Chowk, Jay, a Ditch and I

Mamoo’s house is huge. Vulgar, ugly, ostentatious and obnoxious are other words that may be used. He's a nice enough fellow though. Mostly pleasant, annoying at times. Maamee is a clown. "Haaai kaprae nahin banae. Manhoos darzee. Mar jaai." I listen patiently nodding my head in sync with her frantic shaking before I say, "Mamee, Paye."

"Aii mera bachaa. Last week banaye thae. Freezer mae hain. Noor. NOOR! Chotti kae liyae Paye lao." I grab the frozen Tupperware dabba in my left hand, the new cellular in my right and hug the crazy woman bye bye. Mamoo walks me through the long driveway to Amma’s car parked by a lamp post announcing a sale at Liberty Books. "Tou khud gaaRRee challa kar aayee hae?" I smile and say yes, tearing the leftover poster off the khamba. "Bachchy baree ho gayee hai." Yeah, whatever. A confident smile flashed his way that doesn’t even hint at this being my solo flight and I'm ready to fly. "Driver peechae bhaijooN?" No Mamoo. Khuda Hafiz. This now, is what I meant by annoying.

The recent rains make an increasingly ugly city look lush and lovely. There's the smell of rain and wet mud everywhere. I turn off the AC and put on Bob Marley. 'Could you be looooved...' I hum along but don’t loose myself to the music since this is after all a first and I am a little jittery. There's a beep behind me. Concentrating on the road ahead, I'm confused. Is it the phone in the back seat or a car behind me? "Oww shit." The uncle in the car next to me looks on disapprovingly as I smile vaguely at him. The disapproving look turns into a mixture of self consciousness and something else I don’t quite like. The exclamation is with regard to a Surf two cars behind me. In it sits Mr. I'm So Hot grinning like a prize ass as he catches me looking in the rearview mirror. Bob Marley stops. Dylan comes on. I turn onto main Shahra-e-Faisal cursing myself. The one time I venture outside by myself this manhoos has to catch up.

Mr. I'm so hot is one of those misguided studs who think stalking, harassing, annoying females will make them appear endearing. In attempts at heroism this ulloo ka patha follows me to school and back and everywhere else after having 'seen me' at the new bowling alley. Just one second please, I must puke at the cheapness of those two words in commas. It's akin to the ugly guy asking the ugly girl to do 'friendship' with him outside an ugly college building. Connotations are painful.

The red box is still behind, Al Jerko smoking now. I'll go to the base just a little ahead and call home from Candy's. Without taking into account the dark alleys that lead to the part of Masroor base I must go to, I start towards the lane only to be rudely awakened to my incredibly stupid decision once I'm eyeball deep into it. For a stranger to find out my name, address, numbers heck maybe even my sizes in a day like it were as easy as making scrambled eggs, I erroneously expected him to let me get away to obvious safety without harassment the one time I'm completely alone is a little stupid.

I scold myself and he chooses that exact moment to drive up right next to me. I'm getting a little scared now. I glance up to catch him grinning. Grinning. Suddenly I feel myself getting angry. I try to tell myself, along with seeing bright red, that this is not the right time to loose my temper. But I'm not called hoshiaar just like that.

'Stupid asshole. What does he think he is, acting like his dad owns the bloody city following me all over the damn place.' It's no longer something to roll my eyes at or dismiss with a haughty shrug. I'm angry now. The disgusting typicalness of the dialogues running through my mind and your screen strikes me as I press on the accelerator and promise myself never to make fun of Hindi movies. Before I know it I'm between the footpath and a lamppost. No need to elaborate here upon the great climax since nothing very exciting took place between these two actions. Press on accelerator, end up on the footpath.

"O Jesus. Shit. Christ man. Are you okay?" I give him the haughtiest look I can manage stuck between my seat and the steering on a sidewalk. Ulloo ka patha drives me up the footpath then asks if I am OK. "Call home," I tell him since the billion crank calls home must have inscribed my number even on his dead brain. "Jee jee. Aap theek haiN? Aapkee gerdun kyouN teRRi hay?"

"Mae theek hoonN. Aap ghar phone karain please" I'm surprised at my curtness. He's right though. My neck is at a rather strange angle, almost dangling. He says he's called home and now wants to go get an ambulance. Phatoo wants to split before Angry Daddykins and Big Brothers get here. I smile at him in my amused state as he literally stumbles into the ugly jeep and screeches off. Cant help wondering if any passing motorist will want to molest me. Are men attracted to females with necks all twisted?

