Steak Dinner

Raul smiled at her.
 'Fuck off!' She presented her very first word.
Raul smiled at her again.
'Why the fuck are you staring at me?'
Raul looked away to ease down her irritation.
She stamped her foot. 'Fuckin idiot!! Disgusting…' She opened her handbag, opened her makeup kit in anger, pulled out a brush and gave a few slight touches to he cheeks. She was standing opposite to Raul and me leaning against the door on the Piccadilly Line*.  Let me call her Miss Vesper.

Another girl got in from Holborn. She stood against the door on our side opposite to Miss Vesper. Let me call her Miss Mojito.
Raul smiled at Miss Mojito.
She smiled back.
Raul said 'Hi!'
She smiled again and after a brief pause she smiled at him again.
Raul looked at Miss Vesper. She gave him a frown of contempt.

With a quick glance from top to bottom of Mojito it was safe to assume that she was a student. (Err… there could still be some residue error in that assumption here but… FYI, her shoes and jacket were the kind of 'student' brands. Chains, bracelets and the watch were beautiful but had less or no shiny metal. And her hair didn't have any of those professional knots and clips. )

'You look new to London?' Raul asked.
'Hmmm… Yes.' Miss Mojito replied instantly.
'Do you like it here?'
'Hmmm… It's Okay.' She smiled.
'It's a good place if you have the right friends.'
'Maybe… I don't know. I don't have many friends.'
'Don't worry, you'll soon find some.'
Miss Mojito smiled and Raul looked at Miss Vesper. Vesper gave a funny face to show her disgust.

The train reached Covent Garden and more crowds got in. Miss Mojito now stood a little closer to Raul. I looked away and was the least important personality in the whole train.
'So… where are you going?' Raul asked
'Heathrow.'
'…to the airport with no luggage?'
'I'm just going to meet a friend.'

The train reached Leicester Square. A few people got out and a few got in. With more rush people pushed and rubbed against each other. The positions got rearranged. Miss Mojito now moved to centre of the train sandwiched between Raul and Miss Vesper. That gave Raul a direct view of Miss Vesper behind Miss Mojito.

'So, is your friend handsome?' Raul asked.
 'Nope! She's a girl.' Miss Mojito smiled.
Raul smiled and looked at Miss Vesper with a face of 'look-what-I've-got-here'. I could see that Miss Vesper was a little annoyed at that.
Finding that Raul got distracted by a female presence behind her, Miss Mojito quickly tried to grab back his attention. 'Yeah, but she's beautiful.'
'I bet she can't be more beautiful than you.' Raul caught the attention of everyone around. I found Miss Mojito blushing and Miss Vesper very irritated.

'So where are you going?' Miss Mojito shot her first question.
'I'm going to Hounslow.'
'Is that where you live?'
'I live in East London. I have to meet someone in Hounslow.'
'Ah!! I C... Is this someone beautiful?'
'May be, I don't know. Either way it doesn't matter.'
'Why is that?'
'I have to meet someone at the Heathrow airport immediately after that.'
'Hmmm hmm… Can I ask who would that be?'
'Yes. Why not? She's a beautiful girl dressed in pink frock holding a D&G leather purse. '
'Ohh!' She pointed a finger at her heart and blushed. 'No way!!'
'Ohh! …coincidence; even you are wearing a pink frock. Oh! You've got a D&G handbag as well.' Raul mocked and pretended to be surprised.
'I don't think she can meet you.' She raised her eyebrows but couldn't hide her smile.
'Hmmm mmm? Why do you think so?' Raul asked. The train now stopped at Piccadilly Circus.
'…because she is not going to Heathrow. She is getting down here at Piccadilly Circus.' Mojito replied.
'How sad? Why do people lie?' Raul said.
'Sometimes they do, to protect the interest of their assets.' The doors opened and she stepped out of the train.
'Yeah!! It was good talking to you, sweetheart. Have a good one. Huh?' Raul shouted as she walked away from the train.
'You may want to visit Mark & Spencers up the Totenham Court Road at 5:30?' She made a brief pause to see if Raul would say something.
'I'll see neither Mark nor Spencer before 6.' Raul smiled.
'You will.' She said and walked away.

