I must have been knocked out for quite a while, how long I don’t know. I can only recollect fragments of the incident, the last of which was the white dust of the fire extinguisher in my eyes. I am less than twenty minutes away from being returned to earth. The pain is gone. What is left of me now is the scorched residue of what I used to be in my days of glory. Well, I always thought I would die old, brittle and useless, left alone in the most abandoned corner of humanity. But fate had for me, a more remarkable departure in store.
Eighteen minutes left, and I still haven’t the faintest idea of how I got here. It’s bright and sunny, a vast dry space stretches out around me.
Fourteen and a half minutes left. It is coming back to me now. I remember waking up late, stopping by the gas station for a grub, and then heading straight to the Park Hotel where I was supposed to pick up the Indian Cricket Team at 7:30. Needless to say, it was a big day. The streets were clear; clusters of street dwellers buzzed around small television screens in shops to watch the semi finals between India and Sri Lanka.
The stadium was packed beyond capacity by the time we reached Eden Gardens. Among the scattered groups of people scouting desperately for someone to sell them a ticket in black, the street hawkers selling anything from from Bhel Puris to Rolex watches.
We cut through the press, and the enthusiasts (who sometimes threw stones at us if we didn’t stop to wave or shake hands on our way in) as fast as we could to get inside the pavilion. In truth, my sheer fascination with the game is not the game itself, but about how the whole city transforms itself in anticipation of it. The dynamics of routine come to a standstill, to the point where even the invisible hands of Adam Smith fail to keep the wheels of economics turning. Cricket is a celebration of faith and adulation, beyond anything we would ever see in Kolkata for a religious cause. Cricket becomes the religion of the city.
Nine minutes left. I was born and brought up in a small town in Germany known only for the large Volvo factories that employ more than half the townsmen. I can still remember the day I arrived at Kolkata. The east was almost incomprehensible in terms of my western upbringing; the shades of humanity stretched a much wider spectrum, than I had ever experienced before. What fascinated me most though, was how the rich and the poor conveniently accepted their place in the society without remorse or protest. There were the shiny new malls selling thousand rupee lingerie. Next to it in the slums, the kids played soccer with cheap ping-pong balls because a bigger ball was out of their parents’ affordable reach. In, the evening, when imported cars would line up on the road outside, the kids, in empty stomachs, would wait eagerly for their fathers to return with the rice, bravely combating persistent attacks from swarms of neighbourhood mosquitoes.
In spite of my superior European look, haughty mannerisms inherited from my high class lineage, the city had accepted me as I am. The humility this place has inculcated in me in the last seventeen years is beyond anything I had ever imagined myself capable of.
Five minutes left. I have no family, no friends. Will I be remembered when I’m gone?
Four and half minutes left, and I suddenly hear the roar of the mob waiting outside. I am back to the match last night. I was relaxing under the player’s lounge, when I heard my driver yell to the crew that we have to vacate immediately. India had played a despicable innings, and the upset crowd had broken out into a riot. The match was abandoned when the crowd had started throwing whatever they could find at the players on the ground. A group of young men had stepped outside smashing cars and vandalizing the stadium to express their rage towards the Indian Cricket team for letting their hopes down. I suppose they had their reasons; after all, some had skipped meals, some worked extra shifts, and some sold their possessions, to buy a ticket to the game that would take India to the 1996 World Cup Finals!
By the time I heard the warning, it was a tad too late for me to chart out my escape. The mob which had grown substantially in size by the time it had reached our doorsteps was knocking down the fence to where I was standing. I was dragged out to the road, my resistance useless against their momentum. For a moment, it seemed like the rage had nothing to do with India’s loss at all. It was an eruption of the pent up frustration that had accumulated over years of repression and destitution. Then came the blows and sharp streaks of pain shot up from every corner of my body. And before I could gather back my senses, I was on fire.
Thirty seconds left. I see the giant iron pile rising slowly in front of me. Soon I will become a large block of metal stacked upon blocks that used to be Tata trucks or Ashok Leyland public buses. A rusty crank, and I hear the hiss of the pile let loose above me. I take a deep breath and embrace my glittering badge - Volvo LuxuryBus LS, my identity, my emblem of pride.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
The Match
They were warmed up now – the anticipation of battle was in their eyes. In their tense movements. In their terse exchanges. They had met many times before. They would meet many times again. Each occasion had the same elements – the thrill of competition, the shiver of excitement. Each occasion had its unique flavour. The thrill of competition, the shiver of excitement. The raucous audience settled down. This was what they had come to see.
