First Boom (He & Salman)
Salman Rushdie is a fucking over rated pretentious wank. That was the first thought that came to his mind as the warm glow of the street grade junk hit his brain. Lying face down on the traffic dividers of a busy street in the heart of South Mumbai had its on trip inducers. He barely saw the book vendors with their pale yellow books stacked up high on one side of the road or the derisive looks of the passengers of the cars that zipped past him. His legs were twitching like madness and somebody from the passing cars threw some water on his face. But what amazed him the most was the bleeding red color of the roses a street urchin was peddling to the cars that stopped at the traffic light. He thought that the color of the rose was more than what it deserved. The red flowed out of its petals and flowed down the streets. It flowed under the stopped cars and grew up the back of parked buses. It was all over, women were shrieking, men had folded the bottoms of their trousers and children were playing in it; why the fuck are they playing in blood? He retched. He certainly didn’t mind the retching; he had been doing it on and off for the last four days. He had been retching on speed, liquor, nitrocine, rexcof and now brown sugar that he had scored from a junky at Churchgate station. For a moment the thought of where it all began four days ago struck his frantically slowing thought. He had been at work; he had been happy and was crunching audit details of some fucked software company. He was in love, he wanted to have sex that night, maybe even get her to go down on him, he even wanted to watch the latest superhero movie in town. And then he walked out and bought a bottle of wine at the wine store, reconsidered picking up some flowers and decided against it – it definitely wasn’t his style. He was the stylishly brooding type with the stubble & then there was some talk about some vague book.. Now what was it about Salman Rushdie that he was thinking? He wasn’t really sure if he actually thought about the author or was it yesterday or many years back. He wasn’t sure if he had even heard that name before. His mind was fast numbing everything in or around him. With much effort and fight against the skag, he propped himself up on the traffic divider and rested his back on the metal poles on it. He desperately tried to recollect what transpired and how he reached here. Okay… he had met that chut Rahul at Curry Road and stepped into that seedy bar. (He vomited again at the thought of what he ate there.) Then what? What happened to that girl who was singing? Who the fuck was the girl? What the fuck was she doing in my world? He started feeling scared. The junk was crushing his bones. There was a vice like grip on his neck, as if somebody was trying to strangulate him. His eyes were popping out; he put his tongue out for some air like the mangy dog now staring at him, he felt a huge erection between his legs. To add to his misery a cop was running towards him. His antics could have scared some passerbyes and alerted the cop. He stared back into the eyes of the dog and the head of the dirty animal changed into the cop. The cop locked his arms under his armpits and tried to lift him up. Sensing action some onlookers was also running upto help him. Some hands were in his pocket. Some more water was splashed on his face. He weekly tried to resist the violation, but the hands that held him were much more stronger than the junk’s control on his motor abilities. He feebly heard the conversations around him – “looks like from a decent family… how do these young men end up like this? Some words seemed very loud especially BEHANCHOTH. BEHANCHOTH echoed in his mind for a long time. In between he smelled the smell of formaldihyde and saw white sheets and green curtains. He thought the sun was coming to get him. He went into spasms many times, he felt needles in his skin and then it was all empty space, when he slept It was dark when he woke up and his head felt like as if it was being sledge hammered. He heard the noise of trains running inside it. He was lying on the courtyard of some government hospital. There were more people lying beside him, some bleeding, some shivering. There were people everywhere, a lot of people. Crying, shouting, weeping, begging for attention and some in hospital garbs who walked around with complete stoicism and disregard for human life. He tried to sit up after much deliberation and tried to recollect what he was doing there or how he reached there. He looked around helplessly and caught sight of two havaldar running in his direction. His instinct told him something was wrong & he had to run; but his legs were still not under his control “tum David ho?” “yes” “chalo hamare saath” “kahaan?” “tumhari maa ko chodne keliye. Chal