The doors closed and the train picked up speed again.  Raul couldn't hide his happiness. He looked at me with the sign of victory twinkling in his eyes.
'Yayeee…' He made a stupid dance move kind of limping towards me. We noticed that that Miss Vesper was staring at us.
'What?' Raul shrugged.
She gave him serious stare.
'Why the… …are you staring at me?' Raul pretended to be irritated.
'Are you going to see her?' Miss Vesper asked.
'See who?'
'That girl?'
'Ohh! I don't think so. I have better things to do.' He stepped towards me and rested a hand on my shoulder.
'What?' She asked again.
'Yes, better things like taking you out for a stake dinner? What do you think about it?'

Stinking Job Offer

From: Jon
Sent: 08 February 2010 15:18
To: Kuttappayi
Subject: RE: Job Offer

Hey Kuttappayi

Just had confirmation that your offer has been signed by board of directors and my colleague has just mentioned that she is going to get the final HR signature and this should be done by 12:30pm. So I will endeavour to get this scanned and emailed over as a matter of urgency. We will also send you two copies of the same by post. Please duly sign and post it back to us tomorrow itself so that I can assure the Recruitment team to close this position.

Thanks
Jon.

--------------------------------------

From: Kuttappayi

Sent: 09 February 2010 12:33

To: Jon

Subject: RE: Job Offer

Hi Jon,

Thank you very much for the offer. I hereby confirm that I received the offer letter by post yesterday and I’m very much happy to accept it. But I have a bit of a problem doing so at the moment. 

We had a party yesterday to celebrate the Job Offer and towards the end of it, my friend Kuruvi who came to my room threw up on my study table and slept on top of it. Unfortunately, the offer letter was on the table at that time. As of today morning, I found that the puke has dried out and the letter is not in a good shape to be signed and sent back. 

I understand that this sounds too frivolous and goofy and I know that it’s damn difficult to get the series signatures again for a new offer letter.

I couldn’t think about a lie that could cover up the actual fact. I could say that I misplaced the letter or my dog ate it. That anyway means I don’t have this job anymore.  Either way, it was good talking to you and sincere apologies for wasting your time. It would be so kind of you if you could send me another copy of the letter.

Cheers

Kuttappayi

My Password

It should’ve been a few minutes past ten in the evening and before marching into ‘The Whoof!!’, a reasonably good Mujra in East London, Kuppi, Kuttappayi and I must have had a few rounds of drinks and quite a few tequila shots from a nearby pub. I could feel the fire coming up from my stomach and the heat escaping through the exhausts of my nostrils and ears.

‘Elo Mate!! How aaaa youuu?’ I burped at the security guard at the entrance of the Mujra.  He searched me thoroughly before giving an all-clear signal.
‘I have a gun. You wanna see?’ I kept my fingers on the zip of my jeans.
‘Fuck off!’ came the reply and I happily accompanied my friends up the stairs to reach the club.

We weren’t shown a table because unlike a strip club nobody ushers you to a table here. The reason is that in a Mujra, the management do not expect a crowd, who know how to mind their own business and confine all the trouble within the limits of their own table.

To the people who haven’t visited a Mujra yet – It’s not like any club. There would be an elevated stage or a dance floor at the centre usually built in the shape of an amoeba. Unlike a strip-club, there are no poles. A few girls (some look good, others don’t), all dressed up in Indian costumes would be dancing with the rhythm of fast moving Bollywood music. Most girls are not Indians and they do not speak any of the Indian languages but they do dance hours together better than any Bollywood actors you might have seen.

Wherever you sit, a girl or two may come to dance near you. If you show that you’re paying attention and enjoy watching her, you would need to pay her (usually £5) at the end of every song. Unlike what you see in movies, nobody throws any money at them as the currency notes are very costly in this country. If you choose to throw coins instead, a £1 coin is pretty heavy that you can easily hurt anyone with it.

There would be colourful laser beams and lightings flashing across the tables on the girls. You wouldn’t be served alcohol on your table. You pay and get them at the counter. You can request your preferred song to the DJ who sits in a corner with his Mac book. And remember… Absolutely No Touching!!! You’re at the wrong place if want to touch the girls. This place is only to make you feel that you’re Vivek Oberoi for sometime and that you’re doing “Beedi Jalaile”* with Bipasha Basu.

Half an hour into the pub, Kuppi and I were on the stage dancing along two beautiful girls. Again that is not allowed in a Mujra. Only the girls dance. The ambience, the stupid dance moves and the cheering customers (cheerleader was Kuttapayi) let the management close an eye on it for sometime.

