The Real Yo

geetanjal-khanna-81242-unsplashIt was only two weeks ago.

Shrek- the alias for this gangsta- was cursing his demons as his new BMW had been kept at the mechanic’s for another three days. Heat wave in London. Bus packed with stupid people wearing jackets in the city oasis. He wished he was the driver, sat comfortably at the wheel puffing the air conditioning. This lucky kid was going to drive all day, with no-one to disturb his blimin’ peace, and Shrek needed to get to Brixton Prison to visit that slave who messed up. Not to pay him his respects, but just to make sure he was going to keep his mouth shut.

On top of all, there was traffic, and a chubby fellow eating smelly curry.

How long until Brixton?!

The ganster was watching the traffic lights and trying to hypnotise them with rap rhymes in his head for them to turn green. “The Traffic light is giving way – I’m the Shrek and you all wait”.

Suddently the engines stopped and a young sophisticated woman broke the awkward silence.

“If you keep on staring at my toddler he won’t be able to direct the bottle to his mouth properly”.

The lady was bullying Nisha, a 24-year-old fallen star who was on a wheelchair after being given the wrong medicine in Bali, when on her Gap year. She had lost two limbs and was only surrounded by the very wrong people.

The fallen star, a mysterious dark self-controlled beauty about to explode like a mine, had abandoned her fate to Chaos’ will and only hoped her Aunt, a neurotic spinster who wanted to get credit for looking after her, would woman up and stop abusing her in public.

At this stranger’s provocation, Nisha casually said “If the bottle were filled with organic, non gluten, fair trade disgusting worms, the bloody baby would get a grip'”.

The grey Aunt stepped in “Sorry madame, but let me tell you my niece has lost it since she lost her legs, but she’s harmless, don’t worry.”

Shrek had witnessed the whole scene and his blood was pumping. Something ticked in his head. He efficiently pushed aside the old man standing on his way to the wheelchair and pram area, and took a deep breathe. Everybody was watching him.

“YOU!” he snapped. Nisha looked at him. A second and a half of eye-contact made Shrek’s unlawful life flash like a dart. She didn’t smile. Because her eyes were smiling. This was going to be the most important red carpet rolled ahead of her in her whole life.

“You two missis don’t speak to my friend no-more, and you posh lollipop fold your pram and remember to take the baby out first if you don’t want to breastfeed him with crack next time.”

People on the bus clapped around. The bus driver was watching on the CCTV and was too distracted to carry on at the green light. Cars were impatiently beeping.

 

Nisha still didn’t smile. Her eyes had the power. She had the power. Shrek was sure  a hot biscuit, and she wished she could take off his T-Shirt and see what was underneath.

 

“My name is Shrek, but you can call me Donnie, like no-one has called me since six years. Tell me now, where are you going? I’ll take you my Princess! We got all the time in the world! It’s a new beginning.

 

“Not so fast, Shrek” said Nisha. People on Bus 2 were laughing now, and he noticed a couple were recording the scene with their smartphones. “I wanna go to the Aquarium and feed this woman to the Sharks”. She pointed at her Aunt.

Shrek took a stash of cash from his pocket and handed it to the grey lady, who almost dripped saliva at the sight of it. “This is your late pay for looking after my Princess all this time. Now you go find me on Instagram, ShrekBiteTheAir and tell all her folks she’s not putting up with your crap anymore. And they better come visit everyday. Driver! To the Aquarium please!”

And as passengers cheered and some had tears in their eyes, the driver managed a C-turn, almost a U-turn to The Aquarium.

 

*     *     *

 

The night of the events was a guilty narration of Shrek and Nisha’s life, dotted with jokes among tears here and there. When Shrek told her he had been bullied and abused by his boxing trainer during the whole of his teens, and she refused to give him the pity look- the weight that flew off his shoulders came back to him like a dragon with wings, filling him with love, forgiveness, motivation, and a “I wanna to this thing and this thing and nobody ain’t stopping me now.”

“Do you wanna delete Alfred, Smurk, Hancuffer and Bigtits numbers before we get another Johnny Walker?”

“Yes my Princess, I’ll delete them even from my Soul but we ain’t getting any more Johnny Walkers. We got to get up early tomorrow cos it’s our new life. Early Bird Catch the Fish!”

 

“That’s right Donnie! Do I get a good night kiss?”

 

The End.

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Magic Tomatoes

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Abi was about to become the last person in Pimlico Village, London, to give up on Fix.

Yes, he was the local grocer who sold him forty small plastic bags everyday for Fix to stuff weed in, the very despicable mature man who felt that any minute Allah was to punish him with lightening for exchanging his pound coins for notes- just for the buzz he felt when being called ” boss” every night.

That very morning Abi had done his morning prayer in the same stolen t-shirt bought off from Fix, this notorious fifteen year old who had even made his mother ill.

