The naked flames danced gracefully around me as the pain flowed, through my veins. The grief and sorrow enveloped me and I descended into it without resistance. Coldplay strummed their beat as their melancholic lyrics rang so very true.
The candles began to die one by one. They had served their purpose for that brief moment in time and finally reached their destiny. The sands of time continued to slip on by. The merlot mixed with my blood and the bitterness ran through me.
Devastated by his beloved's betrayal, Om collapses both physically as well as emotionally and with that, begins his arduous battle for peace. Torn between love and anger, Om inadvertently starts to lose his grip on life as he knew it causing his world to spiral out of control.
Hoping to recover, Om turns to his closest friends, Arun and Mona. However, instead of gaining support, he bears witness to the trials which have beseiged their lives.
Like life, the three tales entwine sprinkled with humour, tragedy, perseverance and karmic retribution, and through Om, they bind together into a climactic conclusion.
Born in Africa, Chandru was raised between Nigeria, India and the UK. After graduating with Masters in International Business and Management, he moved to New York where he worked for three years as a Business Development Manager. In 2002, Chandru returned to Nigeria where he currently resides and runs a trading company.
He has been a part of the Beyond Sindh magazine writing team since May 2004 and has published numerous articles and short stories in the quarterly publication. Chandru's short story entitled 'The Love Letter' won the Mirage Book short story contest and was published in an anthology titled Inner Voices in January 2009.
Chapter 34
The Tir Na Nog pub at 5 Penn Plaza was my salvation for the night. I couldn’t go back to Sliver, it was temporarily disowned. Instead of trendy furniture, hottest music and the iconic aquarium, I’d make do with the wood laden tables, chairs, benches and the stench of beer.
Placing the sheets of paper on the slab, I slipped off my grey jacket and sat down on the bar stool.
“Om, my son, haven’t seen you in a long time, mate,” Paul snapped from the corner of the bar.
“How’s it going, mate? It certainly has been a long time.”
Paul was a tall, gruff man with an iron handshake and a hearty laugh. He had been pulling pints behind the wooden bar since anyone could remember.
“Caffrey’s, is it?” Paul knew the preferred poison of each of his regulars, even those who had been away.
“Please. I see you’ve got some new glasses, Paul?” I asked pointing at the thin silver framed instrument that sat on his disfigured nose.
“Aye,” he placed the frothy glass in front of me, “My eyes ya know and the missus, she’s been busting me nads. Says, I eye up all the totty in the pub and when I told her I’m flipping blind, she got me these buggers,” he laughed. “Only problem is, now I can see all the totty and I’m loving it!” He laughed louder this time, “Oye, you think the talent will think I’m more distinguished with these on?” He stood up straight and posed by placing his hands on his hips.
“Oh definitely, you’re a regular Brad Pitt.”
“Aw bollocks, that Pitt lad is a pussy!” he continued making his way to one of the regulars at the end of the bar, “Enjoy your pint.”
“Cheers,” I raised the glass.
Picking up the papers, I started to read the last article from the backup stash hoping it would keep my mind occupied. Monica’s deadline was around the corner and I hadn’t found a permanent cure for the crippling writer’s block I suffered. As I read through the old words about an Indian man’s turn-offs, my mind wandered in to thoughts of betrayal. Halfway through the pint, I dialled Mona’s number only to be diverted to her voicemail. I was struggling to keep it together and needed to talk to someone. Arun’s stupidity threw me into an emotional and mental whirlwind and I could once again sense myself slipping.
“You in a rush?” Paul returned as I downed the rest of the pint.
“Just thirsty Paul, just thirsty.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen that kind of thirst. What his name?” he winked.
“I still like women, Paul.”
“Ahh well, you’ve been away for a while, son, you never know,” he chuckled.
“Don’t you have a sheep to shag or something?”
“That’s the Welsh you twat, I’m Scottish!”
“Well, you’re all sheep shaggers to me,” I responded quickly.
“Don’t get touchy, I’m just taking the piss, mate!”
“I know, so was I.”
“She fucked you up pretty bad, ey?” he asked pulling another Caffrey’s.
“It’s a little more complicated than that.”
“Aye, isn’t it always?” he handed me the glass, “I may be an old tosser who doesn’t know much, but one thing I do know is you won’t find yer answers in there, son.”
He nodded at me flipping his towel over his shoulder.
“Cheers to that, Paul,” I raised the glass before downing the whole pint and ordering another.
“What you got there?” he gestured towards the papers in front of me. “I didn’t know you could read.”
“It’s my next article.”
“Right, right,” Paul nodded, “It’s for that Paki magazine of yours. Let’s have a butchers.”
The Desi Guy’s Kryptonite
Since the beginning of time, men have been plagued with one weakness or another, some of which have been the cause of their downfall. For instance, Adam had Eve, the great Achilles had his Achilles, and Bill Clinton had Monica Lewinsky (and a propensity for Cuban cigars)! Then you have Superman’s weakness which, contrary to popular belief, isn’t a penchant for tights (or a compulsion to wear his chaddi on the outside) but rather, Kryptonite. When exposed to the glowing green substance, Kal-el, of the planet Krypton, loses the ability to use his powers and immediately falls gravely ill. With this premise in mind, I started to ponder about the desi guy’s kryptonite with regard to the opposite sex. In lay-woman’s terms… what turns a desi guy off when it comes to the opposite sex.
