story of my assassins : page no.326
Story of my assassins
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These college boys , sons of influential parents, played basket ball. They were full of quick feints, loud abuse, and aggresive elbows. Some were accompanied by ripening girls. At the end, they sat huddled together and shared cigarettes. I wanted to slap their smug, confident faces. These were kids for whom, India was just a vast amusemetn park, set up by some earnest gold geezers after kicking out some whte men. they all neeed a fucking craxsh course in the Vedanta and a stint in the Army. Three months in Siachen, and 6 months in Imphal. Then, they would gain a perspective on the fadeaway jumper.
( Page 293)
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( After Chini's first adventure of stealing a woman's hand bag ; the gang leader Dhaka, after seeing the items rolling out of the handbag : remarks philosophically )
" There is no difference between a woman and her hand bag. The exterior may have no relation to what is inside! "
" From the many stomachs, small and big, of the bad emerged a mountain of jumple. Kaalia pulled up each item with seremonial slowness and held it up for all to see.
" 3 sticks of Lipstick. Red,Pink and Pinker.
A round handled hair brush with a plastic teeth.
A small , mud brown bottle, its cap, stained, its sharp smell, pleasant.
2 plastic ball pens. One short pencil.
A slim book of thick paper leaves, which, Dhaka explained them, can be exchanged for money ( cheque book).
A small yellow towel.
A pair of pale dark glasses.
A nail cutter, a nail file , and a fat, multipurpose knife.
A small , maroon color , leather diary , held together by a string.
Many thick black rubber bands.
A soft white cotton pad, with a bullet of a Tampon.
A Shining compact of a face powder.
An eye liner pencil.
A small beautiful tottle of sweet perfume.
A foil of some tablets, old and battered.
2 thin silver bangles. 2 thick glass bangles.
A tiny tin of some creams.
A lump of white cotton in plastic pouch.
A bar of chocolate and a fistful of toffees.
A thick paper card picture of Goddess Lakshmi.
A pair of silver ear rings.
A brown tube of cream.
A tube of some sweet white liquid.
A disposable safety A razor.
A litter of coins.
A pack of condoms in black plastic casing.
And finally, a bag within a bag, containing,
credit cards, debit cards, photo of a man and
2 children. Seven hundred and seventy two rupees !
( After a number of items that come out of that stolen handbag of a woman, Dhaka says ; sagely, like a philosopher ) : " A woman's handbag is like her Pussy. It's so small, Prima Facie, that you think only piss can come out of it : but then, one day, it throws out a whole fucking baby ! "
( page no.326)
--------------------------
These college boys , sons of influential parents, played basket ball. They were full of quick feints, loud abuse, and aggresive elbows. Some were accompanied by ripening girls. At the end, they sat huddled together and shared cigarettes. I wanted to slap their smug, confident faces. These were kids for whom, India was just a vast amusemetn park, set up by some earnest gold geezers after kicking out some whte men. they all neeed a fucking craxsh course in the Vedanta and a stint in the Army. Three months in Siachen, and 6 months in Imphal. Then, they would gain a perspective on the fadeaway jumper.
( Page 293)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
( After Chini's first adventure of stealing a woman's hand bag ; the gang leader Dhaka, after seeing the items rolling out of the handbag : remarks philosophically )
" There is no difference between a woman and her hand bag. The exterior may have no relation to what is inside! "
" From the many stomachs, small and big, of the bad emerged a mountain of jumple. Kaalia pulled up each item with seremonial slowness and held it up for all to see.
" 3 sticks of Lipstick. Red,Pink and Pinker.
A round handled hair brush with a plastic teeth.
A small , mud brown bottle, its cap, stained, its sharp smell, pleasant.
2 plastic ball pens. One short pencil.
A slim book of thick paper leaves, which, Dhaka explained them, can be exchanged for money ( cheque book).
A small yellow towel.
A pair of pale dark glasses.
A nail cutter, a nail file , and a fat, multipurpose knife.
A small , maroon color , leather diary , held together by a string.
Many thick black rubber bands.
A soft white cotton pad, with a bullet of a Tampon.
A Shining compact of a face powder.
An eye liner pencil.
A small beautiful tottle of sweet perfume.
A foil of some tablets, old and battered.
2 thin silver bangles. 2 thick glass bangles.
A tiny tin of some creams.
A lump of white cotton in plastic pouch.
A bar of chocolate and a fistful of toffees.
A thick paper card picture of Goddess Lakshmi.
A pair of silver ear rings.
A brown tube of cream.
A tube of some sweet white liquid.
A disposable safety A razor.
A litter of coins.
A pack of condoms in black plastic casing.
And finally, a bag within a bag, containing,
credit cards, debit cards, photo of a man and
2 children. Seven hundred and seventy two rupees !
( After a number of items that come out of that stolen handbag of a woman, Dhaka says ; sagely, like a philosopher ) : " A woman's handbag is like her Pussy. It's so small, Prima Facie, that you think only piss can come out of it : but then, one day, it throws out a whole fucking baby ! "
( page no.326)
posted by Borrowed Wisdom | 1:18 AM
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