It was scooped inches off the floor by the other. And then he was here, there – everywhere. Unlike his opponent, he seemed to fill up all space. And the noise! A waterfall in monsoon. A concrete monolith crumbling to earth. Every movement was an indulgence – every stroke played with wantonness. Lust. Excess. The sheer joy of unfettered power. A gun replaced by a racket. An imperfect body moving in perfect synchrony. He was competing with his opponent and he was competing with himself. He was equal to both.
And now the ball was bouncing around as if in a giant pinball machine. Explosive hits mixed with soft twangs as each point became a love-hate relationship between wall and ball. A whisper of movement alternated with a clamour. The audience watched stunned, wide eyed. Each stretch, each dive, each sprint was applauded with absolute silence.
The match continued well past the energy levels of both players. And yet they would not give up. The quality waned a little. The effort did not. More errors were made. The ball seemed to have developed a mind of its own – hitting the frame of the racket more often than the centre. Mini puddles of sweat formed on the floor. The match seemed like it would never end; just before it did. A tired swing, an uneven bounce. Two points. It was over.
The players stepped out of court, pouring sweat. The audience gushed its admiration. They sat down; unspeaking, unmoving for the next five minutes. Then one turned to the other:
“Think we’ll make varsity?”
“Nah – not good enough”.
“Yeah. I guess. Dinner?”
“Sure”
He turned to the audience.
“You guys hungry?”
“Yeah”
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Its time for action
Sorry for the long leave. I was busy waking up to graduation and associated realizations.
Please welcome aniRUDHAR ( pronounced 'rooder' by the white people), to our midst.
He seems to be the only one who ventured to broach the previous topic " a gay person coming out in a straight world". Or was it the other way around. Anyways, it goes.
This weeks topic is going to be light, considering the slight hiatus.
" My home town and what I love about it"
Love,
Aparna
Please welcome aniRUDHAR ( pronounced 'rooder' by the white people), to our midst.
He seems to be the only one who ventured to broach the previous topic " a gay person coming out in a straight world". Or was it the other way around. Anyways, it goes.
This weeks topic is going to be light, considering the slight hiatus.
" My home town and what I love about it"
Love,
Aparna
The Adventures of Ani and Anna: Part II
Monday
5.00 PM Read up trivia on Anna’s favouritestestest band in the whole wide world, Mötörђëäď. They seem like a cool gig. Mötörђëäď vs. Boyzone-in-their-prime. Now that would be some contest. I didn’t tell anna I did the reading up. Will save it up for a special occasion. He will be sooo impressed!!!
5.05 PM Couldn’t control my excitement any longer, and confessed to anna how I had become a Mötörђëäď fAnAtIc, just like him!!! “Stick to your Cockzone and your Backstreet Cocks, and you’ll be fine, cockboy.” Our playful, oh-so-affectionate yet über-masculine needling has soared to new heights these days!
Tuesday
8.00 PM Warmed anna’s seat in the living room before the big game. When he smacked me on the head with an affectionate “Outta my fuckin’ seat, cockboy”, I knew it was just guy-speak for “You’re one of my mates now; it would mean a lot to me if you watched the big game with me, bro.” This guy-speak thingy is sooo manly!
9.00 PM Sat by anna’s side and pretended to be interested as he watched the big game. This Cristiano Ronaldo chappie has such nice legs.
11.00 PM Made mental note to stop making mental notes.
Wednesday
6.00 PM Anna’s arrival home is a full three hours away :(. Reminded myself of Dr. Phil’s sermon on patience being a virtue.
7.00 PM 2 hours…getting angsty.
8.00 PM Abruptly hit by brainwave. Went over to the department store to buy a can of Tiger beer and a testicle-scratcher. Lusting attendant gave me ‘the look’ reserved for manly men like anna and me. No wonder she-men like Kaka are still virgins.
8.15 PM Poured the horsepiss out of the beer can and filled it to the brim with delicious gingerade. Took up my position in the living room with the remote, the beer can and the scratcher within reach. The trap is set.
