Troika
April 2nd, 2009I believe this particular story has a great potential. I have given in hours to editing this and yet all I managed was sending the whole plot into greater disarray with no cogent theme. Some day I will re-edit it and post it again. What I’ve realized though is that blogging is just not the right tool to publish all sorts of literary work. I’ve been reading Edgar Allan Poe lately and I am pretty sure that many wouldn’t read even his stories if published in a blog. They span pages on paper and miles on your computer screen.
Anyhoo enough of this contourless blahbitty rant. I have to post this as it is so that I can finally move out of that circle of viciousness that is escalation of commitment. I need to let go so that I can start other things. I must tell you though that right now I am not all proud ( the right word probably tends towards ‘ashamed’) of this. I am in half a mind to not publish it even right now but then that would probably mean that I edit it for another hour, be unhappy with it and angry at myself and not be capable of publishing this or anything at all for another month. So please be kind. I am usually not this bad. You can read my other stories.
I was bored. Six hours of lectures on Quantum Physics, Fluid Transfer and Equillibrium Dynamics. In the first class I learned that in Quantum Mechanics anything could possibly happen anywhere. In the next I learnt that Reynolds and Bernoulli probably never got laid in their lives. I dreamed that I was throwing huge molecules of Phenol at Proffessor Kilsman in the last. So no Gyaan there.
I walked down to the deserted house behind the nursing school. It was the place where we hung out. It was perfect for the three of us. There were always tons of hot nursing chics dressed to check out from there and no one ever bothered us there. It was a Yale legend that this place was haunted. In class I heard someone talk about how she heard a ghost crying at night. I was pretty sure though it was Blah1. Singing his rendition of Don’t cry.
Blah1 hit me hard on his back. That was how he wished me happy birthday for the bazillionth time today. It hurt but it felt good because it reminded me of home. All I got in a new country was a lot of polite ‘Wish you a very happy birthday’ and a few gifts. Boring. Having your face plastered in chocolate back home was way yummier.
“Whaddup dawg. What we doin’ for your birthday homie?”
” Yo nigga’ whaddup. Why da gansta shit man? Seriously dude. You’re from Bombay not Brooklyn.”
” Ok Ok I get it. We are all sophisticated, fluent, bright and arrogant students of the great Yale. We are all prim and propah’. Yale or not, eighteen or not, you will always be the Bihari.”
” I am broke. No. Not like ‘I don’t have money to buy Graph Paper’ broke or even ‘I need to borrow some toilet paper broke’. I am no money to buy smokes broke. You also do know that making fun of that 150 kilo fat punjabi ass of yours, which is big enough to shelter every single Somalian refugee, can get nastier than racism”
” Aye. It ain’t no racism with the Biharis. Isn’t the accepted term ‘animal abuse’ ? ”
That was good.I was saved by the humiliation of a feeble lame reply by the arrival of Blah2 who for some reason seemed full of enthusiasm, the source of which, I could not empathise.
” Happy birthday again my friend. What’s the plan dude? It’s your birthday for Uncle Sam’s sake. Let’s get them those hookers, cocaine and limousine. Let’s get them done before it gets legal for you”
” While you are it, ask Santa and get us all badges which say ‘ Rockstar: Kurt Cobain’
By the way- There is no legal age to have intercourse with prostitutes in the state of Connecticut. Cocaine is a Schedule II drug as per the Controlled Substances Act.”
“You do know that the only reason we let this crazy lawyer live is because no one else will represent us when we stand for his murder ”
Blah1’s idea of robbing the Federal Bank had its merits but we could barely afford the cab fare to that place. I’ve had better birthdays I told myself.
They could sense it. Yet not do much about it.
‘ Dude when life fucks you, you don’t just bend over and beg it to use a lubricated condom, so that it doesn’t hurt. You fucking kick it in the nuts’
Kick it in the nuts we did.
** I still believe that this story has a lot of potential.**