Let’s begin there: Chapter 1.
Let’s begin with someone we call Sam. And lest Sam become lonely let’s be generous. Let’s quickly allow Sam a girlfriend. Only his girlfriend is taller than him. (In case you don’t notice that was twist #1.) She was Midge and he was midget. Well that’s another thing we forget with childhood. We forget to laugh without malice. Or at least the world seems to think so, beginning with Sam. Given a chance Sam would have hurled the book at the author. Only fortunately for the author the book is far from done. In fact, neither do you have a clear picture of Sam. All you know is he’s short and his girl friend is taller. He hates it. But then the author is foresworn to tell the truth and faithfully repeat it on every damn given pretext. Sam, disgusted with the charade, ups and leaves the room. Lights up a cigarette and coughs. It was his first cigarette ever. It was a cigarette he got out of Midge’s bag.
Midge followed him to the room. And gaped.
Now let’s leave them to each other and wander about. After all everybody needs some space. So the floral curtains are drawn and the door is slammed shut. As you walk out you notice the cobweb on the doorbell. It requires no slender mush twirling Hercule Poirot to deduce they rarely receive visitors. The truth is even the public phone on the lonely street to their home rings occasionally but their doorbell doesn’t.
Question: How come they don’t receive even the odd junk mail?
Sam and Midge even as we stepped out of their homes had made up, snuggled close to each other and weren’t watching television though it was most certainly on. It is believed that Eskimos when they want to make up rub their noses. I wonder whether it is so because they wouldn’t want to expose any other part of their body to the wintry climes. The noses are uncovered any which way so how about rub and make up. If Aladdin had been an Eskimo he would have known the perfume the genie wore or rather the brand of attar the genie preferred.
Attar for the uninitiated is incidentally a perfume made with sandalwood oil as a base and various floral groups contributing to the top note. Rumour has it that Noorjehan, whose lovelorn son later built the Taj Mahal, discovered attar serendipitously while wading through her morning bath in a nearby lake. She was delighted by the fragrance of the oily layer on the water, which had been left overnight to keep it cool. Testimonials of many a modern day mademoiselle reveal that attar has often taken the place of cologne. Not that that is saying too much. Though it does make your heart bleed when you discover that often musk deer are the prey to poachers because attar made of musk perfume is rather prized.
Imagine dying because someone wants your gland.
Which is truly more grotesque than ‘Coma’ because that was still a movie and here we are talking about a beloved deer. Truly beloved because musk deer move in pairs and poachers make a widow every time they kill a male deer. Imagine Midge without Sam. Imagine Midge wearing heels. Did you know she actually sawed off the heels of all her slippers after she met Sam? That is sacrifice. And a lot of hard work too. She had 256 pairs and each one had heels.
Now that is a lie. Whoever said a book has to keep its integrity right through? And who doesn’t want to overhear a confession? It’s always so interesting. Well, Midge had just about 50 pairs of slippers or so. And you don’t need to wear a habit for you to be told that. But God forgive this book in the power vested in you, amen. Midge emerged after three days. Sam had gone to work. He worked part time as a teller in a bank. Midge was wearing heals…hahaha…. she had one hidden away. And you are reading a completely untrustworthy author…. hahaha.
Meanwhile Sam wasn’t having too good a time out there in the bank. The extra cushion he placed on his chair so he could get a clear view of his customers was missing. Miss…miss…miss…ing. He stuttered or was it the keyboard on his behalf? Can’t tell. People knowing what he was looking for asked him. He knew they knew and were asking just to embarrass him. He walked past them wondering why he needed to keep up with this. He was the son of a taxi driver who once had been the winner of one of the world’s biggest sweepstakes. Sam is quiet about that too…and secondly he’s busy looking for his cushion. And his father being who he was, never spent much of that money, and he left it all to Sam. Finally one of the girls in the bank decided, enough was enough, and retrieved the cushion for him.
Sam got back to work perched on his cushion. Counted the notes as he handed them out. Counted the notes as he collected them. It was one of those small banks where the teller for disbursement and collection was one. It was also one of those busy days. Sam left in the afternoon with more than a bruised ego. Aching fingers.
He cycled home…only to find an empty home and a small note, which simply said: I’m out. He ran his fingers over the piece of paper. Habit.