After half a dozen songs, Kuttapayi requested the song ‘Kajra Re Kajra Re…’ from the movie Bunty aur Babli. A girl opted to dance between us and 2 mins into the song…

“…
Aaja Tute Na Tute Na Aangdai
Ho Meri Angdai Na Tute Tuu Aaja
Ho Meri Angdai Na Tute Tuu Aaja
Kajra Re Kajra Re Kajra…
…”

…Kuppi accidently stepped off the edge of the dance floor, stumbled and on fell on Kuttappayi. Kuttapayi (weighs at least 100kgs and intoxicated) who could barely stand fell into the lap of a customer who was sleeping on his chair. Scarred and lost in the sea of alcohol he jumped out of the chair and pushed the table in front of him. A bouncer who had come running to get things under control took the impact of the falling table on his toes. The hefty 6 foot guy screamed like a baby. ‘Aaaayyyyyyyyyooooooooo……..’

I laughed and the girl who was dancing with me laughed. I laughed, laughed; I dropped down on my knees and laughed. I laughed until I threw up. I threw up at the girl’s feet. She ran away and I lied down on my puke on the dance floor. I could hear the loud music blaring in my ears. Somebody pulled me by my arms. I threw up again on his hands and my shirt. I tried to get up but my right arm that supported me slipped in my own vomit and I fell on the dance floor again.

Some time might have passed, the lights became dull and the music faded away. I could hear the honking of a car. I remember watching a tube station pass by and a few trees running away from me and then everything faded away.

I woke up due to extreme dryness in my throat. A few hours might have passed; it was still dark but I could see a street light and a signal at a distance. I found myself sleeping on the steps of an HSBC bank. I couldn’t find Kuttappayi anywhere but I saw Kuppi sitting and sleeping against the door. I crawled up and slapped him on his cheeks to wake him up. ‘Daa… Wake up. I need water.’
He groaned without opening his eyes.
I took a quick glance at every corner. It was not a place I knew but the streets made me feel that I was home still in London.
‘Wake up.’ I pulled Kuppi by the collars of his jacket and screamed into his ears. A few minutes might have passed; finally I was successful in waking him up.
‘Do you remember what happened?’ I asked.
‘I remember.’ He replied.
‘What? Tell me.’
‘I remember. My password is JackDaniels123$$’ He dozed off again.

Beedi Jalaile* - a raunchy dance item number from the movie Omkara that hit the charts and continues to be a hot favorite at parties and friendly gatherings.

Meenakshi

Today I reached my Southwark office in London at 7:30AM. I looked at the people down in the street through the plain glass window from my desk. My eyes caught this French girl who was opening and arranging the chairs in front of the Starbucks Coffee shop. And that’s when I thought about my Meenakshi again for the first time in so many years.

It looks like a long time ago now. Bengaluru was Bangalore. There was no Domlur Flyover, no Forum mall and no red Volvo buses to take people around. During the peak hours, I could get from MG Road to Madiwala Masjid in 20 mins on my motorcycle and from Koramangala to Vijayanagar in 35 mins. It was a lovely Bangalore with lots of trees, beautiful roads, fresh air and mist in the early morning. The crowd was happy and content with BMTC buses. A smiling and inviting face of an autorickshaw driver was not scarce.

The alarm went off at 6:00AM. I jumped out of my bed and peeped out of the window. She was not there yet; hoping that I haven’t missed her, I waited.

Murugan who owned a small tea shop across the road was just starting his day. He cleaned the tables, swept the floor and washed the utensils. He dusted the items displayed on his counter; arranged and rearranged the packs of toffees and bottles until he felt they all looked good. I waited…

…and there she showed up, my sweetheart, Meenakshi. She looked fresh and sexy after her early morning bath. If you ask me who she was, I would say she was Murugan’s wife’s youngest sister. I knew nothing else about her. The fact is that I never wanted to.

I flung open the two doors of my window and pulled the chair nearer. I stretched my legs on the table and opened the day’s news paper and held it in front of my face. I looked over it watching every move Meenakshi made. I never read the news paper.

Murugan owned a small house with meagre amenities right behind his tea shop. Meenakshi was probably half his age and was the princess of the house.  Everyday morning, after taking bath, she would come out of the house, in front of the tea shop, to dry her long black wet hair. There was no hair dryer. She would make a twist out of her bath towel and would gently pat her hair with it. The patting would continue for 10 to 15 minutes. She would sometimes squeeze the towel and let the excess water go. A few droplets would kiss her beautiful toes and rest caressed her skirt. I envied both.