9.00 PM Heard the door knob turning, and swiftly switched the channel to ESPN. As anna walked in, I vigorously scratch my balls with the scratcher and chugged my ‘beer’ (hehe) as I pretended to be absorbed in the sports-crapola on the tele. Although Anna barely looked up from his magazine (May edition of Sports, Cars and Naked Chicks, if you must know), I could tell he was keenly observing me from the corner of his manly eye.
9.30 PM Felt bad about how I behaved earlier. Worried if my clever ruse might make anna think I have become manlier than him. Made mental post-it (hehe, I cheated) to reassure anna later that his Y-chromosome is the bestest Y-Chromosome in the whole, wide world.
Thursday
9.00 PM Anna and Kaka have gone out drinking without inviting me, for the fourth week in succession. Wonder if tonight’s the night anna is going to break the news to Kaka that he’s found a new bestest friend and that he doesn’t fancy his company anymore.
2.00 AM Anna came in a while ago, accompanied by some Fugly French Bitch. I know anna would have much rather guy-bonded with me, but fugly bitch insisted on dragging him up the stairs to his room, all the way playing tonsil-tennis in his manly mouth.
2.15 AM I’m not thinking of what anna and fugly bitch might be doing in his room. And I don’t care.
5.15 AM I’m still not thinking of what anna and fugly bitch might be doing in his room. And I still don’t care. I don’t feel threatened by fugly bitch. Not one bit.
Friday
11.00 PM Left for Clarke Quay to look for white people.
11.45 PM Tried to bring bottled water, free healthcare and indie music into a conversation with a couple of Swedish blokes. They didn’t seem to care. The chap who writes stuffwhitepeoplelike is a liar.
2.30 AM The white people around here are sooo not friendly to me. Heading home. :(
Saturday
11.00 PM Left for Clarke Quay to look for white people.
11.30 PM Recognized fugly bitch from a distance sitting at a bar with 3 of her (equally fugly) girlfriends. She seemed to recognize me too. There was a lot of pointing and sniggering in my direction. My face reddened at the recollection of how anna had introduced me to fugly bitch the time I accidentally-on-purpose bumped into them at the mall: “The cocksucker who splits rent.”
11.32 PM Wept my heart out into the
11.45 PM All cried out now. Came to the realization that I actually PITY fugly bitch. She simply has nooo inkling that the ‘bros b4 hoes’ philosophy-of-living was invented by my anna. If only the poor woman knew that if I had, say, a pedicure-emergency, my anna would drop her like a lead balloon and be by my side like *that*.
2.30 AM The white people around here are sooo not friendly to me. Heading home. :(
Sunday
7.00 PM Hasn’t been an altogether memorable week. Feeling kind of depressed. Nip/tuck reruns aren’t working their usual magic. :(
8.00 PM Made impulse decision to start growing my facial hair. Although I know that I can’t hope to cultivate in a million years the sort of flowing man-beard my anna can sprout in a day. :(
The Adventures of Ani and Anna: Part I
Hi there. My name’s Ani. I am a 23 year old, heterosexual Tamil boy living in
About me: I just moved into a quaint little home in a picturesque corner of western
Off we go then. Be prepared for candid revelations, sheeple!!
Monday
7.00 PM. Anna left home, giving me specific instructions to stay home all evening and watch over things. I’m so proud that he trusts me enough now to give me important assignments!
8.30 PM Bored of Nip/Tuck reruns. Went over to Holland V looking for white people, and guess what? Anna and Kaka were at a table, drinking together! Naturally, I pulled up a chair. Although anna feigned a look of disgust on his face, I knew he was secretly glad I could join in the male-bonding session!!
8.45 PM Proud of how sober I was despite having had a wholeeee shandy! Confessed to anna how he was like my Dr. Cox, who told me to “shut the fuck up, you twat” and that he didn’t care abut my ‘penis-doctor’. I’m becoming such a masculine man these days, drinking beer with the guys and what not! This feels just like girls’ night out, except that it’s, like, guys’ night out! Made mental note to blog about the mythical guy-high.
9.00 PM Took pee-pee break. When I came back to the table, anna and his annoying sidekick had disappeared. Anna’s boyish hide-and-seek-come-and-find-me pranks are sooo endearing!!
