READ CHAPTER 1 HERE
READ CHAPTER 2 HERE
READ CHAPTER 2 HERE
*3*
The moment the firang savari
stepped off the auto, the driver vroomed away to safety.
The man pulled the last cigarette from the pack before crumpling
it and kicking it to the side. The sight of a Caucasian male in this part of
town was a rare one. Street urchins surrounded him begging him for food and
money, laughing and giggling all at the same time. Their empty curled fingers
pawed at him, appealing him to reach into his pocket with all them dollars. Few
of the kids even had some change clinking in their hands, giving him a
subliminal message. He looked at them, smiled before snatching the change from
them and kicked them away. The kids ran away screaming murder as he pocketed
the change, twelve rupees.
The man made his way to the Shri Hari Lodge’s reception, manned
by an octogenarian with betel stained teeth and glasses perched on his nose
fashioned out of 1980s’ coke bottles.
‘Aleem?’ he inquired pointing to the register on the table.
‘200 rupees for an hour. No AC. No hot water. No credit card.
Only cash’ The old man recited the memorized spiel in chaste English as he
turned his head to search for a room with a key hanging on the board on the
wall.
The old man searched for the appropriate key to hand over in
exchange for money. Just then, a burly looking dark man entered the lodge
through the main gate, followed by the coterie of kids. One of the kids tugged
at the big man’s tight shirt and pointed at the man who had dared raise a hand
on them.
The man turned around to see what he imagined was a blinged out
water buffalo with a thick gold chain, earrings, long hair dyed a cringe
inducing blonde color with side burns thick as hotel mattresses. The old man
stopped his search and looked curiously over the Foreigner’s shoulder at the
big dark bundle of muscles dressed in gold.
‘What happened Jasper?’
The old man inquired in Kannada as he watched the big man motioned to the kids
to disappear. Jasper ignored the big man’s question and brought his tree trunk
sized hand on the white man’s shoulder.
Before the big man who resembled a gangsta water buffalo named
Jasper could begin his interrogation of what happened, the man reached out for
the earring dangling from the man’s ear and pulled hard. Skin tore. Earring came away. Pain dictated Jasper’s next
move as he let go of the man and clutched his bleeding ear. The Firang turned
around to pick up a paper weight placed atop the register and smashed it hard
against Jasper’s head. For added measure, the man kicked Jasper straight
between his legs. The big blonde colored water buffalo crumbled like
papier-mâché. The man turned his attention to the old man and repeated his
question, as he carefully placed the paper weight back to where he picked it up
from.
‘Aleem?’
‘Third floor, room number 324’ The old man mumbled, his stare
transfixed on the bleeding Jasper.
#
The man read the room numbers partially painted over atop the
doorway.
#320… #321… #322… #323…
#324!
The man leaned against the door to listen in. A door on the
opposite end of the long corridor opened, a middle aged man exited and checked
his zipper. He sheepishly smiled at the Firang and gave him a thumbs up sign. The
Firang allowed himself a smile and a nod. He waited for his well wisher to head
towards the stair before placing his ears on the door. He could make out noises
emanating from the television and nothing else.
He knocked on the door with his ears firmly planted on the door.
No response.
He stepped back and studied the door. His body pressed hard
against the door, he felt the tension on the top and the middle. The door had
been double latched. He raised his foot and kicked it just hard enough to make
a booming noise. He heard the angry murmurs of a woman and the jangling jiggles
of her bangles. He heard the rustle of the human body getting off the bed and
the groan of disturbed sleep. He heard the top latch being slid down away, and
the latch in the middle being pulled to side.
He stepped back, and this time kicked with all his might. The
door caught the wrist of the woman standing behind as it swung back with force.
She stood still, her face a curious mixture of surprise and pain. His palm
caught her cheeks, pushing her to the side.
The room looked like a poster of debauchery, empty bottles of
booze, half smoked reefers, empty cigarette packs, half eaten foils of kebabs
and biryani. The Firang saw his phone laying atop the television set. He turned
around to see the man who had stuck him from behind last night, lying on the
bed naked and spent. The ruckus had woken him up from his stoned blissful
sleep. He stumbled around the room for cover yelling incomprehensibly in his
native tongue. The man took a deep breath as he walked over the television set
and picked up his phone.
‘My chain’ The man spoke as he looked at Aleem’s blood red eyes
encased in puffy flesh.
Aleem scrambled and pushed himself against the wall, hoping that
the wall open itself up magically, giving him room to run.
The man didn’t understand what the naked guy said. So he mimed,
‘Chain’, ‘My chain, where is it?’.
‘No! No!’ is all Aleem could say. The man opened the bathroom
door and saw Oriental styled toilet, with a flimsy metal chain hanging off the
flush. He eyes caught sight of a wrench placed on top of the flush. He entered
the bathroom and jumped up to grab the wrench. Seeing this, Aleem found the
opportune moment he had been praying for.
Aleem scrambled over the bed and headed for the door. The man
turned around, sensing that his prey was getting away from him, threw the
wrench at it. The wrench caught Aleem right in the middle of his back. Aleem
screamed in pain as he collapsed.
The man walked over to Aleem, picking up the wrench and stood
over the winching and moaning figure of Aleem.
‘Where is my chain?’ The man spoke clearly and softly, just loud
enough to put the fear of god in Aleem.
‘No!’ Aleem cried as he violently shook his head.
The man stood over the crouched Aleem, his knee pressing on
Aleem’s naked hairy chest, ‘My chain’.
Aleem continued to cry and plead for mercy in his native tongue.
The man studied the wrench, rolling his thumb across the wheel opening the
wrench’s jaws. He placed his left hand over Aleem’s knee, straightening his
leg. His knee still pressing hard against Aleem’s chest. He raised the wrench
and brought it with all his might on his shin. Aleem screamed in pain. The man
let go of Aleem’s knee and repeated his statement posed as a question, ‘My
chain’.
Aleem cried and spoke hurriedly in his native tongue as clutched
his splinted shin in pain. The only thing the man caught was the name ‘Prasanna’.
The man pulled out his phone from his pocket and handed it to Aleem.
‘Prasanna. Phone number. Address’ He directed Aleem with his
eyes, chin and the wrench held menacingly in his hand. Aleem hurriedly typed in
everything he knew. The man smiled as he pulled the phone away from his hand
and stood up. He walked over to the table with the weed and the half empty pack
of cigarettes. He lit a cigarette, walked over to where Aleem lay splayed on
the floor and kicked him repeatedly between his ribs before he walked out of
the room and closed the door behind him.
As the man made his way down, he found a big mob assembled. He saw
Jasper signaling a police constable at him.
‘Oi! What the fuck do you
think you are doing?’ The constable queried authoritatively in the native
tongue. The man smiled as he pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and flicked
it at the constable before walking past him, pushing his way through the
assembled crowd. The constable caught hold of the man’s shirt. The man turned
around and stared at the clenched fist and into the constable’s eyes.
‘I just want my chain back’ the man stated as he caught hold of
the constable’s wrist and applied pressure. The constable felt shooting pain,
his fingers let go of the man’s t-shirt. The man pulled the constable close to
him, studied his watch before giving him a full body search. The man pulled out
the constable’s wallet, pulled the money out of it and flung the empty wallet
on Jasper who still sat on the floor clutching his bleeding head.
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