She knew I was watching her. Occasionally, she would turn her head up for a quick glance at my window which was two stories above, across to road from where she stood. She had this feel-good satisfaction to find me there every time.

She was pretty; the prettiest face I have ever seen in my life. And she had the perfect body, the curves at its best for a girl in her late teenage. She would always wear a davani, a south Indian lady’s wear that decently covered whatever it had to but giving enough room to show me whatever I wanted to see.

Her beautiful brown eyes locked mine at least a dozen times every morning. Sometimes she gave me a smile that hit like an aboriginal arrow deep through my heart and make my day. I would smile at her and pretend to turn my attention into the news paper.

I would walk down to see Murugan a little later to have my morning tea. Mostly, Meenakshi took the liberty to draw the Kolam* while I sat there on a bench drinking my tea. As she bent down and drew, I would superimpose the blueprint of her curves and her bosom, new ones above the old, in my mind and heart.

I never asked her anything and neither did she. We only talked through smiles, eyes and body gestures. I knew she was interested in me because I still remember the day she looked upset over a minor thing. A colleague of mine, a girl, picked me up in her car one evening. Meenakshi didn’t smile at me for two days and she even abandoned drawing the kolam. The next time when she did, she didn't look at me or at the window. I found it funny but very comforting.

One day, I decided to break the ice. Thought I would ask her something… but what? What her name was? She knew that I knew her name because she’d been called home inside many times while I sipped the hot tea. I’ll ask her out, I decided. She may decline my offer but I didn't care.

I took the day off. That afternoon I sat on my motorcycle under a very big rain tree, 100 meters away from Murugan’s tea shop. The shade under the tree was perfect and romantic. To reach home after her college, Meenakshi had to walk past this tree, past me, from where she got down the BMTC bus.

The timing was perfect. She wasn’t late. The street was empty. I carefully watched every step that she took. No Bollywood actress was a better compare to her beauty. I guess I was smiling all the time and she looked pretty scared.

‘Hello Meenakshi!’ She was only a few feet away from me when I said that.  She didn’t look at me. She kept her right hand on her heart, took a deep breath and ran away, into her home. I was upset.

I couldn’t get a proper sleep that night. I couldn’t think about anything else other than having coffee with Meenakshi. I decided to try it once again. The next afternoon, I met her again under the same rain tree.

‘Meenakshi!’

‘Yes?’ She lifted her eyes for a moment to see mine. She was worried if someone would find us.

‘Why did you run away yesterday? Are you scared of me?’ I smiled.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Would you like to have a coffee with me?’

‘What?’

‘Coffee?’

‘When?’ She almost whispered after a long pause.

‘Anytime you like. How about tomorrow afternoon after your college? I’ll see you in front of the Indira Nagar Methodist Church.’

‘Tomorrow is Friday, I don’t have college. Monday should be fine.’

‘OK.’

She walked away giving me a smile and I was probably the happiest man on earth.

I showed up in office next day and in the very first hour I was told that there was an urgent onsite requirement and that I am travelling to London over the weekend. I was the only guy who had a valid work-permit and the requirement was for a long term. It was a career opportunity I had been longing for and I’ll be making quite a lot of GBPs. I wouldn’t be coming back soon. I dreamt about walking along the River Thames about which I had read in many books. I didn’t think twice, I got all paper work and approvals done.

My manager and my colleagues waved me goodbye that evening. I rang home and shared the good news. Everyone was happy. I drank with my friends at Sparks that evening. The next day, I woke up late and missed my routine of peeping through the window.  I didn’t bother. I went shopping all day and got everything setup to travel the next day morning.

All packed and I checked my passport and flight ticket. I would have to reach the airport in a few hours to board the flight scheduled at 3:00AM, Sunday morning, to fly me out of Bangalore, away from Meenakshi. I was vacating my room and would never peep out of this window again. I took one last look out of the window into the street. It was all empty. Murugan had closed the shop and had left for the day.

I dragged my luggage down the stairs into the boot of the waiting cab. I looked at Meenakshi’s house. She would be fast asleep, probably dreaming about having coffee with me. I couldn’t say good bye to her. I would be miles away by the time she woke up. She would wait for me in front of the Methodist Church on Monday and I wouldn’t show up. The next morning she wouldn’t come out to dry her hair or would skip two days of drawing the ‘Kolam’ to express her anger. And when her anger had gone down, she may expect to see me at the window with the news paper in my hands.