Five minutes have passed. Poor Pa will be so worried. Bhai will be angry enough to kill and Amma will have had a few cows by now. She has a cow at everything one can possibly have a cow at. This would be her worst fears come true. I start to feel sad and then stop myself consciously. How many times have I had a stalker drive me up the sidewalk? I must make the most of this moment. Revel in it. A giggle escapes me. Still, this is rather boring. I take out my left hand from under my thigh, wonder how it got there and turn on the player. Both are still working. Alannis comes on with 'Thank you.'

I hum along with her wondering if it's all right to turn around and grab the cell. I feel like playing Snakes. She croons 'Thank you India.' I sigh. India. My mother’s place and my father’s. It means many things to me. Most of all my bachaas. Will Chotoo Mamoo's kids be sad if I die? Never before in my life have I loved so desperately. I see those kids and everything inside me goes bhaam. Literally everything. I can feel these painful waves of love as that lil imp Misbah hugs my legs in attempts at escaping her bath. And Hassan, that beautiful child. They say a son will inherit his father's goodness or evil, whichever reigns supreme. He's taken all of Mamoo's sensitivity and honesty in him. My taking to them with such intensity is kind of surprising since I can't stand most kids; individuals with more nakhraaz than me or brats superseding me always put me off.

This instant bonding with the kids when I met them last summer has left everyone around me mystified. I love those kids. There is no eloquent way of putting it. I stop myself again. These morbid thoughts aren't getting me anywhere. It's not like non-morbid will either but what the heck.

I think of Unkal Jay from India suddenly. Will he be sad if I die? I find myself hoping he will. Inspite of his incredibly hate filled posts I'm rather fond of him. He seems like a very sad man. Like Bini's granddad in the last stages of cancer. Angry with everything. Wanting to hurt us all with his words. I think he felt cheated with life and having to die. Or maybe Jay is like Britney Spears. Sad and pathetic. Grows onto one.

If I have to go to the hospital, which I probably will considering the amount of blood seeping through my new khakhis and onto Amma’s seat covers, how'll I ever get to a computer? I shake myself. Here you are anNy in a bloody ditch, alone and injured in the night and you're thinking of a man you know through a website? Whatever happened to last minute 'I love you Tony' and 'mujhae bhoolna mat's'? The world really is coming to and end. I chuck out Unkal Jay. So who'll be saddest if I die? I chuckle. Such conceit really. I surprise myself at times. Does everyone think like this as they are about to go? What did Cleopatra think? Damn. Should have seduced that new slaveboy. Say, this new foot cream is rather good. Should have sent some to Alexander; nice chap, that one. Oh well too late now. What about Zia-ul-Haq? Bumpy ride, this one. Whoopsy, looks like we're going down. Did they think such inconsequential things as they lay about to die?

What will Saxena say? 'Tell Scoutie I never meant any of it.' Christ, am I hooked or am I hooked? The smell of wet mud and rain is here too in my little sidewalk nest. I inhale deeply and feel the pain at the back of my neck. Wouldn't it be lovely if someone were to catch this in a bottle? Mudrain de Chanel. Even the lovely smell of mehndi. Henna di Giorgio. Instant hit. Man, I'm so full of crap; what'll become of all this if I die?

I'm thinking of Shirinjee now. The smell of rain is making me sappy. I had to reply her last mail. She surprises me with her wholesomeness. Her pleasantness which amazingly comes across in all her posts makes me happy. There's a smile on my face every time I read her postings. I hit my red nail color chipping fingers on my forehead and wince as it hurts. Good lord, I have a presentation tomorrow morning! Was to meet up with Farzana. Damn.

Suddenly I stop. This is bloody absurd. Am I crazy to be thinking about people I know only through a medium as anonymous as the internet? Am I wrong in loving some of them as much as I do my janglee family? I think I like tahmed sahab as much as my darling Dadajaan. My little philosophical conversation with myself is put to a stop as I hear Pa's clunker which he refuses to do away with screech right behind Amma's very fancy and very crumpled car. "Hey Pa." I grin in the rear view mirror.



Severely injured back, almost killed with a broken neck, twisted right arm, no driving till age 35. My life has now become a haseen imtizaaj of tragedy and comedy. Being in the hospital is no fun. The food is very watery. No oil or mirchi. The nurses are rude and the doctors not cute. Nothing like in E.R. The only highlight in my life on this godforsaken bed right now is the Big Mac Saroo sneaked in and the chowk printouts Ali got me last night. Okay so I'm obsessed.

Here's drinking to you chowk. Lovely watered down, pheeka, expired Frooto straight from the hospital cafeteria. A very happy, very belated birthday. You fill up my senses- all of them. :0)