A new stock of cherry tomatoes was dumped by the delivery man.

” These are the smaller version of myself!” said Lesly Windrum, the enlightened old schizophrenic from the third floor upstairs.

Hearing this, Abi dropped the customer’s change all over, and the lights flickered again. The electrician was four hours late already.

This was a message from Allah. So he viciously hid the tomato case behind the counter. Then he looked at his watch. It was a Hugo Boss that Fix had sold to him- and it hurt Ali’s eyes.

It was going to be a long day til Fix turned up at his shop, whispering “hello, Boss. Anything for me?”

But as Destiny has it’s own funny way of synchronizing, Fix turned up at 4 PM. He needed baby milk again for his secret son or Suzy, the betrayed mother, would give his name to the Doctor and reveal his fatherhood.

Fix had that smile on him, this different kinda a smile he only put on when he needed something off credit.

” ok I’ll give you your milk boy. Stay here, I have got something for you.”

“Thanks, said Fix. You’re a sick devil. And I’m not a boy.”

All customers were served quickly but roughly. Abi put finger on his lips as if he were about to pass on  a deadly secret:

 

” I got new stock today. “Magic Tomatoes”. They’re grown at the feet of an old volcano that has just erupted. See. You take one. It’s like gas pumping you up.”

“What?”

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Follow Your Gut

 

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“I knew it!”

The golden ring found on the floor- right in front of my face- that the dishevelled foreigner handed me for ten quid was made of brass, said the jeweller, holding a scorn.

I learnt two lessons. First, you’ve gotta be really smart and lucky to take advantage of someone, like I had just tried to do.

Second, right from the moment the actor picked up the ring from the floor, I had the remote but tangible feeling I was a Muppet on a Stage.

 

My Guts.

Modern upbringing completely deconstructs our instincts to reset us into polite, pleasant, non- conflicting, non- judgemental complying “citizens”.

But isn’t there a very thin line between following a first impression given by your heart- and Judging?

“Judging is sinful.”

If you’ve been an overprotected kid who has been denied the joys, lows, emotion-release or dangers that come with fighting- verbally or physically- then mate, you’re gonna have a steep mountain to climb.

When we go to bed, we think “tomorrow will be a good day, cos I ‘ll be doing this, and this, and so on”. Then we forget there’s a good seven or eight hours where we are helpless in the webs of our psyche. We wake up startled and terrorised. Traumatised. But – thank goodness- it was just a nightmare.

A signpost maybe?

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So we open dreamsdictionary.com .We read that dreaming you are in a morgue means you are ” about to receive some distressing news very soon.”

Eight years down the line there has been not one distressing news. It was the Democracy of the World Wide Web at work.

You learn to trust, mistrust, like, not like, love, and Yes, Hate. In some cases there is nothing wrong with Hating, It’s a natural emotion which we shouln’t act upon, but allow ourselves to feel and Channel away. And it can be a warning of trouble in many cases.

Animals are born equipped with instinct- so why does it take a good twenty years of replacing with academic, moral, and ethical knowledge, with the side trauma that comes with exams and correction?

 

I will encourage my kids to Follow Their Gut Feeling, like many noticeable Leaders have, instead if googling ” dream interpretation” like I did or ending up in a Tarot Reading Parlour when their First Love doesn’t Like their new post on social media.

The good news about instinct is- it is unsurpressable. So pick up your adventure bag, look people in the eye and don’t let anyone spoil your jolly good fun again!

 

 

 

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Sewing herself Slim

 

 

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Stella could still vividly recall the day she and three of her classmates were caught eating chewing gum and ketchup instead of going to the school meals. After the drama a dietician told her she was a “huge size ten”, squeezed her buttocks, and ordered her to follow the calorie diet on the black & white photocopy sheet- or else not to come back.

She wanted to be model, and she was only fourteen.

Her parents had given up her hopes on her becoming a Human Rights Lawyer.

A true beauty- style queen, the teenager had been taught sewing by Mary the home helper since a very young age. This asset pushed her classmates to befriend her only to borrow the garments for ” just one night out” and then pass them on to another girl instead of returning them to her.

The dietician had resorted to prescribe appetite suppressants to  the moody young girl. Pills that made her hyper, irritable and angry against Willy, who would bare going any length for a precious little minute sat talking to his crush.

Soon the pills had been removed from the market, and between auditions, applications and extra casting, Stella would experiment making “slimming drinks ” with all sorts of over-the-counter ingredients- from spirulina to shark and turmeric.

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At 38, and having on her model curriculum only one photo shoot- which was because the chosen model had fallen ill and she was the only one available at 5 am that day- Stella survived making fashion accessories and disguises which she sold to fellow models and photographers.

The modelling world was  deceitful, inhumane and impossible to break into.  How much she now wished she would have taken up Mary ‘s offer of learning how to cook her secret family dishes.