I looked at my window, a quick glance to see how it looked to Meenakshi’s eyes. The window was closed. The next time it opened, there would probably be another bloke peeping out to watch Meenakshi dry her hair, to admire her curves. Did I care? No, I didn’t. I got into the cab and in a few minutes I was gone.

* Kolam - a tradition followed by Hindus, mostly in South India; a drawing done by female members of the family using rice powder in front of their home.

The Sleeping Lion

One evening, I was standing in queue behind one of the array of counters of the Tesco supermarket at Gallions Reach. A guy, who had an ethnic Mallu face came running towards the counter. Gasping for breath he found his way through the crowd of trolleys and people.
‘Two packs of condoms and two M size underwears please.’ He shouted at the Tesco employee who sat at counter.
‘What?’ The employee was embarrassed.
‘Condoms? Underwear?’ He repeated his question.
‘Go! Get it from the store and come back here for billing.’
‘I’m in a hurry. Please? Help!!!’
‘I said; go get it from the store.’ The employee gave a stare pointing his finger towards the store.
‘Fucking hell! Okay, I’ll be back.’ He ran into the store. I felt a slight Mallu accent somewhere in his words which quickly came and went. It wasn't deliberately hidden but wasn't too obvious either.
‘Hurry-Burry for fucking pieces of condoms… Crazy people, wasting my time.’ The employee mumbled. Why would a guy be so confident but too desperate for condoms? Wouldn’t you be curious? So was I.

I dropped my shopping trolley and ran behind him to Store.
‘Hello Mate!’ I found him searching at a rack in the pharmacy section.
‘Yes?’ He answered without looking at me.
‘I can help you find what you are searching for. I heard you at the counter.’
‘Yes, you did? Do you work here?’
‘No.’
He paused his search for a moment and looked at me.
‘What do you want?’ He gave me a curious-stubborn look.
‘I want to help you find the condoms.’
‘That’s not what I asked. If you don’t work here in Tesco, why would you want to help me?’
‘You are a Mallu, aren't you?’
‘What?’
‘Are you from Kerala, India?’
‘No! Now, fuck off.’
I gave him a I-know-you’re-a-mallu look. He ignored me.

After 5 mins of searching he got very restless. He couldn’t find any condoms.
‘Do you know where the condoms are?’ He looked at me again.
‘Yes.’
‘Where?’
‘I won’t tell you.’
‘C’mon. Please… Okay!! I’m sorry. I need to get out of here as soon as possible. Please understand. I would really appreciate your help.’
‘You need to tell me why you’re so desperate. ...just curious, that’s all.,' I shrugged 'You are searching for condoms as if you’re searching for aspirins for headache.’
‘My friend and I are going to Edinburgh.’ He replied as he kept searching.
‘Your girlfriend, huh?’
‘No he’s a guy.’
‘Ah I see…’ I gave him a naughty smile.
‘I’m not gay. We are taking two girls with us. My friend is waiting in the car and we’re on the way to pick them up.’
‘Ohh Ok!’ I pretended as if I was relieved.
‘What?’
‘Ohh nothing, just wondering, how lucky you and your friend are.’
‘I wouldn’t be that lucky if we’re late to pick the girls. You can’t trust these girls. It’s very difficult to keep them happy. They may change their mind any time. We need to go get them as soon as possible. Where are the condoms?’
‘You’re searching at the wrong place. It’s this side. See… Durex, Mates… Which one?’ You shouldn’t mess too much with a guy who is looking for condoms. He could be dangerous. I picked one from each for him.
‘Thanks!’ He snatched both and ran towards the counters.
‘Hey wait, forgot about the underwear?’ I called him back.
‘Ohh Shit! I almost forgot. Where can I find the underwears?’ He came back running.
‘Upstairs! Come with me.’

‘So, what’s the story about the underwears?’ I asked him while we searched for his M size under wears.
‘Fresh Underwears, best results!! You need to be neat and tidy.‘  He advised, ‘Do you have a girlfriend?’He took two packs one for himself and the other one for his friend. We walked back.
‘No! Not yet. I may need to find one.’ I replied.
‘Hmmm… No deer would run into the mouth a sleeping lion.’ He quoted.
‘What?’ I wasn't immediately clear to me what he meant.
‘I said, no deer would run into the mouth a sleeping lion. If you need one, YOU need to go get one.’ He walked away towards the “quick billing” counter and I walked in search for my shopping trolley.