He spent an aimless evening and a night. You could never tell with Midge. Sometimes she came back in a few hours. Sometimes, a few days later. She was a translator – German to English and sometimes the other way around. They were all technical documents. Mostly engineering papers. No, she was not an engineer but had done a polytechnic course in instrumentation. She did it when she realized there was little money to be made as a translator otherwise. No, she wasn’t comfortable living off Sam’s legacy though they both knew it was more than they could ever hope to spend. No, they wouldn’t reveal the figure out of fear that the tax authorities may be reading. Yes, they had fears real people had though their resemblance to anybody living is completely coincidental.
So, Sam played chess with himself. He worshipped at the shrine of Bobby Fischer and even knew his address in Japan. His favourite opening was Giuoco Piano named after Giacchino Greco a 17th century chess master also known as Il Calabrese. But to be fair to those who have a healthy but indifferent disposition to chess let’s stroll over to Sam’s window. It had a view to the lonely street ahead. There was a sweeper at work brooming away the litterings of the trees. Leaves are what people call them. Janitors rarely are, out of work botany majors.
An ambulance drove by but you could make out by its leisurely pace and its still, by which is meant not revolving, overhead light that it wasn’t on duty. Sam’s mind in the meanwhile was furiously whirring. Considering and reconsidering the employment of pawns, bishops and knights. The language of chess is extremely fascinating. In the first 15 minutes of a game often pieces are killed, pieces are sacrificed all for control over a square. At this point in time let us wonder if Midge was two-timing Sam.
Suspense.
Sam continues to play chess as you wonder whether he is a victim of duplicity. Perhaps he is. But ignorance is bliss. A cliché that only applies to unhappy situations if you notice. Ignorance is hardly bliss if you are the sole heir of a multi-billion dollar legacy but are unaware that you need to collect. Sam interrupts his thinking to put together a salad for himself and returns to his game. The janitor outside, in the meanwhile had called it a day. The streetlamps are all you see from Sam’s window. It’s not even raining so you can’t pass your time watching the raindrops clinging on to the power lines for a while and then dropping only to have their place taken by another raindrop. And another. And another. Haven’t we all spent an entire afternoon or evening doing it some monsoon or the other? It must be an exciting activity compared to something but one can’t right now put a finger on what that could be.
Sam in the meanwhile has changed into his night suit and has turned off the lights. Perhaps he is thinking of Midge even as he drops off to sleep or then he is thinking of moving the knight into the fourth square on the e file.
In the middle of the night Midge lets herself into the house. Relief. But we all know it doesn’t take too much time to be unfaithful. So you are back to square one and you are playing black. If you discover her clothes are disheveled it may not look good for Sam. But it’s not. But then again, she could have simply straightened out her dress real well. Chances are that’s exactly what she would have done if she was guilty and didn’t want Sam to know.
Sam was snoring however. She gets into the covers beside him. And the lights go off on chapter one.
Midge followed him to the room. And gaped.
Now let’s leave them to each other and wander about. After all everybody needs some space. So the floral curtains are drawn and the door is slammed shut. As you walk out you notice the cobweb on the doorbell. It requires no slender mush twirling Hercule Poirot to deduce they rarely receive visitors. The truth is even the public phone on the lonely street to their home rings occasionally but their doorbell doesn’t.
Question: How come they don’t receive even the odd junk mail?
Sam and Midge even as we stepped out of their homes had made up, snuggled close to each other and weren’t watching television though it was most certainly on. It is believed that Eskimos when they want to make up rub their noses. I wonder whether it is so because they wouldn’t want to expose any other part of their body to the wintry climes. The noses are uncovered any which way so how about rub and make up. If Aladdin had been an Eskimo he would have known the perfume the genie wore or rather the brand of attar the genie preferred.
Attar for the uninitiated is incidentally a perfume made with sandalwood oil as a base and various floral groups contributing to the top note. Rumour has it that Noorjehan, whose lovelorn son later built the Taj Mahal, discovered attar serendipitously while wading through her morning bath in a nearby lake. She was delighted by the fragrance of the oily layer on the water, which had been left overnight to keep it cool. Testimonials of many a modern day mademoiselle reveal that attar has often taken the place of cologne. Not that that is saying too much. Though it does make your heart bleed when you discover that often musk deer are the prey to poachers because attar made of musk perfume is rather prized.
Imagine dying because someone wants your gland.
Which is truly more grotesque than ‘Coma’ because that was still a movie and here we are talking about a beloved deer. Truly beloved because musk deer move in pairs and poachers make a widow every time they kill a male deer. Imagine Midge without Sam. Imagine Midge wearing heels. Did you know she actually sawed off the heels of all her slippers after she met Sam? That is sacrifice. And a lot of hard work too. She had 256 pairs and each one had heels.