9.35 PM Couldn’t find anna anywhere. Heading home. Hope he doesn’t miss me too much. :(
Tuesday
9.00 PM Heard Kaka and anna playing a game of Playstation downstairs. There was laughing and cheering. Anna seemed to be enjoying himself. Went down and joined in the laughter, but anna didn’t seem to care. :(
11.00 PM Updated my Facebook status to ‘Ani may have just found his platonic rival!!!’
and marvelled at the attention-grabbing qualities of multiple exclamation marks. Shuddered at the memories of a Facebook that only accepted ‘is’ status messages. My, has civilization come a long way or what!
11.30 PM Spent the last half an hour refreshing my twitter to see if someone’s status linked to their moblog post about how witty my Facebook status was. No such luck. :(
Wednesday
8.30 PM Spent the day eagerly awaiting Anna’s return from work.
9.00 PM When the moment arrived, I looked away and ever-so-nonchalantly asked him if he was ‘up for a game, mate’. I’m getting so good at man-speak these days. “Fuck off you cunt, I don’t play with dipshits”. I love anna’s one-liners, and how he does his I-don’t-give-a-shit-about-you act when in reality, he sooo does. We all know it’s just part of the whole masculine charade; he’s going to ‘change his mind’ in, like, five minutes.
9.10 PM Appears as though anna was serious about not wanting to play with me. I’m going upstairs to brood.
9.15 PM Can hear anna playing with Kaka downstairs. Strange. Maybe anna is saving up his attention for me for one of our male-bonding sessions, like the time he came into my room, mumbled something about me being a ‘cocksucker’, and clobbered me with a cricket bat for playing Beyonce!! Anyway, we all know who anna’s bestest friend on the planet is, so there. :P
Thursday
9.00 AM Have to go to the immigration office in a while to get a visa. Those red-tape nitwits need me to find a guarantor for my stay. Guess who I’m going to ask? ;)
He must be sleeping, but everyone knows that bestest-buddies-in-the-universe don’t have to knock before entering each others’ rooms. :)
9.05 AM Will post update on how things went inside anna’s room after tending to my broken jaw.
10.00 AM Ok, here’s how it went. After expressing playful ‘violent rage’ at being awakened from his manly sleep, anna promised to do it if it meant that ‘I would get the fuck out of the room.’ So I made him sign the form, and in the column for ‘relationship with applicant’, he filled in ‘Friend’!!!!!! Left the room with a tear in my eye. And not because of the jaw.
6.00 PM Finished updating my blog about how much it meant to me that anna had chosen an important government establishment as the forum for formalizing our union of camaraderie. Tried to update my Facebook relationship status. Damn thing won’t accept ‘In a friendship with.’ Cried myself to sleep.
Friday
6.00 PM Kaka made offhand disparaging remark about anna. Defended anna’s honour, and made mental note to be mean to him for a few days. Twat.
7.00 PM Microblogged about how much I love mental notes. :)
11.00 PM Left for Clarke Quay to look for white people.
2.30 AM The white people around here are sooo not friendly to me. Heading home. :(
Saturday
4.00 PM Finished up season 3 of Desperate Housewives. Was just thinking how AWESOME it would be if I could find a gorgeous girl called Anna to go out with, just so that I could dump her in the name of ‘bros b4 hoes, annas b4 Annas.’!!
4.05 PM Shared my feelings with anna. He didn’t seem impressed either by my clever wordplay or by my sentiment. I bet that nincompoop Kaka been poisoning his mind against me.
11.00 PM Left for Clarke Quay to look for white people.
2.30 AM The white people around here are sooo not friendly to me. Heading home. :(
3.00 AM The microblogosphere doesn’t like my punning skills either. This SUCKS. People SUCK. :(
Sunday
3.00 PM Caught Anna laughing at Chris Crocker’s Leave Britney Alone video. LOL. It’s sooo awesome how we both share the same sense of humour. Everyone knows Britney is sooo last-season. Made mental note to invite anna over to my room the next time I download sound-bytes from Jus Timberlake’s new album! ;)
Shorty's story
So there was this kid right. Kinda small for his age, so naturally we used to call him Shorty. His brother and mine used to hang back in the day. So it come only natural that this young ‘un come sling it with me and my crew when we hit high school. Now Shorty used to get all kinds of teasing directed his way, on account of his small stature and the fact he looked like a sledgehammer done a good number on his face. Word is, Shorty’s mom’s had a boyfriend once who went at him once when he was high on tha product. Shorty don’t ever talk about it, and us kids being raised on the street, don’t ever ask. Compassion don’t come easy on the corner. Here it’s every nigga for hisself and you looking for shit if you start showing a soft spot for the weak ones.