I waited in the queue deeply contemplating about the sleeping lion inside me. Said correctly, I thought, good quote. Why didn't I think about it before? I should wake up. 'WAKE UP!!!' I screamed aloud. Everyone around me looked worried. They stared at me. I smiled and bent my head down in shame. That's when I thought, lions do not bend their head down like that. I immediately looked up to see if there were any good deers around me. There were none except for a few antique pieces on wheelchairs. The others were taken.

Miami Beach to Washington DC

Walking up and down the streets in the town of Brecon in Wales on a cold Christmas night, we finally found ourselves smiling at the sight of a pub that was open. There was an old but beautiful English lady at the counter.

‘Can I have a double Glenfidich please?’ Shijo, the perfect gentlemen in the group, asked.
‘Sorry?’
‘A double Glenfidich.’
‘We don’t have that sir.’
‘How about Laphroaig?’
‘What?’
‘Laphroaig?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Laa… Phro…Aig!!!’
‘We don’t have that either, I’m afraid.’
‘Hmmm… Glenmorangie, Talisker, Glenlevit. Anything?’
‘No!’
‘Okay! What malt whiskey do you have?’
‘Malt whiskey? We don’t do any Malt whiskeys here, I’m sorry.’
‘You’re kidding me. No Malt whisky?’
‘I’m sorry, not in this Pub.’
‘Jesus! I can’t believe it; a Pub with no single malt whisky.’ Shijo was so upset that he took a step back from the counter, turned around and came straight towards the table where we were trying to make ourselves comfortable.

‘What’s the matter?’ Kuppi was surprised to see Shijo coming empty handed.
‘They don’t have any good whisky.’ Shijo exclaimed.
‘What do they have?’
‘Maybe… Jack Daniels. That’s all.’
‘Huh!! Bloody fuckers who used to stand hours in the queue at the Beverages to get OMR*, OCR*, Honeybee*, Bejoy’s* and even Manavatti* now have trouble seeing a bottle of Jack Daniels.’ Kuppi looked at Shijo with a frown of contempt.
‘Aliya… Don’t say that, that’s not the case here. This is not Kerala. This is Wales.’
‘But you are the same - Shijo, The Koothara Shijo.’
‘Yes.’
‘Now, shut the fuck up. Go! Get us Jack Daniels.’

Hours passed and we made quite a few friends at the Pub.
‘Hello Mate! Merry Christmas, you need help?’ Shijo shouted at a guy who looked lost.
‘Merry Christmas guys!! I’m looking for the toilet. Could you please help?’
‘I guess it’s that way.’ All the four of us said that at the same time pointing our fingers in four different directions.
‘Thanks guys!! I’ll find my way.’ He walked away.

Another fellow called Mike, with a big perfectly round beer belly and a cowboy hat, introduced himself to us. He was probably a little taller than 5 5’ and looked to be roughly 40 years of age. He wore a round neck with blue faded Armani jeans.
He said, ‘Cheers guys!’ lifting the glass of Guinness beer in left hand ‘I’m impressed by the number of drinks coming to this table.’
‘We own this table tonight, that’s why.’ I said.
‘Hmm… I can see that. Youngsters …enjoying Christmas. Huh! Where are you guys from?’
‘I am from Koothattukulam. Nice to meet you.’ Shijo extended his hands.
‘Sorry?’ Mike looked surprised.
‘Koo… tha… ttu… kulam. It’s a small town like Brecon back in Kerala, India.’ Sandeep clarified.
‘Ahh I See. You’re from India.’
‘Yes. Koothattukulam in Kerala is like Birmigham in England.’
‘How is that?’ Mike was curious.
‘See… you take some insensible word and add a kulam to it.’
‘Kulam!’ Mike smiled.
‘Yes, add Kulam. It becomes a place’s name in Kerala. For example, Ernakulam, Thiruvankulam, Koothattukulam etc. In the same way, if you take insensible word and add a Ham to it, it becomes a place’s name in England. Birmingham,  Totenham, Twikenham, Dagenham.’ Sandeep gave a stale smile to emphasise his finding.
‘Ah! I see….’ Mike tried to smile but looked pretty annoyed.