Now that is a lie. Whoever said a book has to keep its integrity right through? And who doesn’t want to overhear a confession? It’s always so interesting. Well, Midge had just about 50 pairs of slippers or so. And you don’t need to wear a habit for you to be told that. But God forgive this book in the power vested in you, amen. Midge emerged after three days. Sam had gone to work. He worked part time as a teller in a bank. Midge was wearing heals…hahaha…. she had one hidden away. And you are reading a completely untrustworthy author…. hahaha.
Meanwhile Sam wasn’t having too good a time out there in the bank. The extra cushion he placed on his chair so he could get a clear view of his customers was missing. Miss…miss…miss…ing. He stuttered or was it the keyboard on his behalf? Can’t tell. People knowing what he was looking for asked him. He knew they knew and were asking just to embarrass him. He walked past them wondering why he needed to keep up with this. He was the son of a taxi driver who once had been the winner of one of the world’s biggest sweepstakes. Sam is quiet about that too…and secondly he’s busy looking for his cushion. And his father being who he was, never spent much of that money, and he left it all to Sam. Finally one of the girls in the bank decided, enough was enough, and retrieved the cushion for him.
Sam got back to work perched on his cushion. Counted the notes as he handed them out. Counted the notes as he collected them. It was one of those small banks where the teller for disbursement and collection was one. It was also one of those busy days. Sam left in the afternoon with more than a bruised ego. Aching fingers.
He cycled home…only to find an empty home and a small note, which simply said: I’m out. He ran his fingers over the piece of paper. Habit.
He spent an aimless evening and a night. You could never tell with Midge. Sometimes she came back in a few hours. Sometimes, a few days later. She was a translator – German to English and sometimes the other way around. They were all technical documents. Mostly engineering papers. No, she was not an engineer but had done a polytechnic course in instrumentation. She did it when she realized there was little money to be made as a translator otherwise. No, she wasn’t comfortable living off Sam’s legacy though they both knew it was more than they could ever hope to spend. No, they wouldn’t reveal the figure out of fear that the tax authorities may be reading. Yes, they had fears real people had though their resemblance to anybody living is completely coincidental.
So, Sam played chess with himself. He worshipped at the shrine of Bobby Fischer and even knew his address in Japan. His favourite opening was Giuoco Piano named after Giacchino Greco a 17th century chess master also known as Il Calabrese. But to be fair to those who have a healthy but indifferent disposition to chess let’s stroll over to Sam’s window. It had a view to the lonely street ahead. There was a sweeper at work brooming away the litterings of the trees. Leaves are what people call them. Janitors rarely are, out of work botany majors.
An ambulance drove by but you could make out by its leisurely pace and its still, by which is meant not revolving, overhead light that it wasn’t on duty. Sam’s mind in the meanwhile was furiously whirring. Considering and reconsidering the employment of pawns, bishops and knights. The language of chess is extremely fascinating. In the first 15 minutes of a game often pieces are killed, pieces are sacrificed all for control over a square. At this point in time let us wonder if Midge was two-timing Sam.
Suspense.
Sam continues to play chess as you wonder whether he is a victim of duplicity. Perhaps he is. But ignorance is bliss. A cliché that only applies to unhappy situations if you notice. Ignorance is hardly bliss if you are the sole heir of a multi-billion dollar legacy but are unaware that you need to collect. Sam interrupts his thinking to put together a salad for himself and returns to his game. The janitor outside, in the meanwhile had called it a day. The streetlamps are all you see from Sam’s window. It’s not even raining so you can’t pass your time watching the raindrops clinging on to the power lines for a while and then dropping only to have their place taken by another raindrop. And another. And another. Haven’t we all spent an entire afternoon or evening doing it some monsoon or the other? It must be an exciting activity compared to something but one can’t right now put a finger on what that could be.
Sam in the meanwhile has changed into his night suit and has turned off the lights. Perhaps he is thinking of Midge even as he drops off to sleep or then he is thinking of moving the knight into the fourth square on the e file.
In the middle of the night Midge lets herself into the house. Relief. But we all know it doesn’t take too much time to be unfaithful. So you are back to square one and you are playing black. If you discover her clothes are disheveled it may not look good for Sam. But it’s not. But then again, she could have simply straightened out her dress real well. Chances are that’s exactly what she would have done if she was guilty and didn’t want Sam to know.
Sam was snoring however. She gets into the covers beside him. And the lights go off on chapter one.
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