One morning she woke up from an intense dream. Something about Willy and Mary helping her adjust a catwalk wedding dress. As she opened her eyes, the objects in her tiny trashy bedroom appeared to have a different glow, and the air was so filled with Love she wanted to chew it. “Just a nice dream ” she thought, and got back to her slimming potion making.

That same day at five she got a friend’s request from Willy on Facebook! He had become a successful financial broker- and…. damn! Had a family!

He asked to meet her that same day. She had to catch  two trains as his car was getting fixed. She had brought with her five samples of slimming remedies and was paranoid about being robbed of her million dollar secret on her way there.

Oh My God! Willy had grown old! He told her how good she looked, how she was still his highest fantasy, how boring his life was.

When she finally asked him to finance her “Slim’n’Smiling” slimming energy drink project, he took a serious look.

“I bumped into Mary at a Doctors surgery. She’s got poor health. She gave me her number. She was desperate to find you, ” her little girl “.

Willy handed her his phone and Stella broke into tears as she heard Mary’s voice.

” Come visit me please “said Mary.

Willy offered to take Stella to see Mary on Saturday, but that he needed her help on Sunday for his wife’s project.

” She’s starting a community to help disadvantaged girls learn a skill to become independent.  In this case, sewing. And Mary can teach cooking too when she gets better. What do you say?”

“Brilliant idea! Did you just say Mary will get better?” Stella’s eyes rolled.

” Sure she will, once she sees you! Now lend me that hippy scarf to show to my twelve year old, she cooked me mustard with jelly beans yesterday!”

 

The End.

 

Out Of Order

votenow-2-transIMG_1924Just when routine had become emotionally unsustainable, and Jeff’s PR Executive job made him envy all kinds of deviants, surfers and soldiers, a storm broke out on a Monday morning.

He was on his break at the local coffee shop, amused by a foreign woman who was complaining to the waiter about not being served Blueberry Syrup in her Lattee. Oh what an accent.

Before heading back to work he checked the rain through the massive window and went to the Toilet. A new Gender Neutral toilet they had built just to make him feel naughty.

As he was waiting she walked in and ignored his smile. A smile that had got him quickly up the social ladder and was even better than any techie gadget that was yet to be invented. Was he losing his appeal?

She stood in silence like a bronze renaissance statue making him feel more and more self conscious.

“After you!” Jeff cried.

She looked surprised.

” Are you a time traveler? Because real gentlemen only exist in the olden days.”

“I am indeed a time traveler, but where I come from I struggle with undoing tight women’s corsets.” He said, surprising himself.

“Watch this” she snapped and smiled. Pulling a lipstick bar out of nowhere she wrote

OUT OF ORDER

on the door, grabbed him by the collar and pulled him inside, just as very bad thunder stroke.

A Kiss. Another Kiss.

“Give me your phone” and she switched it off.

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” Your watch” and she flushed down rhe loo his 4K collector’s item.

The cabinet was the right size to satisfy both of their repressed instincts, with UV lights taking them to forbidden land on the Baby Changing Table.

“I don’t have…” he hesitated

” Shut up! This bitch is doctored” and pointed at a scar on her belly- button.

She snatched his wedding ring and swallowed it.

He felt taken away by a vicious flood, helpless and grateful and merging into civilisation like he had never known it before.

The Blueberry woman had actually just tied her hair into a ponytail, unlike all the women before her who let their hair loose for interaction.

Jeff Adams, the PR Executive at Tengams & Co was reclaiming a missed out teenagehood.

He had no idea how long this lasted, but as he tied his shoelaces she rushed out, grabbing her Blueberry- less lattee and undoing her hair.

After the shaking event Jeff had to make the building receptionist buzz him in because he couldn’t find his Pass.

He didn’t keep this woman in his heart- he  kind of carried her in his pocket everywhere he went, now with eyes wide open to any blowing encouter a sudden weather change  could bring.

As for  the ring, his wife only noticed it was missing after three months – forcing him to lie like a kiddo about it.

But the second best reward he got from this fling was -his very annoying sciatic pain vanished like Black Magic.

About a year later, on a rainy Tuesday morning, he saw an “out of order ” scribble on his office door.

” Great, I get the day off” he thought, but opened the door anyway…. to see…. the Blueberry Latte Woman sitting on his desk with a baby who was playing with his collector’s watch.

Their eyes met like a fox’s looking into wolf’s on a hungry full moon night.

“These belong to you.” She handed his Pass, ring and… watch! and also the heavy baby. She immediately walked out before he could say anything, leaving the buggy behind.

The medical papers of the kid were carefully filed in a bag inside the buggy, and it only took him a DNA test and a cheeky lawyer to claim his father rights.

He couldn’t believe his “perfect” wife understood and welcomed the baby, as they had been trying for one for over eight years.

Since then, he always checks with the local waitress that they have a full stock of Blueberry Syrup…

The End

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