A few minutes passed and we got engaged in a quick chit-chat with Mike until Sandeep interrupted again.
‘Mike!! How many kilometres from Miami beach to Washington DC?’
‘I don’t know. Probably a few thousand miles… Why?’ Mike questioned.
‘No no… I am the answer, I am the answer.’ Sandeep shouted happily.
‘What?’
‘Kilometres and kilometres… in these days of degenerating decency of Miami beach to Washington DC when diplomacy and duplicity become interchangeable from complicated America to Americaaaa!! Ha ha ha…’ Sandeep laughed.
Mike looked pretty confused. ‘Is this guy drunk?’
‘No no… I am not. Ha ha ha…’ Sandeep laughed at his own stupidity.

The Jack Daniels inside him made things uncontrollable and he couldn’t stop laughing. He lost his balance from the chair and fell down at Mike’s feet bringing down the table on top of him. He got drenched in three other glasses of Jack Daniels that were kept on top of the table. He simply couldn’t stop laughing. He rolled on the floor crawling like a baby and laughing. Mike ran away from the Pub.

The Mystery Van

You’re somewhere in East London and its a few minutes past midnight. The streets are calm and deserted. Occasionally, you may find a fox or two sprinting across the street from one side to the other. The only sound you may hear is the alarm call of a squirrel or a chopper flying by. Very few people may be interested in coming out into the streets at this time of the night. The empty walkways not only look haunting but the temperature has dropped below the freezing point making it difficult to take a walk.

A big white Mercedes van, categorized as an HMV (Heavy Motor Vehicle) by the government, is parked at Ashford Road. The driver’s cabin is empty and the storage area behind it cannot be viewed through the windscreen as the view is blocked by a thick wooden wall behind the front-row seats.

Occasionally, the vehicle shakes violently and then rests calmly for sometime and then the shaking repeats all over again followed by continuous thumping sound. A loud screaming voice comes out of it and then fades away. A few moments later it’s repeated again. A scared but shivering female voice cries out as if in great agony but the aching throat doesn’t get the sound out clearly. There is this terrible feeling that someone is being choked to death inside this mystery van.

Someone who was pretty curious and had felt uncomfortable with this van might have informed the police. A few cops turned up and positioned themselves silently at various locations around the van.

Suddenly the sound of breaking glass inside the van lets everything calm down. There are conversations heard from inside in some unknown language. Someone slides open the door of van from inside. A hefty six foot guy, with red swollen eyes and a truck-driver moustache shows up.

A cop who was crouching in the darkness a few feet away takes his eyes off this man’s face for a moment to see what’s inside the van. He gets a glimpse of someone lying on the floor. The door closes behind the man immediately. The cop couldn’t figure out if the body was that of a male or a female but he is sure the body is lying in a pool of blood.

The guy, who got out from the van, looks casually into the darkness where the cop was hiding himself. Without losing a moment he takes something out of his pocket and the policeman is not clear if it was a gun or a knife.

‘FREEEEEZZZZEEEE!!! Drop your weapon now, right now. Put your hands up in the air.’ Three flood lights are pointed at this guy who looks pretty confused. He raises his hands obeying to what he has been commanded to do.

Two cops carefully take their steps towards him one pointing a taser gun and the other one probably a real one. One cop handcuffs the big man the other one carefully opens the door of the van and to find what’s inside.

Here are their findings…

Four suspects; all drunk; one on the floor. The van has been improvised into a bar and they were drinking Old Monk Rum (OMR) imported from Kerala, India. The rum was being served with Nettoli Fry, Kakka Irachi and Kappa Biriyani (all delicious spicy kerala dishes) – Take Away from Thattukada, East Ham. The suspects were talking in Malayalam and that’s why probably we got confused. Kuppi, one of the suspects, was singing an old Malayalam song (akale akale neelakasham). That explains the screaming female sound the other noise, the chorus. Kuppi later dozed off on the floor exposing his sexy thighs through the Lungy he was wearing.

Shijo, another suspect had dropped his drink on the floor of the van and that explains the sound of the breaking glass and the ‘pool of blood’ (rum & coke) around the body.

Why did the guy who came out of the van take his knife out?
His name is Kuttappayi. He had come out to take a wee under the tree. Not a weapon; it was his dick in his hands. That’s why he couldn’t drop it when we asked him to do so.