2014-01-02

Happy New Year plus bonus 2014: Divorcing over Sushi


Hola folks, wish you a very happy and blissful 2014. May all your dreams come true and have a fab year ahead. I also thank everyone for supporting my blog, commenting and reading me. As part of the new year, I am digging a short story that I left mid-way last year and promised to myself that I shall not abandon the project and decided to roll in small chapters. Here, enjoy the first chapter on the first day of 2014 as a small gift to all the loyalists.
 Cheerio

***************************************************************
Divorcing Over Shushi
Chapter I

I've been sitting at Barista for the past two hours, ordering cups of coffee and smoking like a chimney. I gotta go on a date-lunch-kinda break up party with my eighteen months wife, In fact, we are plotting for a divorce over perhaps sushi, her favorite.
We spend our time fighting a lot over Sushi..not that we wanted to tear the Sushi apart to take a beloved share. But, I was angry and jealous how Sushi has taken my place in the heart of  my honey, Sushmita. Incidentally, her parents have named her Sushmita and at that time, they were oblivious that their beloved daughter will grow up and fall in love with Sushi..half her name sake. So, waiting for Mrs Sushmita Singh..well that my surname before sushi..oops sorry Sushmita retains her original surname Sushmita Kaul. I have grown tired of my Sushi ordered her Sushi...every other night to save herself the trouble of making food..and I suck..I just can't cook except fry an egg that I top over five minutes Sphagetti..I am very Italian and continental in my choice of food and whenever I want something desi like my fat Punjabi thali, she gives me the scorn look often wiping her roots..her father is a Sikh who fell in love and eloped with her Bengoli mother..oh man! Her bong blood run amok in her and I am tired of hearing her speaking in Bengoli on the phone to her mother...I can't even make out whether they are fighting, laughing or crying. It's a dastard tale of when East meet West. It's scary and I feel terrorized.
Sushi..mita is an ad film maker who works for the famous, My tree and branch out films. Before our marriage, she decided to quit her job as a journalist with Daily News as a rebel act against her weird father, major Rajveer Kaul whose dream was to see his daughter head a newspaper and certainly not marry a college drop out like me who heads a PR firm. See, the Kaul family is an interesting package of superiority complex and bundle of contradictions. They often forget that their daughter is in the media yet cannot marry someone in the same line. That's the Kaul family.
Next on the list is the Singh family, meaning me and my father and mother. To get a better introduction of my family, better hear it out from the bahurani (daughter-in-law). There is no love lost between Sushi and the Singh of Lokhandwala complex, Andheri West. Jumping the fray to my friends who cannot see the logic behind our divorce. We don't fight like any normal and bohemian couple. For your kind information, I have not been caught with my pants down with someone else wife, a college going chick or the super hot client. Sushi is not having an affair, not even one night stand with her boss or the hot guys that surround her and she has a disdain for extra-marital sex and she hates such thrills. Yet,we are planning a divorce that shall send a tizzy in our large extended family where the risk of heart attack will be more visible. We cannot plan such things at home since our parents have visited our six bedroom duplex in Lokhandwala. The house is pretty spacious for the six of us to stay. I am waiting for her distance away from our house, sitting at Barista which is just a few kilometers away from Infinity Mall which is buzzing with activity.
It's already 7 p.m and beep..sms..Sushi..who else? Baby, I'll be late by one hour..my puchi puchi..please bear with me. See, women know how to coax you to hold your anger or simply vent it on the thin air. We are on the verge of divorce and yet she's playing games..she's a pro at it..Baby..puchi puchi..where the fuck this comes from? Only Sushmita can get such crazy ideas...I order capucino number four and signal the guy to get me a pack of Wills cigarette mild at the pan shop. 
Fed up of waiting over and over for Sushi, I walk my way towards Infinity mall to shower my eyes a unique treat. You name it, you get it! College going chicks swarming in the shopping mall, it's a marvelous treat for a man on a divorce and patience boy, I tell myself. In a matter of time, you gonna be a wild stallion and you gotta go on a rampage. I take the escalator and reach the third floor..you know where..Sushi Bar..where else.
It didn't took me long to spot..aha! Sushi at the bar, sipping a coke. She looks drop dead gorgeous in her white blouse and blue jeans, as she gently strut her curly hair. I walk up to my legitimate wife as she stood, sporting a benign smile, Hey. She throws herself towards me and we hug like lovers. We look like the perfect couple in love as I feel her boobs touch my chest. I felt adrenaline rushing down my spine. The hep crowd would never guess that we are a married couple, plotting and conspiring for our own divorce. As crazy as it gets, the Singh couple has been the wacky, mad couple in the heart of Mumbai.
So, howss it going? she quips not before adding salt to injury, mummy and papa must be having aloo paratha with ghee, referring to my parents. Sushi never misses the opportunity to shoot at my parents with her bow and arrows of words. She scores on me and start laughing so that the arrow hit my heart. I twist my hair lock. I always do that when she takes dig at me, albeit, my parents and I cannot not see how beautiful she looks. She get sadistic pleasure in doing that and I am petrified what she can do on the spur of the moment.
I retort, "So how pop dearest doing? He's adjusting his moustache which he trims during the whole day in front of the mirror. Does ur mom and Dad still have some linguistic clash..bengoli vs Punjabi."
She pats me on the shoulder and smiles, "Will you ever stop being mean to my parents? Waise bhi, I always win over you with arguments."
I laughed out loud and told her that she's being very funny.
We dunno how on earth we cannot get into verbal violence like other couples. We spend our time taking dig at each other and there's no way we end up fighting like regular couples. Yet, we are getting divorced.
 She gently reminds me, "By the way jaanu, why are we here today?"
"To discuss our divorce," I reply emphatically. I don't add my 'baby' touch to her 'Jaanu.' Sush is like that and she goes forever with Jaanu and that scares me to death. She sounds so much like some psychotic killer, obsessed to kill her soon to be ex-husband. I sometimes wonder whether she is planning to gently kill me with her 'Jaanu' thingy.
"Okie, how do we proceed and how do we do without actually tell them," She asked in her cute voice.
"How do I know? Well, I don't have a plan in mind and now let me think," I tell.
She slightly raises her, "How on earth you don't know?"
She continues," Well, I have an idea. Let's get drunk, party heard, kiss and have sex. The ideas will automatically flow."
I protest, "What the fuck is that?"
She drags me downstairs. 
We hit off at Olive pub at Bandra that was already crowded past midnight. She ordered a Tequilla. Gosh! How I hate her! First, Sushi and now Tequilla and as I ordered my malt whisky, I rack my brain hard so that I can get immediate solution to legally and emotionally terminate my marriage with this girl who is my wife. As I pour my second glass, idea no. 1 and I stutter my way towards her and called her baby. How one earth I did that? I am drunk on the second glass.
"Hey baby! Why don't you go and hit on some guy, handsome or ugly?"
She giggled, "You are already high, kya?"
I made a monkey face and said, "Yes! I am! So! We need reasons to get divorced."
She forcingly pull my face towards her and pounced on me and her lips meet mine. She is smooching me and I am defenseless. Hell! My wife is molesting me in public.
Post a Comment