Ram Ram HAIR-e-ram
To many, this is an obvious turn off. However, its importance cannot be stressed enough. A girl may have a sexy walk, sultry voice, stunning figure, sensual lips, seductive eyes, but any hint of a muchi and you can forget it! Unfortunately to prevent such a scenario, women have to suffer through electrolysis, waxing treatments, sugaring, plucking and bristly hair caused by repeated shaving. So I’d like to take this opportunity to say, cheers, we appreciate you staying ‘clean’.
What makes it worse is the wayward mentality of a few individuals out there. For instance, when I was a young‘un I was told that women are beautiful, hairless creatures, and being an innocent child, I believed them. You can imagine the damage done to my psyche when I discovered women had hair all over, and not just in the obvious places! If you think that’s bad, I know kids who believed women had penises, and fortunately for them, some do! For more details, check out the Tenderloin district in downtown San Fransisco.
The ‘hair’ issue works both ways. Women find men with hairy backs repulsive and in the same way, men are turned off by hair in unexpected locations such as legs, arms, back, chin, top lip, butt… ugh! So ladies… let the men sport the goatees, while you don the Prada bag. For those that are wondering, ‘Unibrows’ and Ashanti style ‘Side Burners’ just won’t do and nor will bleaching. You aren’t fooling anyone!
Stankonia
I was sitting in a car with a female friend when suddenly an odour whisked by my nostrils causing discomfort to my sinuses. At first I couldn’t place the scent, but as seconds passed, the stench grew more pungent and I realised it was one of my biggest fears, BODY ODOUR! My mental DVD player immediately rewound to the start of the day and replayed the events. I let out a sigh of relief as I confirmed that I had used my deodorant. Still, the source of the pong remained a mystery until I realised it originated from the female I was with! Sadly, this wasn’t a one off situation, as a couple of meetings after that incident confirmed that she had a bit of a B.O. problem (and a friend concurred that he too could sniff the ghastly smell). As a good friend, I felt I should inform her about her predicament; however, other females suggested otherwise.
Ladies, you need to understand that men visualise you as sweet and pretty creatures. You stimulate all our senses, from our eyes with your beauty, our ears with your voice, our touch with your skin and our sense of smell with your scent. In our mind you’re a human flower that’s in constant bloom, so please stay that way. I understand a rose by any other name is still a rose; but if it smelt like a fart, you certainly wouldn’t want them by the dozen! We understand you can’t be perfect all the time, and Lord knows you need to get your sweat on, but don’t be stingy with the deodorant, body spray and perfume. On that note ladies, let’s keep it fresh!
Klingon
Men are human beings and we too enjoy attention and affection, but there is always a limit. Receiving 14 missed calls when you’re playing basketball with your friends is beyond that limit. Asking ‘why?’ repeatedly like a kindergarten child isn’t attention, and questioning our whereabouts and people we were with isn’t affection. There is a well-known phrase; “Absence makes the heart grow fonder”, so do yourself a favour and allow us the opportunity to miss you, to appreciate you and to think about you. Eventually we’ll run with our arms wide spread, through a field of daffodils screaming your name and that too with only two outfit changes.
Digger
Hong Kong, London, Spain, Philippines… they’re everywhere!
They aren’t always easy to spot since they can transform into the sadhori sati savitri. Once they dig their claws in, all you can pray for is that you earn faster than they can spend. If a guy hears a girl is a Gold Digger, she is deleted from his mental rolodex immediately. All we can hope for with these women is that they realise there is a scarcity of quality men and learn to appreciate more than the almighty “Bling!”
Gamer
Men always have to battle the stigma of being a ‘player’, however, I must protest that women are no different. A majority of women follow their own personal ‘good book’, otherwise known as “The Rules: Time-Tested Secrets for Capturing the Heart of Mr. Right” by Sherrie Shamoon & Ellen Fein. Now ladies, before you run off and order you own personal copy, please finish reading the rest and remember, this is a piece about ‘Turn Offs’.
This book guides the reader on how to trap a man and maintain his interest. Some of the suggestions are along the lines of :
No conversation should last over four minutes. Time the conversation and end it once the four minutes is up. – What I want to know is: does the time spent on call waiting count too?
Never return a call until he has left three messages. – So three messages is good, four messages is stalking?
Never agree for a Saturday date if called after Wednesday night. – So instead sit at home with tears in your eyes, fatty ice cream in your hand and Pretty Woman on the box? Good plan!
For the curious, other suggestions include; never meeting him halfway, training him to call early in the week and if you’re sitting watching television on a Friday night, keep the answering machine on in order to make men think you have a life.
A friend of mine tested out the methods, and I admit she not only got her man but by feeding him enough for him to know he was hungry, also kept him on his toes for a while; unfortunately, after dating for a long period of time, she eventually got played herself. Point is ladies; the only kind of guy a book like this will get you is one that responds to games. The review itself reads, “The idea is to return to pre-feminist mind games, exploiting the male.” Even if you agree to play the game for eternity, just remember, everyone loses eventually.
Just ask Lesley Cronin of Santa Monica who writes; I tried the tricks in this book, and wound up messing up what could have been a really good thing. If you want to learn everything NOT to do – then read this book. It’s filled with all the games the guys see through, and it DOESN’T WORK!
My suggestion is if you want to play games, invest in a Nintendo. Want a quality guy? Be open, honest and straight forward.
I’m sure the men out there would like to list some other qualities that turn them off, and women that would like to know about them, but sadly, there is only so much allotted space. So to summarise, don’t suffocate, there is more to life than the mighty $$$, in playing games you’ll end up being the loser and like Outkast said, be sure to stay, “So fresh and so clean-clean!”
Now who wants to wax my back?
The Mind of Om
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