Short storyWelcome Back!
It is stamped on the face.
Shakal shareef! You can tell just by looking at someone. I can. I can tell rich, poor, thief, murderer, cheat, power man, by just looking at face, and maybe also from walk, talk, clothes, rings, bags, necklace, such things. How is the smell? Smell is very important. And reputation. Can be scared of people you can lift and throw. Sometimes scared of even cripple fellows in wheelchair. And sometimes, fat people you cannot shift.
But when someone look at me he think here is a
dukhi bunda who has been knock around a lot and truth be told
wallahi is looking like he like to be knocked around some more. So why not oblige and give him a new kick. But maybe they don’t see like this. They maybe see a tough guy instead to give respect and take care near about because sure I give more beatings than I take in my life.
And so who knows, it might be, like rubber stamp on my face also. This man will beat you if you don’t do what he wants. Both ways it is true. Either side entrance and open like a bamboo flute and all places, upside, downside, seaside, backside, everywhere this man is tough guy.
Actually both are me, one part crying inside my chest like a baby from when I actually was hungry baby, and the other with all markings and
nishani. Face scar, body welt, as girl say “on my adult pelt” because she like to play with my markings in the bed. But otherwise, the public can see some marks but not me unless I look in the mirror. And they see one fighting man to make pulp. So watch out. Danger man. Do not disturb.
And both these fellows live next to each other inside my skin. And till recently, before the girl found me a PG room in high-rise flat in Colaba with separate entrance so she could stay all night.
Before my two fellows lived in a chawl in Gamdevi. Lived meaning where I kept my mat. No, not like exercise mat, but cotton mattress,
bori bistar type. I roll up and keep under one table in the day, and spread it in room with five other people if raining or out in the veranda if good weather. I have nothing else.
But now my expense high. I not steal now but much spending and spend I must because I can’t let girl spend for me all the time. How does it look? So now lunch dinner movie
ghoomna ghamna, taxi, rent. I am now ex-thief. I am ex-collection agent also. I am now mechanic in garage but girl wants me to work in office of advertising as model and also model coordinator if I promise not to fuck the models. I promise. She say she will arrange. Who wants fuck me. I have no knowledge. No money. Only this one
pari likhi mad girl.
An ex-thief is working in a garage of thieves. If you want to make money there you have to cheat the customers. Break it some part and then buy it local at half price and charge the car owner full price for original part and write false bills and pay the supervisor a little to keep quiet. All thieves but not called thief. And car itself never fix too good so that it comes back and we say that part which I fixed is good but now new this part is bad.
So before forget want tell you about inside my skin, in my head and heart, the crying baby and the fighting man mixed up so much. Too much. You can’t make out which is which and what is what. You can’t get it out because you can’t remember how it got in. And everything is sealed. No joints, no rivets. Only hole for mouth, eyes, ears, nose and those other parts underneath.
And because it is two opposite things, it build steam inside. That is why the
bhai gave me the work of collection.
Itna gussa? Accha hai. “Beat someone everyday and guaranteed you feel better,” he laugh. I did a lot of that collection work for him and everybody would give me respect.
But this girl here now. I can’t tell her I beat people for collecting rent money. Cannot reveal about thief. So I tell
bhai and he sent me to the garage of his friend. “See and if you don’t like it come back to me”. That
bhai is really like true brother. He is taking his pick from the young
rundis just come new send to him straight but
bhai or no
bhai you have to please the
chokris if you want them to be good to you. They like it when you give money but like it more when you listen to them. Importance. Good for sex.
But right now it looks like my luck is changed or I am dreaming even in the daylight. Think of this girl. High class. No
unpur rundi. Never even been to places I come from go to. So why she is acting like she is engaged to make marriage with me?
Suddenly, a man whose mother can’t remember properly when he was born is having a big birthday party. She is doing all this. Why for? I am not habitual for so much
taarif pampering in social public way. In the arms of a simple woman in the dark yes, but out in front, with so much high society, no, never before in this life. Girl is not ashamed. I am.
Party can only be full if her friends come because mine are more in lock up, jail, these places. I don’t think I’m worth to show off. I look like street person with new clothes. I am a street person with new clothes. She make me buy because she pay anyway. She choose pant, shirt, jeans, shoe, get Rs. 750 haircut, Rs. 1000/- to clean nail, hand, feet. I am ready for dulha but I refuse chest hair shaving like Sharukh Khan.
I don’t know why she change me so hard because I still look like better stand outside
don’t come inside. But girl very happy. She live with me in Colaba room and wants everybody to know. This party, what it is for? I am afraid to go. I might get angry if rich people insult. I am pick up from street and they will see. They will laugh.
But this girl, who is she tumbling into my life and
chipkoing there. I am not used to having things so easy. Someone sending for spy? Why? Nothing to hide. Ex-thief, ex-collection agent. Garage mechanic in garage of thieves. But cannot catch. Not educated but smart.
Party is in penthouse of my girl building in Sindhi businessman house. More crystal glass, less gold and silver. All girls with short dress and creamy thigh. English music very loud. Big drinks table. English food. I am happy I don’t have to talk. Sea view but no smell from high up. Dance floor with light red, green, blue, strobe. Kissing. Feeling. Bumping. Going together couple to bedroom. Girl took me into bathroom. All bedroom occupied. Standing up for happy birthday. Not so difficult. Back to Colaba room before morning but girl said she stay back to help host. I don’t know more till landlady tapping on door. Phonecall to her house. My phone on silent. Inspector Shinde. Friendly like. Call me to Crime Branch.
When I go he beat me. Punch in the kidney. Kick in the leg.
“Saala kanha chupaya hanh?” Jewels. From the party. I did not take. So now I understand about the girl. My reputation. Her profit.
Shakal se kuch nahi pata lagta.I go back to Gamdevi. In the evening we sit outside looking at wall. Rain pattern. Election poster. No paint. Little breeze. No electricity.
"Arre you come back? Good. Gamdevi best for you.
Tu aa gaya saala. Marwah ke aaya? Koi Nahi. Welcome back!"
(1,352 words)
7th October 2009
Gautam Mukherjee
Copyright, Gautam Mukherjee 2009