None of us liked Shorty much at first. That nigga was weak. In fact, my crew and I done gave him a hard time every time he tried to work himself into our outfit. We stole his lunch damn near every day and made him do every oddjob we could find. Coolio and DJ used him as lookout while they went ‘bout their dirty business in the ‘hood and even Prez, who only fronted like he was mean, never missed an opportunity to take a swipe at him.But Shorty never once complained. He just stood there and took it and looked at us with his sad,doleful, puppy dog eyes. Fellas used to joke bout how he was a Timex.He’d take a licking and keep on ticking. That boy had heart, I’ll tell ya. There was the time that Mean Pete and his boys killed Shorty’s li’l rabbit. No provocation, they just did it to watch a live thing die. And they took their time about it too. When Shorty found Bunnie, she had all these little cuts and burns on her, like they’d tortured her. Real concentration camp shit. Shorty took it real calm. And we all knew he loved that rabbit like it was family or sum’n. When DT found out, he was furious. Now Shorty is a weak-ass nigga. In tha hood, that’s recipe enough for inviting brothas to start banging you up. But he our weak-ass nigga. If anyone should be leaning on him, it should be us. Aint no call for Mean Pete to go all Josef Mengle on his rabbit when we got the market cornered on that shit. So DJ and Coolio and I sneaked up to Mean Pete’s crib while his moms was out and set fire to that mothafucka. I remember we stood and watched that house burn for a good fifteen minutes. Nobody saying nothing, just standing there watching. And after a while, it starts to rain and the fire kinda gets doused, but the house is gutted by now, so it’s all good. When we walk away in the rain like homecoming heroes from a war, there’s just a ghost of a smile playing on Shorty’s lips. DT and I slap him across the back. The nigga’s an initiate now. Welcome to the club Shorty. We got your back.
Mean Pete had mad enemies and rivals in the coke slinging business, so blame was naturally attributed to other quarters. My crew and I lived to see more daylight. School dragged on. DJ and Coolio never did attend, joining the street crews working the corners, selling drugs to all takers. They had uncles high up in the drug trade, who wanted them to get a real grounding in the workings of the family business. From the ground up. So school wasn’t no option. Prez was into all that black pride bullshit and he had a way with words. Damn, that nigga had words on him that would make a thesaurus proud. Aint none of us could see it coming, but prez was headed for the bar. A nigga lawyer, like Johnny Cochran. That boy sure made us proud. As for me, I grew out of the stupid machoism, got my inflated head out my tight ass and realized that if I kept on the way I did, I’d be dead or counting down jail time in five years flat. So I cleaned up my act and got out the game. For good. I didn’t see myself working for the man and I wasn’t gonna lay down and take orders from nobody at no McDonalds. So I borrowed some dough off DJ and Coolio and started me up a gym. It was slow going at first, but with a good marketing angle and some hard work, word got round and I got me a regular procession of niggas comin to lift weights. Shit, I become a regular citizen. I even paid taxes, a far cry from those crazy days when we used to sling rocks at windows, graffiti the walls with cuss words and rob old women of their pension money.
As for Shorty, I’d have liked to say be buried his nose in this books and found out he had a real aptitude for math and become a scientist or some such shit. But real life don’t play that way man. Shorty remained a stupid nigga and when school was over, he found himself inadequately equipped to deal. He started a nine-to-five at the local department store, but Shorty was so unlucky his store got robbed thrice in the first two weeks. Shorty was accused of partnering with the thieves and fired. He then bounced around some, doing oddjobs on the street for grub and room. My old crew would help him whenever he came round, giving him dough or some work. But Shorty invariably fucked up what jobs we gave him and managed to lose or spend his money so fast you’d think he was one of them Hilton sisters. We grew tired of him mooching off us and all of us told him at some point, to fuck off. Shorty took it quietly. He didn’t come by for a month after I kicked him out. But one winter morning, he was back again on the steps of my porch asking for money to get high. In a month’s time, he’d become an addict. Slim Charles’ crew had given him a job as lookout and convinced him to accept product instead of cash. Before you knew it, Shorty was a dope fiend with a dangerous and expensive addiction he could not afford. I told him in no uncertain terms what a fuck-up he was and kicked him the fuck off my property. Looking back, I might have been a little harsh on the kid, but whatever man.Tough love. You start pitying a nigga who’s an addict, he gon start exploiting that pity. Later I learned that DJ and Coolio had more or less done the same to him. Prez, being the sentimental sap he is gave him some dough and Shorty kept going back to him once in a while. Prez always was the soft one. That was the last I seen of Shorty. Word around town said he became Slim Charles’ bitch, doing all kinds of dirty work for him; sexual favors, burying the dead, all kinds of nasty shit. Shorty didn’t have a crew no more, so he took it lying down. Boy was a natural pushover,so aint nothing no-one could do. Man that don’t respect his own self can’t expect no respect. Still and all, I guess we shoulda done something. But DJ and Coolio were busy climbing the drug hierarchy and I was busy with my gym. Prez gave him dough and between the four of us, we rationalized and made excuses so we could sleep at night. Prez once told us over some drinks that inaction equals complicity. That means standing by and watching injustice is as good as doing bad shit yourself. And if that were true, then us lot were guiltier than sin. But the years rolled by and when word bout Shorty’s latest misadventure occasionally got to us, we’d sigh and toast our next drink to him and get on with our lives.