madarchod.” “mein khada nahin ho para ha hoon” He tried to resist and thought for more excuses… “tujha aai laa” The cops swore as they forcibly lifted him up and half helped, half dragged him out of the corridor into a room The 8 feet by 5 feet room was occupied by a visibly bored looking guy in a doctors white apron who was sitting behind a desk and across him sat another cop, chewing probably his cud. The cops lips were red and the flashback of the bloody rose came back to him like another rush and he retched again. “tujha aai laa” the cop swore loudly as he puked out more bile. The doctor called loudly for somebody, probably the attendant. “Are you David Coutinho?” The seated cop asked contemptuously “Yes” “Do you know Rahul Kumar?” “Yes” “How do you know him?” “I studied with him in college” ”What did they teach you there? How to rape 12 year olds?” “What?” His mind tried to cut through the clutter of the four-day binge “We will cut your dick off you motherfucking cunt” “eh..” “Do you know Sunita Singh?” Sabrina’s name suddenly cut his stupor short “Yes… where is she?” The cop stood up and came close to him “How do you know her?” “She is my wife” “You are a catholic and she is a Punjabi? Who are you fucking, motherfucker ” ? The hard slap on his face threw some snot and blood out of his face. The cops suddenly left their hold and he felled down. He banged his head on the jagged edge of the table and he smelt blood The white apron-wearing guy was saying something now… probably to avoid violence in his office He tried to get up “Where is Sunita?” “Dead. She was floating in vashi creek, when we pulled her out.” He tried to put together the words but to no avail. He was still severely impaired by his antics of the previous days. “eh…” “Dead you fucking cunt, when you were poking fucking needles into your balls.” “eh..” He whimpered “She was raped and then killed. Then they threw her into the river. She floated for three days and dogs were eating her body when we found her” He gasped. He felt like crying but was completely unable to complete that emotion. “Where were you for the last four days” “I don’t remember. I was at a friends place” “You were doing drugs” “Yes I was trying” Another slap sent him down again “I never done drugs before” He swore “Who gave you the drugs?” “A friend. Rahul. You guys should speak with Rahul. Where is he”? “He is dead. We found him in his house” “Who gave Rahul the drugs?” “I dunno. Somebody… in a bar…” For some strange reason, the memories coming back to him were in black and white. He saw her singing again. “What bar?” “I don’t know. Some bar in curry road. Some chandini or rekha or something” He saw her singing again. And then he saw her walking upto him. He saw Rahul smile. “Salwe, right that name down. Call the control room and ask somebody to check the name up” She was pulling his tie. Jiving with it. Did she kiss him? “Who was at the bar?” “Me and rahul and her friends” “Whose friends?” “The singer. She said she had friends who could give us a good time” “Who was her friends?” “I don’t know.” “Did they give you the drugs?” “I don’t know” He was at Rahul’s apartment. Loud electronic music playing in the background. He was eating some pill, then he inhaled some vapors; he saw Sunita looking at him. He saw rahul egging him on. “Who gave you the drugs motherfucker?” “I don’t know. I don’t remember” She said the so much of smoke was not good for her baby and she wanted to go home “Tell me their names David” He felt that the cop’s voice was getting calmer; must be tears on his face now “Can this happen? Can you do drugs for four days when you do it for the first time?” The cop was talking to the doctor “Yeah some bodies get addicted to the high very fast. It’s a mental thing and they are hooked on from the first drag. Then they just cant stop.” He remembered the car drive to somewhere. Sunita was sitting behind and he was sitting in front, totally blown. He had heard them laugh as she cried. He had laughed with them weakly not knowing what else to do He remembered the laughing. He saw montages of the singer biting his arms, he saw the neon lights that stripped past him as they raped his wife in the back seat of his own car. He remembered Rahul, he remembered the junky who cooked up from him in the morning, he remembered the street urchin with the blood roses, he remembered hearing the name and laughing at it – Salman Rushdie. He had laughed at the strange fate of a drug peddler sharing the name with his favorite author; but he remembered no faces. He saw blood on the floor. He saw its level increasing, it was now all over. The cop was wearing a bloody shirt. He knew he was going to die, with the cops and the doctor and the patients in the courtyard. Every one was going to drown in Sunita’s blood.
Copyright © 2007 Anoop Menon |