film. 'happy ending?', she asks expressionless as her hands move to oil the erogenous, 'extra two hundred bucks'. mookase, in turn, laughs quietly to himself before nodding a yes.

Sunday, May 18, 2008


He was disconsolate, demotivated, mechanical. He left at 9:15, but it could as easily have been 8:53 or 9:24. He glanced at his watch, but saw only a wrist, so he fished out his cell phone instead. The screen displayed a picture which had once meant a lot to him, but he wasn’t sure now. He reached the gate of the colony, hoping to see an auto waiting there. There wasn’t any, he had forgotten not to hope. He eventually found one, thought about haggling but abandoned the idea. I’ll just eat less, he told himself, and grimaced inwardly because that really had nothing to do with it.

He glared at the oncoming traffic accusingly. I am not one of you, his gaze seemed to say. I am not a worker ant. “Givesignalmotherfucker” yelled the auto driver, looking back for approval. He showed no expression, put on his headphones instead and started turning dials. “You are my theme for a dream my fair and lovely…sapnon ki duniya mein I’ve been waiting for you baby…GIVEHANDYOUSONOFADONKEY…mera jeevan...DOYOUUNDERSTAND…kora hi reh gaya…ORSHOULDICOMETHERE…back in black hit the sack”. Monday seemed determined to remain a cliché.

Friday, May 16, 2008


after she slit her wrist, she sat still on the floor by the wall.

the blood, forming a thin film, spread over the floor. this would be the evidence. mahesh would never question her love anymore.

it hurt a bit as the blood slowly gushed out. pulsing, draining out of her. there it goes now, she thought, under her third year history books, the katoree cum ash ray, the tarantino soundtrack cds, the rug and finally the doors. she imagined the blood going under the shoes kept out. or did they? she thought, did they just go really close and maintaian a micrometre of clear space, fimd imsignificant passages of space through and beneath the soles. she saw a picture of a shoe levitating on that clear space over a pool of red.

how will things be with mahesh, she asked herself. would he start dating someone else? would he start fucking her right away? would they wait? for a year? for a month? for a week? for a day? would he be shattered? would he finally stop doubting her? would he kill himself too? would he by lying here too? would he be thinking what she was thinking?

it's been a minute, she also thought, and i haven't blinked.

she blinked.

she was in a forest. a forest with large rocks of mud. the sun, a morning sun, stole in through the leaves.

no they weren't leaves. in fact they weren't even trees.

they were giant crops. towering green strands fifty times her.

and there in the clearing was mahesh.

she knew him by his shorts, his running shoes, his t-shirt (she'd worn it on numerous occasions), his old tape playing walkman that he insisted on not replacing.

i was him. it couldn't be anyone else.

she ran.

she ran to tell him what she'd done. ran to hug him, to hold him close, feel his beating heart thud next to hers.

closer and closer, she realised something was amiss. he was large. he was way to large. he was a giant.

with everything she had, she screamed out his name. busy at his crunches, he was too busy to notice.

she jumped and crawled up his hand.

in an instant, she knew what to do.

she'd get to his eye, peer in and grab his attention.

mahesh, she would say, i love you.

hopping on to his shirt, she rushed across his t-shirt to his neck.

up his chin, moving slowly to his chin to his nose, to his ey...

mahesh smacked his cheek, pulling off the twitching ant that had made his way to his eye.

fuck, he said, as he crumpled what was left of the ant and threw it to the side, that almost got me.