So when we heard what finally happened to Shorty, it hit us hard yo. I mean, we had given up on the boy and all, but still, he used to be one of us back in the day. And when I heard bout the manner of his exit from public life, I coulda just about crawled up and died. Turned out Shorty’d turned to gay prostitution to finance his habit. His customer that day liked to play dirty. Police officials deduced he beat Shorty real good and even brought a gun into the game to get his rocks off. They figured this out from accounts of the hookers in the adjoining room. At some point Shorty snapped. He snatched the gun and shot the guy twice, once in the crotch and once in the chest. Shorty then goes back to his old haunts down at the drug corner and shoots up Slim Charles and the rest of his gang. He’s got seven niggas chalked up and one in critical and all of them sure had it coming. That’s the last anyone’s ever seen of Shorty. It might be he hightailed it to the coast and got on one of them ships headed for Europe. But knowing Shorty he most likely dragged himself to a deserted corner and put one in his own head. Its been a week and counting. No body found yet. Slim Charles’ corner got re-equipped with a new crew today. They rolling out product at discount prices in honor of the dead.
That’s how they do in this town. Life goes on yo.
None of us liked Shorty much at first. That nigga was weak. In fact, my crew and I done gave him a hard time every time he tried to work himself into our outfit. We stole his lunch damn near every day and made him do every oddjob we could find. Coolio and DJ used him as lookout while they went ‘bout their dirty business in the ‘hood and even Prez, who only fronted like he was mean, never missed an opportunity to take a swipe at him.But Shorty never once complained. He just stood there and took it and looked at us with his sad,doleful, puppy dog eyes. Fellas used to joke bout how he was a Timex.He’d take a licking and keep on ticking. That boy had heart, I’ll tell ya. There was the time that Mean Pete and his boys killed Shorty’s li’l rabbit. No provocation, they just did it to watch a live thing die. And they took their time about it too. When Shorty found Bunnie, she had all these little cuts and burns on her, like they’d tortured her. Real concentration camp shit. Shorty took it real calm. And we all knew he loved that rabbit like it was family or sum’n. When DT found out, he was furious. Now Shorty is a weak-ass nigga. In tha hood, that’s recipe enough for inviting brothas to start banging you up. But he our weak-ass nigga. If anyone should be leaning on him, it should be us. Aint no call for Mean Pete to go all Josef Mengle on his rabbit when we got the market cornered on that shit. So DJ and Coolio and I sneaked up to Mean Pete’s crib while his moms was out and set fire to that mothafucka. I remember we stood and watched that house burn for a good fifteen minutes. Nobody saying nothing, just standing there watching. And after a while, it starts to rain and the fire kinda gets doused, but the house is gutted by now, so it’s all good. When we walk away in the rain like homecoming heroes from a war, there’s just a ghost of a smile playing on Shorty’s lips. DT and I slap him across the back. The nigga’s an initiate now. Welcome to the club Shorty. We got your back.
Mean Pete had mad enemies and rivals in the coke slinging business, so blame was naturally attributed to other quarters. My crew and I lived to see more daylight. School dragged on. DJ and Coolio never did attend, joining the street crews working the corners, selling drugs to all takers. They had uncles high up in the drug trade, who wanted them to get a real grounding in the workings of the family business. From the ground up. So school wasn’t no option. Prez was into all that black pride bullshit and he had a way with words. Damn, that nigga had words on him that would make a thesaurus proud. Aint none of us could see it coming, but prez was headed for the bar. A nigga lawyer, like Johnny Cochran. That boy sure made us proud. As for me, I grew out of the stupid machoism, got my inflated head out my tight ass and realized that if I kept on the way I did, I’d be dead or counting down jail time in five years flat. So I cleaned up my act and got out the game. For good. I didn’t see myself working for the man and I wasn’t gonna lay down and take orders from nobody at no McDonalds. So I borrowed some dough off DJ and Coolio and started me up a gym. It was slow going at first, but with a good marketing angle and some hard work, word got round and I got me a regular procession of niggas comin to lift weights. Shit, I become a regular citizen. I even paid taxes, a far cry from those crazy days when we used to sling rocks at windows, graffiti the walls with cuss words and rob old women of their pension money.
As for Shorty, I’d have liked to say be buried his nose in this books and found out he had a real aptitude for math and become a scientist or some such shit. But real life don’t play that way man. Shorty remained a stupid nigga and when school was over, he found himself inadequately equipped to deal. He started a nine-to-five at the local department store, but Shorty was so unlucky his store got robbed thrice in the first two weeks. Shorty was accused of partnering with the thieves and fired. He then bounced around some, doing oddjobs on the street for grub and room. My old crew would help him whenever he came round, giving him dough or some work. But Shorty invariably fucked up what jobs we gave him and managed to lose or spend his money so fast you’d think he was one of them Hilton sisters. We grew tired of him mooching off us and all of us told him at some point, to fuck off. Shorty took it quietly. He didn’t come by for a month after I kicked him out. But one winter morning, he was back again on the steps of my porch asking for money to get high. In a month’s time, he’d become an addict. Slim Charles’ crew had given him a job as lookout and convinced him to accept product instead of cash. Before you knew it, Shorty was a dope fiend with a dangerous and expensive addiction he could not afford. I told him in no uncertain terms what a fuck-up he was and kicked him the fuck off my property. Looking back, I might have been a little harsh on the kid, but whatever man.Tough love. You start pitying a nigga who’s an addict, he gon start exploiting that pity. Later I learned that DJ and Coolio had more or less done the same to him. Prez, being the sentimental sap he is gave him some dough and Shorty kept going back to him once in a while. Prez always was the soft one. That was the last I seen of Shorty. Word around town said he became Slim Charles’ bitch, doing all kinds of dirty work for him; sexual favors, burying the dead, all kinds of nasty shit. Shorty didn’t have a crew no more, so he took it lying down. Boy was a natural pushover,so aint nothing no-one could do. Man that don’t respect his own self can’t expect no respect. Still and all, I guess we shoulda done something. But DJ and Coolio were busy climbing the drug hierarchy and I was busy with my gym. Prez gave him dough and between the four of us, we rationalized and made excuses so we could sleep at night. Prez once told us over some drinks that inaction equals complicity. That means standing by and watching injustice is as good as doing bad shit yourself. And if that were true, then us lot were guiltier than sin. But the years rolled by and when word bout Shorty’s latest misadventure occasionally got to us, we’d sigh and toast our next drink to him and get on with our lives.
So when we heard what finally happened to Shorty, it hit us hard yo. I mean, we had given up on the boy and all, but still, he used to be one of us back in the day. And when I heard bout the manner of his exit from public life, I coulda just about crawled up and died. Turned out Shorty’d turned to gay prostitution to finance his habit. His customer that day liked to play dirty. Police officials deduced he beat Shorty real good and even brought a gun into the game to get his rocks off. They figured this out from accounts of the hookers in the adjoining room. At some point Shorty snapped. He snatched the gun and shot the guy twice, once in the crotch and once in the chest. Shorty then goes back to his old haunts down at the drug corner and shoots up Slim Charles and the rest of his gang. He’s got seven niggas chalked up and one in critical and all of them sure had it coming. That’s the last anyone’s ever seen of Shorty. It might be he hightailed it to the coast and got on one of them ships headed for Europe. But knowing Shorty he most likely dragged himself to a deserted corner and put one in his own head. Its been a week and counting. No body found yet. Slim Charles’ corner got re-equipped with a new crew today. They rolling out product at discount prices in honor of the dead.
That’s how they do in this town. Life goes on yo.
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